Moon's Artifice

by Tom Lloyd

  Enchei nodded appreciatively. He’d chosen correctly after all ; unless by some terrible coincidence he’d stumbled upon an Astaren stronghold.

  And not even I’m that unlucky, he thought as he stepped forward, baton ready in his hand. He paused. Probably. Almost certainly.

  There was a path through the webs, oblique but clear. No doubt that was how the goshe left the building. Whether or not they could actually see the webs, they knew the path through so the warding would always remain active.

  Someone’s not sharing, he guessed as he walked silently forward, then stepped to the side and moved in an arc towards the far side of the room. Now ain’t that a familiar story ? Unless their elite are too damn stupid to be trusted to lock up behind them, whoever set this is making a point that they’ve kept some knowledge from their servants. Paranoia and jealousy ; they’ll be the death of the strongest man.

  Once he was through the web of wardings, Enchei found himself at a narrow corridor leading to a smaller ante-chamber. Halfway down it he stopped, some sixth sense bringing him up short. The floor was paved with square tiles, many broken and tilted after years of use. The pattern they traced in his dark sight was chaotic and scuffed by a hundred boots – all except for the one section at his feet. He peered closer and discerned the edges of a single slab separate from the rest.

  Carefully he picked his way over the slab, feeling a small prickle of pleasure as he got past the deadfall trap. But for his unnaturally sharp vision, he’d never have noticed the difference in dirt on the slab. He couldn’t see what lay underneath, but even with his Astaren armour he didn’t want to be falling onto steel spikes or the like.

  One arcane defence, one simple one. Doesn’t mean there aren’t others, but all but the most paranoid mind would consider that sufficient for anywhere people have to walk on a regular basis.

  At the end of the corridor he tightened his grip on his baton and edged around the corner, watching for guards and further traps. The room was also double-height, a rickety-looking iron balustrade running around the top, but otherwise empty. Bare of any furnishings, it also lacked a door and for a moment Enchei was puzzled as he walked cautiously into the centre of the room. Then the scuff-marks again came to his assistance as, on the right hand side of the door, he saw boot-prints on the wall at chest height. Looking closer he realised the rail was different there – newer and securely bolted down. With a few steps run-up he pushed himself up the wall and caught the rail with his right hand, quietly pulling himself onto the walkway.

  There was an open doorway near that and at last he heard some signs of life. There were voices just a few yards ahead, lines of light around a door. Enchei crept forwards, readying his baton as he reached the door. He listened for a moment. Two voices ; too muted for him to hear properly, but he guessed they were Dragons from the depth and rhythm of their accents.

  Crouching, he put his fingers to the gap at the bottom of the door, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together while running an arcane script through his mind. The friction of metal on metal produced a faint sound too high-pitched for any normal human to hear but, as Enchei silently chanted, a shape of the room beyond the door appeared in his mind. The image was crude, a shadowy sense rather than any clear picture, but enough to tell him the rough size and the location of the goshe within.

  He rose and waited a moment longer. The voices had faltered while he was sounding out the room, but then they continued – clearly unsure if they had heard anything at all. Enchei didn’t wait for them to compare notes. He burst through the door and charged for the nearer of the two goshe. With the image of the room in his mind he didn’t stop to take in his surroundings, just let his body drive forward with the baton leading the way. The nearer man was facing his way so Enchei levelled the baton and squeezed the handle.

  A stream of distorted air seemed to erupt from the end and struck the man full in the face. His head snapped back as though he’d been punched and Enchei turned the baton towards the other man, who was rising from his seat and reaching for a knife. The weapon knocked him backwards into the wall, knife forgotten as his hands went instinctively up to cover his face. Neither collapsed insensate though.

  Damn, they’ve got defences in their minds.

  Enchei whipped the baton back across the face of the first goshe. The solid rod connected with his throat and Enchei felt bones snap under the impact. A second blow took the goshe on the side of the head and he was falling like a dead weight even as the second finally staggered forward a few steps.

  Enchei levelled his left hand at the other goshe and the whisper of a half-dozen darts burst from the hump of armour on his arm. They caught the man full in the face, tearing through his dark skin in a spray of blood. In the next moment he was falling too, limp as only a dead man could be, and Enchei was alone in the room.

  He looked down at the baton and shrugged. So much for not killing everyone I meet.

  The room was seven yards across, two racks of three beds occupying the far wall with a stove, table and chairs in the centre of the room. An open cupboard on his right housed the goshe’s equipment and weapons – all mundane in construction, Enchei saw with relief as he cast his eye over the bags and sheaths there. Irato’s possessions had been exactly the same – clearly, if the goshe possessed anything more powerful it wasn’t part of their usual kit. Which gave him an advantage.

  The only object of interest in the room was a faintly glowing crystal ball. Wisps of light floated listlessly inside it. It wasn’t clear what it was for, but Enchei had to assume it was a way to alert the guards to any tripping of the wardings. He left it alone and headed for the only other door, again crouching to sound out what was behind before opening it.

  There was a steep flight of stone-walled stairs, a solid and secure path down into the belly of the building. It was pitch black, but he could tell it led not far underground so, shutting the door behind him, he crept down and found himself in a basement room with two open exits. The left-hand was a tunnel of some sort. He could see an uneven curved roof that appeared to be some sort of ancient sewer leading towards the entrance Lord Shield had shown him. The other was steps down to a deeper level, far below ground and more recently dug than the sewer.

  The air smelled of cold mud and water, a cloying scent of recent excavations as well as old, crumbling brick. Above that was the acrid stink of urine, and blood too, perhaps. Enchei had seen enough dungeons to recognise the aroma and headed for the steps, but before he reached them a white figure loomed like a vengeful spectre.

  The man was quick and big, covering the ground fast enough that Enchei didn’t react in time and felt a boot slam into his chest with the force of a hammer. The aging fighter was thrown against the wall behind him, while the pale giant whipped a pair of long-knives from their sheaths and jumped forward.

  ‘Uttir !’ he barked as he stabbed down.

  Enchei darted to one side and smashed his baton down on the nearest blade. The impact jerked it from its owner’s grip but, as it fell, bursts of lightning leapt from the giant’s mailed fists. Sparks exploded over the baton and Enchei felt his arm jolt and go rigid for a moment. Both men flinched from the burst of light, but Enchei reacted fastest. He punched at the giant’s arm and felt the armour burst under the impact, following it up with a swipe of his protesting arm across the man’s face.

  Somehow the giant jerked back out of the way and slashed with his remaining knife, but Enchei turned into the blow. He met the giant’s arm with his own and grabbed the man’s wrist. Bending the elbow back on itself, bones snapped horribly under the pressure. In the next moment Enchei slammed the handle of the baton down onto the giant’s nose with all the strength he could muster. The blow shattered his face, blood bursting down pale skin as he dropped.

  A second goshe appeared up the stairs, moving fast but this time not quick enough to prevent Enchei levelling his left hand. A spray of tiny steel darts studded the goshe’s cheek and throat, some punching right through into
the brick behind. The man gave a startled gasp and ponderously began to tip backwards, beads of blood appearing at his wounds before he crashed down.

  Nearby, the giant’s legs were twitching feebly, telling Enchei he was dying too. He stepped over the body and headed down the steps to the dungeon below. He kept his arm outstretched as he went now, ready to fill the narrow corridor with a storm of darts. Three doors led off to the left, spaced evenly down the brick-lined corridor. The first contained a naked, blood-streaked man he guessed to be Narin, but didn’t stop to check until he’d confirmed the next two rooms were empty.

  Once that was done he returned to Narin. The Investigator hung limp from a chain fixed to a ring in the ceiling. A jug of water and an unlit lamp sat on a small table, well out of Narin’s reach, but other than that the room was empty. The Investigator’s legs trailed feebly over the stone floor, legs and stone streaked with bodily waste. Enchei took no time in lifting him to relieve the pressure on his arms, wincing at the shudder and recoil from Narin despite his relief that the man was still alive. Through split, swollen lips, he heard a feeble sound, though whether it was pain or something else Enchei couldn’t tell.

  ‘You’re safe now,’ Enchei said to him, easing Narin back down to a relatively clean patch of floor. ‘Stay calm, Narin.’

  Narin’s hands were roughly bound with chain ; the links looped through the ring above but were not actually locked in any way. Instead the weight hanging on it kept the chain too tight to slip, making it impossible for someone as weakened as Narin to free himself.

  Enchei fetched the jug and gently sluiced Narin down, washing the worst of the filth and blood off and letting a little fall over the Investigator’s face. He saw Narin’s tongue twitch out a little to catch some of the drops and smiled in the darkness.

  ‘Aye, you’ll live,’ Enchei whispered to his friend. He cradled Narin’s head, supporting it so he could see into the younger man’s eyes. ‘Time to find you some clothes. I ain’t carrying you naked on my shoulder, that’s for damn sure. Nothing I want to grip there.’

  Chapter 21

  The number of high-born Lawbringers is a de facto secret within the Empire. In this one situation the Great Houses are wilfully blind to the number of gun-trained soldiers serving the Emperor so long as it is not flaunted. Lawbringer Rhe’s utter lack of political sense has hardly helped the matter, but when considering an Empire-wide balance of power, what are a few armed incursions between friends ?

  From A History by Ayel Sorote

  The last light of evening was a gilt arc over the western horizon. Thick trails of cloud striated the sky ; bands of white graduating through shades of grey. Behind them hung the dark shapes of Knight’s divine constellations – appearing as distinct grey pinpricks while the sun was near the horizon. The Order of Empress hung almost directly above them in the sky – just waiting for the sunset to cast its own light on the world.

  Lawbringer Rhe stood on the eastern shore of the Imperial Island and looked out across the Crescent, beyond the high towers of Eagle District, and at the Gods who had passed during the day. Unnoticed by all but the priests who would scan the daytime sky for the faint sight of their lord or lady, what remained of the Order of Emperor above the horizon was hard to make out in the cloud-streaked evening. The Lord General was the only daytime constellation he could discern ; the rest he could only guess at.

  ‘Sir,’ called one of his companions, a diminutive woman who fell short of his shoulder. She pointed north, towards the Arbold Warrant. ‘A signal – there !’

  He turned to look. More than a mile away a white flag streamed in the fading light, swept from side to side by the one of the novices Rhe had sent out. The novice stood near the mouth of the river that defined the border between Arbold and Kayme.

  Both Imperial warrants of the city. Is that a good thing or not ? He knew there would be more guns in House-controlled districts to deal with the demons, but once the warrior caste got a taste for hunting demons how carefully would they discriminate in the dusk ?

  ‘In,’ he said, stepping down into the boat where a team of oarsmen sat ready.

  Behind him the small woman, Investigator Soral, boarded with four others and the oarsmen set off. Rhe crouched at the bow of the boat as they headed across the Crescent, adjusting the sword on his back as he did so. It had been years since he’d carried such a weapon, not since he’d left his homeland in the north to come here and pledge his service.

  He glanced back at the others. All noble-born, each had been taught to fight with sword and gun, then put aside their blade during their time as Investigators.

  And I am told those noble-born Investigators will refuse to wear a sword, if they are raised to Lawbringer rank. My choice was my own yet they follow me like sheep. Law Master Sheven finds it instructive, being of the religious caste, but I am just unsurprised.

  His gaze was noticed by Soral who raised her chin a little, awaiting instruction, but he looked away and the small woman did not question him. From a Major House under Eagle, rival to Rhe’s own House Brightlance, Soral was a typical House Fox warrior – compact and narrow-faced, with startling yellow eyes.

  While she was very young to participate in such a dangerous assignment, Rhe had chosen all of the Investigators on marksmanship alone ; trusting the training of their caste to ensure they would stand with him when they found their prey. After his encounter earlier, he had pulled together every gun-permitted Lawbringer and Investigator. Divided into units, they had been assigned sections of the city to patrol, ready to respond to more demon sightings.

  ‘Demons walk the city streets,’ he said abruptly. ‘An affront to our Gods and their blood descendant, the Emperor. An affront to the honour of the Lawbringers. I will die before I allow this in our city.’

  The stern men and woman in the boat each nodded briefly or grunted agreement.

  ‘They are stronger than men and command magics we cannot understand. Take them down and make certain of any kill. Questions ?’

  No one spoke and the rest of the short journey passed in silence. Even on the other side, the white-faced novice who greeted them did so without words. He bowed briefly to Rhe and waved them forward, heading at a trot down a nearby street. Rhe followed, running tall and stiff with one hand on a pistol grip. The shadows were long in the narrow street, the air close and sickly from the refuse underfoot. It didn’t take them long before they had passed a dozen plague symbols across the doors of houses.

  The street itself was deserted. He saw a few fearful faces at windows, but every door was shut and he guessed barred as well. As dusk deepened, Rhe found himself heading down gloomy, unlit alleys that ran parallel to the river. A rat scampered across their path, making for the river and the novice turned left there, heading for wherever the rat was fleeing.

  Rhe followed him and drew his pistol instinctively as the novice faltered. Ahead was a market square where a dozen or so stone pillars supported a broad roof at the centre, all pitted with age. On the ground was a body, what remained of an Investigator, while through the pillars Rhe saw a large figure moving. He pointed and his companions also drew their guns, fanning out behind him.

  Rhe advanced ahead of the rest, skirting the square with one eye on the various alleys and streets leading off it. The demon was quite unlike the one he’d pursued. It had pale skin that shone in the waning light, but something like shadows slipped across its naked, angular body. As he got closer Rhe saw it had caught a dog and was bent over its struggling form – twice-jointed arms picking at the creature’s body with deliberate, careful movements.

  All of a sudden the elusive shadows on its body sharpened and quickened, becoming dark circles that raced for a moment then snapped still. Rhe felt his breath catch as he saw the circles surge towards him, clustering in the nearest part of the demon’s back while the rest of its skin became as white as snow.

  Gods above, they’re eyes !

  The demon jerkily turned, the shadow-eyes staying focused
on Rhe as the body moved around. Its face was blank, just scars where its eyes and mouth had once been – the nose a mere impression on its hairless, earless face. He took a slow pace forward, determined to buy a few moments and let the others line up a good shot. The demon ducked its head, eyes swirling off around its body to form new clusters as it caught sight of the other Lawbringers.

  Rhe blinked and realised its long fingers had begun to twitch, white light starting to emanate from the thin digits. He wasted no time in wondering what was about to happen and levelled his pistol. The demon recoiled from the movement, eyes spinning around its body as the others did the same, but the light continued to grow so Rhe pulled the trigger.

  The crack of his gun echoed around the square, his bullet snapping the demon’s head back. More shots followed his ; one caught it in the shoulder and the force twisted it around, another lower down and it faltered but remained standing.

  As Rhe went for his other gun a second shot caught it in the head. This time there was a spray of something against the sky behind – grey, not red, but the demon reeled and he knew they’d hurt it.

  More shots rang out, two in quick succession as the last two Investigators fired their pistols. Rhe advanced while the demon was distracted, closing the ground with his second gun ready. Less than ten yards from the demon, he stopped and aimed. The demon’s hands were now painfully bright to look at, haloed in the gloom by pure white light. Rhe lowered his gun a shade, aiming at the raised palm of the demon, and put a bullet right through its spindly hand. From somewhere there was a high sound of pain, near-inaudible to human ears, and the wound in its hand turned black. The light faltered, shadows seeming to fill the skin of its limbs as more bullets rocked its body backward.