He did as he was told. When he touched the left handle, the machine inched forward.
"Left handle's forward and back, right handle's up and down, red button stops it dead." Miriet's tail twitched. "There's a door in the front wall, it'll open when you fly towards it."
Christian gave the left handle an experimental tug, and the machine rocketed towards the back wall. He slammed the red button down.
"Easy does it," Miriet said. Her voice was as dry as ever.
The demons' clanking footsteps came nearer and nearer, and the door he'd come from opened. Christian yanked the left handle forward, and the flyer hurtled towards the front wall.
"We're not gonna make it-" Miriet sounded panicked. "Pull up-"
The door opened just as Christian thought he'd hit the wall, and he shot out into the sky. He felt the pit drop out of his stomach and clung to the flier for dear life.
"Is that the Palace?" he asked Miriet.
"I dunno? Head for it. Quick!"
Christian pressed the left thruster, and shot forward. He heard the whine of two motors behind him, but the suit blocked his peripheral vision. He couldn't look back and see without craning his neck to the point of pain.
A bolt of light shot towards him, and he instinctively hit the right handle. The flyer dropped like a stone, spinning to the ground.
Christian wanted to scream. He cursed, and tried to pull up, like Miriet had said. She was muttering alien obscenities in his ear.
It was the Palace he was heading towards, at least. He could see the tower of King Anselm's Folly as clearly as day, and the ornamental lake at the edge of the Kings' Forest.
"Miriet?” His voice was deathly calm, but his palms were sweating inside the suit. “How do I land this?"
"..." Miriet cursed again, long and loud. "You're not gonna-"
"Hold on."
He felt Miriet's claws dig into his back, and he pulled down, hard, on both handles. The flyer fell into a long tailspin, and he had to grip its front just to stay upright.
Christian's teeth clenched, and he could feel the skin on his face being pulled back from the speed. The lake stretched out, great and blue beneath him.
He hit the red button, and the flyer dropped towards the lake.
The water knocked his breath away. He fell into the depths of the lake, the cold green water closing around him.
With one last burst of effort, he kicked for the surface. His head broke through the surface, water dripping from his mask.
He pulled it off, and took a deep breath of fresh air. Miriet climbed from the suit's back, onto his shoulder.
Christian pulled himself out of the water, still dripping. He was panting, just trying to suck in the air. The water felt good on his face and his shoulders, and his damp hair fell into his eyes..
"Are we safe now?" he asked.
Miriet didn't get to answer.
The ground shook. It was as if the earth itself had turned into the deck of a ship, pitching and yawing beneath his feet. A sound louder than human understanding pounded at his ears.
The huge, silver cone of the demon’s ship rose up and hurtled into the sky.
Christian watched, dumb-struck, open-mouthed, as the ship flew through the air. It moved impossibly quickly. Between one blink of an eye and the next, it moved easily more than a league. Soon, it had vanished, far into the distance.
Miriet's guttural cursing rang in his ears.
"Tarking son of a faarghath horq-” She cut herself off.
"Where are they going? Are they coming after us?" Christian held his staff at the ready.
"No." Miriet drooped, and her whiskers twitched, brushing against his ear. "They've left."
"But why?" Christian's eyes widened. "Just... leaving a prisoner..."
"They've got other prisoners,” she said. “They've got more important things to worry about. Fuel, things like that.”
“...So how do we catch up with them?”
Chapter Seven
Christian slipped into a side hallway. Dread covered his face like a veil. He was ashamed to show it. Even if he could see no one in these endless stony corridors, there was always someone who might be watching from behind a tapestry or underneath an open window. Things were quiet, all too quiet. It worried him, but there wasn't much he could do, despite his misgivings.
"Okay. We can still make this work. We can trace 'em. Where do you keep your commtech?" Miriet asked. Her tail twitched, slamming into the back of his neck.
"I don't even know what that word means." Christian frowned. "Or where they've gone."
"Wait, what?!" Miriet's claws dug into his shoulder.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated. He was growing weary of her nonsense.
"Communications technology. ...If you had it, maybe we could track the tarking thing." She sniffed, reminding Christian of a fussy old lady, though her voice still sounded young. "...Okay, plan B. Where's the fireworks?"
"The what?"
"Sorry, I was speaking idiomatically. The tectonic movements?"
Christian's face remained blank.
She snorted. "You're hopeless. The earth moves. Quakes and stuff?"
"In my life, and the life of my father before me..." he began, slowly. His brow furrowed as he tried to think. "The lands across the sea have had the most earthquakes. They say it's a sign of the end of the world."
"Across the sea, huh?" Miriet's tail twitched. "I bet they've landed on a fault line so they can tap into the geothermal power-"
"What does that word mean?"
"I'll explain later." Miriet reared up on four legs and scuttled down Christian's arm, with lizardlike agility. "Where have most of the earthquakes been?"
"The Shinoam plains." Christian frowned. "Across the Channel."
"So that's where they went, most likely." Miriet rested on his foream like some sort of strange falcon. Her scales shimmered, changing color to match the steely blue of his suit, and her golden eyes gleamed in the torchlight. "I dunno why, but they're using a lot of power, and that can't be a good thing for your friends.”
"It's two weeks' journey." He mentally shuddered. There was no telling what sorts of things a horde of demons could do to their captives in two weeks.
"So. They're in Shinoam. All we need to do is ping the Commonwealth, get your people rescued, watch them kick some Solari ass, and get out."
"I understood everything before 'ping the Commonwealth'." Christian frowned.
"Just forget it..." Miriet's whiskers twitched.
Christian heard something coming, and frowned. The staff felt heavy in his hand, and he didn't want to use it to kill again. It was a devil's device, and the thought of using it again made him sick. Still, it was his only weapon.
"Lord, forgive me," he murmured.
He heard a crackle of noise, and a barked command in the alien's guttural tongue. This was no time to doubt himself. If he could run, he'd run. If he had to fight, with luck, the Lord would defend him.
His heart was in his mouth as he ran and the staff was beginning to feel all too heavy. He wished that he knew where the other nobles were-if, indeed, anyone was left at Court.
"Oh, for god's sake!" someone cried, from around the corner.
He recognized the voice, and it gladdened his heart. It wasn't one of the creatures-what had Miriet called them, 'Solari'? The voice was high-pitched, warm, and unmistakably human. It was the voice of his squire, Edmund, and his soul warmed knowing that his friend was still alive.
The good feeling lasted until Edmund leaped at Christian, pointing a sword directly at him.
Christian raised the staff, blocking his attack.
"Edmund, it's me-" he said, trying to parry his squire's attack. He was scared, of course, but he felt a wild surge of pride at the same time. Edmund had grown much stronger than he'd been the last time they sparred.
"Lord Arundel?" Edmund's eyes widened. "...What are you doing dressed like one of them?"
"It's a long story, belie
ve you me." Christian frowned, trying to duck around the corner that Edmund had sprung from. "What are those creatures doing here?"
"I don't know!" Edmund motioned at Christian. "This way."
Christian knew this part of the Castle all too well. It was King Helyot's Castle. Helyot had been, rightly, terrified of assassins. He'd built his part of the castle like a maze, honeycombed with tunnels and secret rooms.
When their father had died, Christian had hidden himself and Linna in one of those chambers, so that their House wouldn't be wiped out. It had taken him months to establish himself as a player in the Court's great game, and months more before he felt safe moving Linna to their current rooms. Yes, he knew these tunnels well, and though he hated them, he felt like he could lose any pursuers here.
"Where are we going?" Miriet asked.
"The dungeons," Edmund said, automatically, before blinking. "Wait, Lord Arundel, did you-"
"No, that was Miriet." Christian frowned, and leaned on the staff. He was growing wearier by the moment, but they had to keep moving. "I'll explain who she is later, all right?"
“What pronouns?” Miriet murmured.
“Edmund's a he,” Christian whispered back.
"He looks like you," Miriet said. "He your brother?"
"No. We're not discussing this." Christian said it bluntly, because he wasn't sure whether or not it was a lie. It was true, Edmund did look like him. They had the same big nose, the same straight, dark hair, the same gait. Christian took after his father, and he suspected that Edmund did, too, but there was no way he could know for sure.
He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. "Why the dungeons?"
"The demons haven't figured out how to get in yet. It's our only hope." Edmund kept his left hand on the wall as they moved, speaking quietly. "Most of the survivors were on the bottom floors."
Christian stiffened as Edmund said that. He knew the others were still alive, somehow-after all, Christian himself still lived. But he didn't want to correct Edmund, for fear that 'survivors' might be the right word, after all. Who knew what the Solari were doing to their captives? He could think of some terrible, terrible things, and he shuddered as he did. He forced himself to take a deep breath and push the images out of his mind.
Edmund pushed against a section of wall, and it turned on a hidden pivot. Christian followed him through the secret door and down a thin, winding staircase.
They were on the last floor of the Palace proper, now. This part of the Palace, Lord Tybalt's Castle, was where Christian's chambers were. The walls were made of rough, black stone, and the floors were polished from long use. There were no windows here; the torches on the wall reeked of burning grease. Every sound they made echoed.
Christian heard footsteps behind them, and paused, glancing back. He gripped his staff tightly, expecting to see the metallic blue glint of Solari armor.
Instead, he caught a glimpse of gold cloth and copper-y hair. Then the stranger darted back, into the shadows. Whoever it was, he wasn't very good at tailing them.
"Edmund?" he said, quietly.
His squire cursed under his breath. "Run."
"What?"
“Collaborator.” Edmund was already a pace ahead of him, trying to flee. Christian started to follow, but stopped when he heard a voice.
"They went this way!"
Christian wheeled, hand on the hilt of his sword. Their tail was a young man, in Rospier colours, with copper-colored hair-the young man he'd bested before the betrothal. Rospier spoke into something he'd hidden in his hand.
"Joy," Miriet muttered. "We'd better get out of here, they've probably got a camera on him."
Christian wanted to cut Rospier to pieces, but he forced himself to run after Edmund. There was no sense in pursuing revenge if it meant he himself would die.
He caught up to his squire at the bottom of the staircase, in front of a large sculpture. It was the Virgin Mary holding the wounded Lord as he died, and Christian crossed himself as quickly as he could, out of respect.
Edmund fumbled through his pockets, looking for something. Then he bent over, looking under the base of the statue.
"Where's the bloody key?" he said to himself.
Christian frowned. The keys to these passages could be anything from a standard door key, to a gentle pressure on the right stone. It was hard to tell what, if anything, would awake the ancient machinery.
"What's it look like?" he asked.
"Mary's finger." Edmund nodded at the statue. "But I don't know where that bastard left it."
There was no time to waste. Christian could hear loud, echoing footsteps coming towards them.
Miriet wriggled out of of Christian's suit, her claws digging into the back of his neck, and lept to the floor. He rubbed the back of his neck, and bent down, joining her. She wormed her way under the statue and disappeared.
Christian felt a thick lump rise in his throat. If they were caught now, he thought, they'd be treated much worse than if they'd stayed aboard the ship.
"Found it!" Miriet called. She crawled out, and held up a scrap of stone. She had to use both of her forelegs to hold it.
"Are you sure?" Edmund bent down, looking at it. "...By God, you're right!"
He jammed the finger into place, and the statue turned, opening to reveal a staircase going deep into the Palace's depths. Miriet leaped down the passage, and Christian followed.
Edmund did something to the door behind them-Christian wasn't quite sure what-and it closed, leaving them trapped in total darkness.
Christian blinked as his eyes tried to adjust. He felt something sharp dig into his leg, and cursed.
"Sorry." Miriet said, from ankle-height. "Where are we going now?"
"The safe room's this way." Christian tried to make out Edmund's shape in the gloom, and followed his voice, as best as he could.
The room Edmund led them to was small, lit by a single candle. There were no windows, and the only furniture was simple-two chairs and a table worthy of a peasant's cottage.
Each chair was occupied by a man. One of them was huge, larger than the Green Knight that Sir Gawain had made a bet with so long ago. He was as bald as a stone, with a patch over one eye, and his body bulged with muscle. A long scar ran down his neck and into his gray tunic. The other man was short and slender, with golden hair and a pointed nose. He looked around as if he were sizing everything up, trying to decide how to use it best.
"This is Georg, and that's Mad Matt." Edmund pointed them out. Christian was relieved that the mad one was also the small one. "They're both... prisoners. They rescued me when I came down here the first time."
"Pleasure," Christian said, carefully.
"...In' that Lord Arundel?" Georg rumbled.
"It is, but he's with us, I swear." Edmund clasped his hands together, nervously.
Christian leaned against the wall, heavily.
"I need to know what's going on," he said. "Why are those... creatures in the palace, and why isn't anyone trying to drive them off?"
"No one knows." Mad Matt said. He was leaning forward, eyes narrowed. "But from what I can tell, there's barely anyone to put up a fight."
"Why the hell not?" Christian could feel rage boiling in his veins. He tried to control his temper; there was no point in getting angry. It'd be a waste of energy.
"They... took most of you. The nobles, I mean." Matt laughed. It sounded more like a seal's angry bark than proper amusement. "Why do you think there ain't anyone in the castle? The smart people-servants and the like-they got out while the getting was good. The nobles tried to fight, got their damn fool selves killed."
Christian grabbed the staff tightly.
"What about my sister?" he growled through gritted teeth.
"Dunno. Haven't seen her." Matt leaned forward. "You looking for a fight?"
"No."
"Then get your hand off that thing."
Miriet cut in. "All right, so this place is mostly alien-controlled, right?
How would we leave? Say, for the other continent?"
She really did have a one-stroke mind, Christian thought.
"The other continent?" Georg rumbled.
"That's where they took the nobles. ...We think," Miriet said. "We've got to get to the mothership as quickly as we can. Your world's safety depends on it."
Mad Matt grimaced and teetered back in his chair, putting his feet up on the table, like a schoolboy. Christian noticed that his teeth were very yellow and pointed, like a rat's.
"Want my advice?" he said. "The world doesn't need noblemen. Or their pet lizards."
Miriet squawked with displeasure, trying to say something, but Matt kept talking.
"If you're really worried about saving the world, getting rid of the nobles is the first way to go. The nobles and the bloody Church."
Christian ignited the staff, and pointed it at the man's throat.
"Say one more word about the Church and your life is forfeit," he said.
Matt just laughed.
"Go ahead, kill me. Dead men can't talk."
Miriet's nostrils flared, and he could have sworn he saw a puff of smoke rise from them.
"Will you both stop the macho posturing?!" she said. "I swear, Christian, if you don't put the staff down now I will turn your leg into a scratching post."
Having no desire to feel Miriet's claws again, Christian lowered the staff, and turned off the fire for good measure.
"Good gods." Miriet snorted again.
Georg glanced at Mad Matt, and when he spoke, his voice rumbled like thunder.
"If you want to cross the channel," he said, "you want to talk to Verdenlace."
"Verdenlace?" Christian echoed, unable to believe him. Rafael Nicodeme Ephremet, Lord tel Verdenlace, was decrepit and senile, carried about in a chair by servants. He had had a reputation for cruelty when Christian was young, but now, he was only vaguely meanspirited, trapped in a world of the past. There was no way that he had been spared when so many stronger men had been taken.
"Yes, Verdenlace." The big man stared at Christian for a long, long moment. His accent was thick; he was from somewhere far north of Iria. "He is hiding in the wine cellar. I can make you meet."
"...All right." Christian nodded. "When, and where?"
The Court Of Stars (The Commonwealth Quartet Book 1) Page 5
