undying legion 01 - unbound man

by karlov, matt

  Know me. Know me.

  A grinding, tearing sound filled the cavern like an avalanche. Every golem in the room stood and turned to Arandras.

  WE KNOW YOU.

  The words struck him like a blow. Arandras reeled back, stumbling off the dais and collapsing against the wall.

  The golems all dropped to one knee with a single tremendous thud. Arandras felt the floor shake beneath him.

  ARANDRAS KANTHESI.

  MASTER.

  Chapter 23

  We fight with such weapons as we have: steel, sorcery, artifice, and a hundred more besides. When wielded deftly, any one of them may triumph over any other. Even a lamb may slay a dragon on its day.

  Nonetheless, only a fool bets against a dragon.

  — Giarvanno do Salin I

  Meditations on Power

  They buzzed at the edge of his consciousness like bees. Arandras could hear the low drone in a corner of his mind, as though his awareness had been invaded by thousands of the humming, whirring creatures. A vast swarm of insects, each one capable of crushing a house. And all of them awaiting my command.

  Rough hands grasped his shoulders. “What in the hundred hells are you doing?” Fas’s angry face hove into view. “For the Dreamer’s sake, how hard is it to not touch anything?”

  “Hey, let him go!” Mara shoved Fas backward, interposing herself between them. Fas’s face darkened and he shoved back, eyes pinched in fury. She absorbed the blow with a twist of her torso and grinned, raising a cocked fist. “This what you want?”

  “Mara, please.” Narvi stepped between them, hands raised in a pacifying gesture. “Fas. Let’s stay calm, shall we? Yes? Yes.”

  Fas stepped back, breathing hard, and fixed Arandras with an enraged glare. “What did you do?”

  Arandras shook his head. There were words in the buzzing whispers. A cavern. My brothers and sisters all around. A man argues with the master. Stone and stone and stone. He clasped his hands uselessly over his ears. The chatter was ceaseless, relentless. It was too much.

  Be quiet!

  The buzz vanished, leaving blessed silence in its wake. He exhaled softly, probing at the place where it had been. The presence in his mind remained, but softer now, like the faintest touch of gossamer on the back of his hand. Thank you.

  “Arandras. Can you hear me? Arandras.” Narvi’s voice was muffled, distant. Arandras blinked at him, lowered his hands. “What happened?”

  Laughter bubbled up within. “I bound them, Narvi,” he whispered, as though saying it aloud might rob it of its truth. “I bound the golems.”

  Fas snarled and turned away.

  “You bound them,” Narvi said, staring at Arandras as though he’d just admitted selling his child. “How could you do that?”

  “What?” Arandras shook his head, his euphoria fading. “But this is what we —”

  “This is a Quill operation, Arandras! Weeper’s cry!” He threw up his hands. “Do you have any idea what this means to us? Or the assurances I made just this morning to get you in here? Gods!”

  Arandras pushed himself to his feet. “Do you really think the Quill are the best people to control these things?”

  “I work for the Quill, Arandras! Maybe you haven’t noticed that!”

  “And if you didn’t?” Arandras jabbed a finger in the air. “Look what they did to Isaias. Give the Quill the golems and that’ll multiply a thousandfold! Don’t you see that?”

  “You think you’re any better?” Narvi gave a sick laugh. “Gods, Arandras. Look at yourself. What happened to you?”

  “The Quill use people, Narvi. It’s in their blood.”

  “Funny. The only person I feel used by is you.”

  The words struck home. Arandras slumped against the wall, his stomach lurching; but Narvi was already stalking away, back to where Fas stood glaring at the reading stand. Before them knelt the golems, motionless once more, their massive heads still bowed.

  The Quill use people. It was true. That was what they did.

  And now, so did he.

  It was not some faceless collective that had threatened Isaias, it was Fas, and Narvi, and Arandras himself. When everything else was stripped away, that was all the Quill were. People. Altered, yes — moulded into a form better suited to serve the interests of their masters — but people nonetheless. Narvi and Bannard, Halli and Ienn — they were victims as much as Isaias, even if they didn’t realise it. They deserved pity, even compassion. Opponents or no, they were entitled to the same respect he would afford anyone else.

  Instead, he had turned around and used them all over again. As though what had been done to them already wasn’t bad enough. As if he could use the Quill’s own weapon against them without becoming the very thing he despised.

  Weeper have mercy. He buried his face in his hands. I am just like them. Gods forgive me.

  “It’s the lid of the urn,” Narvi said from the dais, his back to Arandras. “See? There must be some kind of depression there.”

  “Maybe we can remove the binding if we take it out,” Fas said. “If I can just get a hold of it…”

  Arandras listened without caring. The golems meant nothing. Let the Quill take them. Let them kill Clade, or not. I’m done.

  “Got it!” The metal cap flashed in Fas’s hand. “Anything?”

  The golems remained kneeling, heads bowed, the faint light in their eyes still visible among those nearest the front. Arandras reached for the gossamer presence in his mind and found it undisturbed.

  “Nothing,” Narvi said.

  Fas shrieked in frustration, hurling the lid into the corner of the room. “Out,” he snapped, striding off the dais, Narvi hopping at his heels to keep up. “Everyone out. No talk until we’re away from them.”

  The Quill dispersed, leaving Arandras and Mara alone. Mara picked up the pewter lid, handed it back to Arandras. “Congratulations,” she said. “You did it.”

  He nodded dully. “So it would seem.”

  She looked close, a questioning smile on her face. “What? You’re not going to let Narvi’s little tantrum get to you, are you? They’re ours, fair and square.”

  Yeah. Fair and square. Arandras looked up, noting her choice of words. Ours. He sighed. “I bound them, Mara. To me.”

  Mara shrugged. “So?”

  “So I don’t know how to unbind them, or bind them to someone else. I mean, I’m sure it’s possible — hells, one of the Quill could probably tell me.” Not that any of them would speak to him just now. “But it might take a while for me to figure it out myself.” He watched as the implications sank in. And until I do…

  “We can’t sell them,” Mara said. “Yet.”

  “Yeah.”

  She exhaled, setting her torch on the ground and leaning against the wall beside him. They stood there side by side, looking out on the congregation of kneeling golems.

  “Impressive, aren’t they,” Mara said eventually.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you make one do something? Walk around the room, maybe?”

  Arandras sighed. “Probably. But it seems a little…” He trailed off, searching for the right word. Petty? Pointless? “I don’t know. Something.”

  Mara waved dismissively. “You need to be confident about controlling them before Clade gets here. Go on, make one of them walk.”

  Right. Clade. Arandras squared his shoulders. He’d come this far. And Clade would be arriving soon, whether Arandras was ready or not. Might as well be prepared.

  He scanned the front row. An empty-handed golem caught his eye, about half a dozen places from the end. Is that one a bit shorter than the others? Could make it easier to speak to when it gets up. He focused his attention on the chosen figure, doing his best to exclude all the others from his command.

  Golem, stand up.

  With a grinding rumble and the almost-smooth motion of a novice dancer, the golem rose.

  Arandras stood back and pointed away from the dais. Golem, walk to the corne
r of the room.

  It set off immediately, its stride long and heavy. When it reached the corner it halted and turned to face the cavern, its weight shifting as it settled into place.

  Mara laughed. “Did you see that? It’s like a sentry assuming his position.”

  Arandras nodded, warming to the exercise despite himself. The golem was truly a thing of wonder. Let’s try something a little more complex. He thought for a moment. Golem, walk through the portal on your right to the room beyond, and stop beside the shackles you see there.

  The golem rumbled away, Arandras and Mara following behind. It covered the distance at surprising speed, and they entered the chamber to find it already at rest beside the slender restraints.

  “Ha, I was right.” Mara held a circlet against the golem’s wrist. “Big enough to fit over its wrist, small enough that the hand can’t slide through.”

  Arandras nodded again, his interest already fading. The sight of the shackles reminded him oddly of Narvi, and the hurt in his eyes when Arandras told him what he’d done.

  No, not hurt.

  Betrayal.

  We were friends, once. He thought we still were.

  The hells with it.

  “I have to go,” Arandras said, turning toward the exit. “I have to find Narvi.”

  “What?” Mara grasped his elbow, pulling him to a halt. “Forget it. You don’t have to explain yourself to any of them.”

  Explain myself? He gave a hollow laugh. What could he explain that Narvi didn’t already see? “I should never have left Spyridon —”

  “No.” Her grip tightened. “This needs doing. You won’t ever be free of what happened until you look Clade in the eye and —”

  “Mara. Listen to me.” He held her gaze, imploring her to understand. “How many people has this cost me already? Druce and Jensine. Isaias, probably. Weeper only knows why you haven’t walked away yet.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to lose Narvi too.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. “All right,” she said. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  He hesitated. “You don’t have to come.”

  “Oh, yeah? You’ve got every one of those Quill out there ready to throttle you. Might be smart to have someone watching your back.” She paused. “Or, you know. Your throat.”

  A surge of gratitude filled him. “Thank you,” he said. “Truly. It’s more than I deserve.” Weeper’s tears, how little I deserve.

  Mara grinned. “You’re right. Perhaps we can take that up when —”

  Movement from the passage caught his eye. Arandras turned, but Mara was already shoving him aside, drawing her cutlasses with frightening speed and sprinting toward the doorway. He stumbled, blinking at the shadowy figure beyond even as Mara raised her blades and leapt through the portal.

  A blast of air met her in mid-leap, flinging her across the room. She struck the far wall with a crack and slumped to the floor, unmoving.

  A man stepped into the portal: large, thickset and scowling. Arandras had never seen him before in his life.

  One of Clade’s. Oh, shit.

  The man lifted his hands, brow furrowed in concentration. Arandras turned to run.

  The blast hit him from behind. Arandras raised his arms over his head. He felt himself flying through the air, the cool air caressing his cheek like a lover. Then his body struck something hard, and the world went dark.

  •

  The boulder was huge, far too large for Clade and his group to have moved by themselves. The Quill, however, had shifted it for them, revealing a great tunnel curving away into the side of the cliff. No spark of light could be seen within, nor was there any hint of sound. Either the Quill were taking care to stay silent, or they’d gone too deep for any noise to reach the surface.

  Large ochre bags lay near the passage, each bearing the insignia of a charcoal feather. Clade rubbed his chin, pondering their significance. They can’t have gone far, or they’d have taken their gear with them. They’d be back soon, then, looking to set up camp somewhere. In there? He frowned. If they camped inside and were sensible enough to maintain a watch, it would be impossible to surprise them. But they’d left their bags, so they couldn’t have chosen a site yet. Perhaps they’d camp somewhere out in the open…

  Sinon picked up a bag and began to pick at a buckle.

  “Don’t touch that!” Clade covered the distance between them in two strides and snatched the bag away before Sinon could reach inside.

  A spasm of anger crossed Sinon’s face. “Dreamer’s arse, what now?”

  “Gods and demons, you really need to ask?” Clade stared, but Sinon’s broad face showed nothing but baffled outrage. “As far as the Quill know, there’s no-one around for leagues. Are you trying to give us away?”

  “Keep it down, will you?” The words were Hosk’s, low and terse. “Stone throws sound further than you’d think.”

  A sharp retort leapt to Clade’s lips, but he caught it and pressed it down, grasping at the threads of his discipline. “Thank you,” he said at last, his voice thick. “You’re right. Sinon, go back to the shore —”

  The words died in his throat. Azador arrived with the force of a whirlwind, sweeping down on him like an eagle upon its prey. A surge of greed engulfed him and he stumbled, reaching blindly for the cliff.

  “Clade!” Kalie appeared before him, grasping his shoulders and grunting beneath his weight. “Are you ill?”

  His questing fingers found stone. “I’m fine,” he muttered. The god’s hunger pressed down on him like a yoke, but he clenched his teeth, forcing himself to straighten beneath the load. “I’m fine,” he said again, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “There, you see? Nothing to worry about.”

  Kalie eyed him dubiously, but stepped back nonetheless. He took a deep breath and released his grip on the cliff wall. Azador’s presence settled the matter. Fighting would be hard enough with the god there at all. Staging a battle through its first sight of the golems would be madness.

  “Here’s the plan,” Clade said. “The Quill left their bags. That means they’ll be coming back soon. We’re going to let them come all the way out of the gorge. Once they’re completely out, we’ll cut off their retreat and strike.”

  He glanced at Terrel, who inclined his head fractionally. He agrees. Or he doesn’t disagree enough to object.

  Good enough.

  They left the gorge in single file, Clade bringing up the rear. The rocky shore was narrower here than back by the path. Scarcely a dozen paces separated the cliff from the lake. But the strip was bare, bereft of anything that might offer concealment, and the cliff was steep and featureless.

  Clade scanned the terrain. Nowhere to hide. Unless… “Kalie,” he said, and she hurried over. “How deep is the water?”

  She shot him a quizzical expression, then grinned her understanding. “I’ll check.”

  Two waterbinders, he thought, watching as she knelt by the edge of the lake. Its waters were dark now, almost black, reflecting the dusky sky. Enough to keep us breathing for an hour, at least. The water would be cold, though; too cold to get away with just a small air pocket around their heads. And Terrel and Hosk will want dry hands for their swords, and dry boots to fight in. How long could the girls sustain a bubble that large?

  Kalie straightened and shook her head. “Ankle-deep for at least a dozen paces,” she said, and he turned away with a frown, eyes flicking over the barren ground. Not that, then. What else?

  A hiss from Terrel drew their attention. “Movement,” he called softly. Clade jogged back to the cliff, cursing under his breath and gesturing for the others to follow. Though the sun was now out of sight behind the western peaks, the sky was not yet dark enough for stars to emerge. They’d be seen as soon as the Quill emerged. He shook his head, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his gut. Maybe they won’t look. Maybe they’ll just head back the way they came.

  “All right,” he whispered. The others crowded aro
und him in a tight circle, and Clade was struck by the uncanny impression of Azador standing among them, pressing close to hear his instructions. “Stay close to the cliff. We wait until they’re all out or until we’re spotted. Then we move. Kalie and Meline, get to the lake as quick as you can. Keep the firebinders off our backs. Sinon, you take out anyone still in the gorge when they see us. Make sure they don’t get back to the cavern. Terrel, Hosk, the rest are yours.”

  Hosk raised an eyebrow in thinly veiled amusement. “That could be half a dozen or more,” he said.

  “Yes,” Clade said. “Or Sinon could have that many still in the gorge.” Believe me, please. I’m not trying to get you killed. “I’ll come help whoever’s hardest pressed.” As much as I can in a place so devoid of wood. “All right?”

  Terrel nodded once, his lips thin. Hosk chuckled and looked away.

  A breath of wind ruffled Clade’s hair, carrying with it the cool scent of fresh water. He pressed his back against the rough stone, gesturing for Sinon and the sisters to do likewise. Terrel unslung Yuri’s sword from across his shoulder and stood it against the cliff, then slowly drew his own. Hosk crouched beside him, his blade already in his hand. From somewhere over the lake came a bird’s high screech.

  Voices approached. Clade reached around to where Yuri’s sword lay propped against the cliff, grasping the hilt in a sweaty palm. How long had it been since he’d used one of these? He rolled his shoulder, trying to loosen the muscles, then froze as a man emerged from the gorge. Here we go.

  Another figure followed, and another, the ochre and charcoal of their clothing little more than grey and black in the dim light. Clade held his breath, counting the figures as they appeared. Six, seven. Eight. Come on. Another two joined the others, and the group turned around, milling about the mouth of the cleft. Come on. Where are the rest?

  “Hey!” A figure pointed straight at them. “Who’s that?”

  Shit. “Go,” Clade said, and the party sprang into action.

  Sinon charged at the assembled Quill, Terrel and Hosk a few paces behind. Cries of alarm rose from the group, the sound echoing strangely along the stony shore, and the Quill began to bunch together, those at the front producing blades, those at the rear crouching to dig into their bags. That’s it, Clade thought. Nice and close. “Identify yourselves,” called one of the Quill. “Speak, or be destroyed.”