The Horns of Ruin s-9

by Tim Akers

  She collapsed in my arms, sobbing. My own strength was gone, but I lifted her, and she lifted me, and together we struggled up the tunnel and out into the light.

  * * *

  Owen grasped my head in his hands, palms against my ears, and began to invoke. My skull burned like a coal. When he released me, long, gummy strands of blood trailed from his palms to my ears. I could hear again. It was loud.

  "That was a very bad idea," he yelled, though I could barely hear him over the rest of it. "I mean, a good idea, but a bad one too. We probably could have made some earmuffs for you, or something."

  Owen had found us huddled in a ruined gazebo, on the shore of the copper lake where I'd seen the Feyr on my way in. The little men and their boat were gone, and the copper lakebed was punctuated with blast marks. The water had drained away. There was a lot of burning topiary, too. It looked surreal, burning green horses and spirals crisping away to nothing while I watched. This was as far as we were able to get in our condition. Owen and his patrol of Healers were fixing us up, one at a time.

  "Where'd they take you?" I asked.

  "Visitors' center. More like a holding cell for the curious. When that thing hit, though, everyone started rushing toward the center. We just followed."

  "What was it?"

  "You tell me. You came out of where it struck."

  I looked over at Cassandra. Her face and arms were bloodless, and the two Healers who were attending her kept their voices low. I saw that her ruined hand was still sleeved in that contraption of steel I had first seen in the alleyway. How long ago had that been? Weeks? Days?

  "I don't know either. We were inside, deep inside. Whatever it was cleaved the hell out of that sanctuary of theirs." I sat up and rubbed my head. "Doesn't make a lot of sense."

  A flight of valkyn screamed by overhead. The city's defenses had finally responded to the attack, and the island was swarming with Alexander's peasant army. Back in the dome the Song had been replaced by a chorus of gunfire and muffled explosions. The whole island was shaking.

  "You don't want to go back in there, do you?" Owen asked, nervously.

  "I'm a Paladin of Morgan, idiot. Of course I want to go back in. But my sworn duty is to her, and her safety." Cassandra was sitting up now, looking around like a child woken from a nap. That Making had taken it right out of her. "How long until they hit Alexander directly, you think?"

  "What?"

  "Whoever these guys are, they're doing this for a reason. They started with Morgan. Maybe because we're the weakest, maybe because we have some trick that could stop them." I thought of the archive, but didn't mention it. I didn't know how that played into this game yet. "Now they've moved against the Chanters. Arguably the Alexians' greatest weapons, thrown into disarray."

  "This is not the time for this conversation," Cassandra said. She was struggling to stand. I rose and pulled her up by her injured hand, to test its strength. She grimaced, but the hand felt strong.

  "Did you do this?" I asked, holding on to her sleeve. Her hand rested in a glove of wires and pistons, each joint articulated by minuscule gears that twitched and shimmered with motion, even when her hand was still. It reminded me of my sheath.

  "The family didn't have any healers, and little medicine." She pulled her hand away and hid it in her cloak. "I did what I could."

  "Does it hurt?" Owen asked. "I could do something for it."

  "No, thank you. I'll be fine."

  A series of thumps resounded out of the new chasm at the center of the island. Something deep inside the artificial ground collapsed, and the home of the Chanters clenched in on itself. Sirens began to wail in the distance, like the horns of the final battle sounding the ruin of the world. I grabbed Cassandra by the shoulder.

  "This is the part where we run away," I said. "Come on."

  We were not alone in our intention. The civilian population had been fleeing the island since the disturbance had started. They were now joined by the broken legions of the city of Ash, the valkyn arcing high overhead, the foot soldiers trying to find the boats they had come in on being turned aside by unit commanders who insisted the battle wasn't yet lost. The only ones not running were the coldmen. They pursued, their stitched bodies clamoring forward even as the ground gave way and they fell into the waters of the lake.

  We stopped at the crumbling edge of the island. The wall had peeled away, and raw machinery bristled out of the ground, trailing into the lake. Owen was on the communications rig, trying to find us a ride.

  "It's a rout," he spat, "and the boats are already gone. They evacced the civilians when they dropped off their units." He pulled off the rig and peered at the city. I could see a flotilla of transport boats steaming toward the docks. "Ten minutes at least, before they get empty and turn around."

  "Where's our boat?"

  "Commandeered to assist in the evacuation." He nodded to the distant fleet. "It's in there, somewhere."

  "You got any holy tricks that involve walking on water?" I asked him. He shook his head. "Well. How about swimming? How does everyone feel about swimming?"

  "A city on a lake, populated by gods, and people are trying to swim to shore." Cassandra slipped between those of us who had gathered at the rough edge of the water, and raised her hands to the sky. She invoked.

  "Amon and his Brothers Immortal were at that time traveling across the land, meeting with the leaders of the people to warn them of the coming fall. In time they came to a great river, deep and swift. Morgan and Alexander argued how best to cross it, and while they argued Amon gathered wood, and rope, and pitch." She clapped her hands together and then pointed them down at the water. The surface of the lake boiled and churned. "He built for them a great ship, which carried them across the river, and later to the far islands, and the people of heaven were with them."

  The girl raised her hands and something loomed in the dark water. It broke the surface with much trouble, listing and pouring water out its sides. It was a boat, covered in black sludge. Those few surfaces that were clean looked to be charred wood. Eventually it settled on the water, and Cassandra hopped lightly into it.

  "Nice trick. You sure that thing's going to hold us all?" Owen asked.

  "Weren't you listening? It's been to the far islands. It should be able to get us across this pond here."

  "This is Amon's ship?" I asked. "What happened to it?"

  "Not his actual ship, no, but a noetic representation of it. And the ship hasn't been the same since…" She shrugged. "You know."

  We boarded and the boat started across the water. Owen took me aside.

  "Since what?"

  "Amon's death," I answered. "They bound him to that ship and burned him alive. It sank eventually, with him still screaming."

  "Ah." He looked around the charred hull and winced. "Cheery."

  "It's not so bad," Cassandra said. "At least we aren't swimming."

  The boat lurched in the wake of another explosion from the Dome of the Song, and I grasped its side. The wood came away in damp splinters in my fist. Hard to forget that the story arc of this particular vessel ended with its owner burning alive and sinking to the bottom of this very lake.

  "Not swimming yet," I corrected.

  * * *

  The boat made the short journey across the bay, docking along the inner horn. From there it was just a short mono ride back to the Strength. Owen left us at the station to report in. The civilian guard and their Alexian supervisors were in an uproar over the attack. Understandable. No one knew what had breached the dome, or where all those newly stitched coldmen had come from. It was unnerving, to maybe have an army floating under the city.

  The Strength of Morgan was dark when we got back to it. Day was mostly over, and the old folks didn't keep the lamps burning deep into the night these days. Not even on days like this. The noetic bonds on the front door were intact, so I invoked my way inside and led Cassandra to the main mess. I found the remains of a meal in the kitchen, gathered up what looked
serviceable, and took it out to the girl. While we broke our fast, I left my revolver on the table, next to my plate, the barrel turned ever so slightly toward Cassandra. We ate in silence.

  "When are you going to tell me what happened with the Fratriarch?" I asked.

  "When are you going to ask?"

  I put down my fork and leaned back in my chair. "I'm asking."

  She nodded, pushed aside the remains of her stew, and then took a long drink from her bowl of warm beer.

  "Can I get a cigarette?"

  "You smoke?"

  "No." She shook her head. "But my lungs do."

  I went out to Barnabas's study and fished up a cylinder of cigarettes and a lighter. She cut free a short length of cigarette, tapped it tight, and lit up. The lighter was an antique, a disk of torsion-driven element that heated up a ring of brass at its center. It took a couple pumps to get it hot, and it smelled of summer tar, but it reminded me of the old man. She tossed the lighter on the table and watched the smoke billow away.

  "So. What happened?" I asked.

  "After you left it was bad. We could tell when you were getting close because they would leave us alone for a while, but most of the time they were just hammering on us. It cost that old man, to keep his shield up."

  "That old man was the Fratriarch of Morgan. He could have held it up forever."

  "No. He could have lasted a long time, I'm sure, but there came a point when… when he had to make a choice. It had been a while since you'd been by to draw them off."

  "Hadn't been that long. I was hitting them as hard as I could."

  She looked at me for a long time, breathing in coals and breathing out smoke.

  "It had been long enough. He decided to run for it, before he was too weak to run at all."

  "That was a bad decision," I said.

  "Maybe. But it was his decision. He invoked a shield onto that pendant and gave it to me, then he peeled back his metal column and broke out into the car. There had been an explosion a minute earlier, and they had slowed down quite a bit. We thought maybe you were nearby. That we could hook up with you and run together."

  "I had just left. Thirty seconds earlier-"

  She cut me off. "Doesn't matter. They were distracted enough. He killed the couple who were in the car and made it to the tracks. There were a bunch in the courtyard. They saw us and started shooting, and we jumped the other way." She tapped off the cigarette and swallowed. "They had someone waiting."

  "Who?"

  "Betrayer. One of the true scions of the Assassin. He might have been there the whole time, for all I know. Just… stepped out of the shadows and struck the old man down."

  "So he's dead. Barnabas is dead."

  "Not that easy. He fell and then he rose. There was a hell of a fight."

  I remembered the icon of the Betrayer we found melted into the stonework, by the wreckage of the train. It made me proud, the old man going out like that.

  "And that's how you got away. Your Betrayer buddy recognized one of his fellow Amonites and gave you a pass."

  She stubbed out the cigarette. Folded her hands on the table in front of her. Stared at me.

  "I don't really care what you believe. I escaped because he ignored me. Didn't care one lick about me. All he wanted was the Fratriarch. Honestly, that's all he could handle."

  "So you ran? The old man fighting his last and you just ran."

  "That's what he told me to do. He gave me the pendant and told me not to stop, no matter what happened. He told me to find you and get back to the Strength of Morgan. That the Warrior Cult needed me more than I could know."

  "That's all? That's all he told you?"

  "We were busy."

  "Well, you got the running part down. Why didn't you come find me, like he said?"

  "You didn't seem the understanding type. I didn't think you'd believe me, especially once that Betrayer showed up."

  "I'm not sure I believe you now." I stood and gathered the dishes, then threw them in a wash bin and stretched. "Not sure I have much choice, though. So that's the last you saw of him. Fighting the Betrayer."

  "That's the last I saw."

  "Well. Here we are, I guess. Doesn't answer most of my questions."

  "So you're not going to kill me?" she asked.

  "Honey, if I were going to kill you, it would have happened a long time ago. You can relax."

  She let out a long sigh, then drew and cut another cigarette. Her hand was shaking as she touched paper to the lighter.

  "I'll work my way to relaxed, someday. You're not an easy lady to relax around. So what now?"

  "Now we talk about why the Cult of Morgan needs you."

  "What about Barnabas?" she asked.

  "Barnabas is the Fratriarch of the Cult of Morgan, and the Warrior's True Sword on earth. He will have to take care of himself." I fiddled with the revolver I had left on the table while we ate, then picked it up and slid it back into the holster. "For now at least."

  Footsteps hammered up the stairs behind us. Lots of them, and there was shouting. I motioned the girl back into the kitchen, then tossed the table on its side. Owen's lucky he was the first one in, and that the light was good enough for me to recognize him.

  "What the hell, Healer? You want me to shoot you?"

  "Not yet. You need to get out of here."

  "This is the Strength of Morgan, consecrated from ancient days to be the home of the Warrior's Cult." I spat, then stood. "Maybe you should be the one getting out."

  "Alexander has declared the Cult of Morgan apostate. He claims that Simeon was conspiring with the Betrayer, that Morgan is working hand in hand with the outcast scions of Amon. That you're responsible for the attack on the Chanters today, and want to overthrow the Fraterdom."

  "That's crazy. I was there, Owen. You were there. You know we didn't have anything to do with that attack."

  "You don't understand. He's saying that you personally are responsible for the attack. There are Chanters saying they saw you in the wreckage, that the breach was some kind of Warrior's invokation."

  "You're kidding."

  "Why do you think I'm here, Eva? The building is surrounded. Patrols are working their way through the lower halls now, searching for you. I'm supposed to arrest you."

  12

  "Where the hell is everyone?" I barked as we rushed along the hallway. "We've got enough food here for about a week. More if we get out of the city and can trap." I buckled up the pack I'd gotten from rummaging in the mess and tossed it to Cassandra. "You're the kitchen girl now. And you'll want to carry a weapon. You got any rifle training in you?"

  "You think they spend a lot of time gun-training the scions of Amon the Betrayer?" she asked.

  "Guess not. But it's a good thing to have. Here." We stopped at one of the few muster points that were still provisioned. I rattled through the cupboards and brought out a stubby Mots-Misley shotgun. Crowd-control stuff, but it could be plenty loud. "Even a Scholar couldn't miss with this thing."

  The girl slung it over her shoulder, stuffed cartridges into the pockets of her robe, then looped the food packet onto her back. I saw that she was still carrying the cylinder of cigarettes.

  "You've got the old man's lighter?"

  "Uh, yeah. Sorry. I can put it back."

  "We'll need it. Never did learn to conjure fire. That's more a Healer trick."

  "I'm standing right here," Owen said. "Don't pretend I'm not coming with you."

  "You're not. You're already in trouble for warning us. I won't have you going apostate."

  "Is this something we pretend to argue about and then I do whatever I want, or do we pretend to argue and then do whatever you want?"

  "We pretend to argue and then I threaten to beat the tar out of you."

  "Fair enough." He nodded. "What am I supposed to tell my unit commander? That I chased you down, found you, then lost track of you?"

  "Something like that," I said, then stepped smartly in and put my fist under his chin.
He dropped like a sack.

  "You two are close," Cassandra said. "I hope we're never that close."

  "Not a chance. Look through his pockets for anything useful," I said as I turned and ran down the hall.

  "Where are you going?" she yelled after me.

  "Gonna try to find the rest of my Cult." I turned a corner and then, under my breath, "Some son of a bitch has to be left. Can't all be gone, can they?"

  Trick was, they were. Trick was, a lot of them were dead, piled up in the leeside barracks like logs of wood. Someone had done for them awful quick. A lot of puncture wounds, a lot of slit throats. Bloody streaks where they'd been dragged in there, but no footprints of those who'd done the dragging. As soon as I found the bodies, I ran back to where I'd left Cassandra. She was still there, sitting on the ground next to the unconscious Owen.

  "I wasn't sure if you were coming back, or if I was supposed to come find you."

  "And what were you going to do if he woke up?" I asked. She shrugged. "Well, better that I came back."

  "You find your Culties?"

  "Nah. Not all of them at least." The Elders weren't there. Simeon was in a hospital somewhere, accused of apostasy. Maybe Isabel and Tomas had been taken too. All those folks in the barracks, they had been initiates, servants, couriers. Chefs. Just folks. Dead folks, now. "We'd best be going."

  "There some secret passage out of here?" Cassandra asked, struggling to keep up. I adjusted my stride.

  "I haven't thought that far ahead yet. There's other stuff we need."

  "We have food, we have weapons. We have the whole city of Ash on our tails. What else do we need?"

  "You'll see. Gods-blessed thing it is. Damned, too. Oh, you'll see."

  We hurried past the final resting place of most of my compatriots. Cassandra noticed the smears on the ground and gave me a look but didn't say anything. I just kept going on ahead. There were signs of struggle in a couple places. Small fights, quickly over. Blood on the tiles. I cursed myself for having taken Cassandra directly to the mess without checking out the rest of the monastery. All those dead, and no one to stand watch over their bodies in the Rest. No one to say the final rites, to invoke them to their graves. No one.