The Secret Kings

by Brian Niemeier

  Water alone couldn’t support drifters either, which was why Teg whispered a prayer to Thera as he spurred the drifter to its top altitude, scraped over the roadside fence, and soared past the edge of a sea cliff.

  The other side rushed closer, and Teg thought they just might pull it off. But time slowed, the opposite cliff seemed to pull back, and Teg’s stomach lurched into his chest as the drifter fell.

  The blue car flew over them, and Teg couldn’t help smirking when he saw it come down, hard but intact, on the other side. Then the cliff face reared up and hid his view of the road.

  Even at full power, the engines did little to slow their fall. The car pitched downward, and Teg saw one last chance. Sporadic mounds of rock broke the surface of the waves. He poured all of his effort into landing on a target no bigger than his vehicle. Even if he aligned the drifter perfectly, it might still slip off the irregular rocks.

  A bone-rattling jolt coursed through the cockpit as the force column made contact with a patch of rock. Teg’s relief was fleeting, because the car wobbled for a moment; then plunged toward the sea. Cast onto the waves, they’d be pulverized against the rocks.

  The ringing in his ears had subsided enough to hear Celwen’s scream as they hit the water. Sea spray fountained up past the roof and surged in through the broken window.

  As his final, all too human act, Teg threw his arms around Celwen in a futile protective embrace and waited for impact.

  It may have been several seconds before Teg realized that no impact came.

  He and Celwen disentangled themselves and stared through the windscreen. The car floated just above the water. Waves lapped against the sides.

  Teg lowered his window and looked into the clear water. A bed of submerged rock lay directly beneath them.

  He turned back to Celwen, who sat beside him drenched and shivering.

  “So you can find my ship?”

  Celwen slowly nodded.

  “Good,” he said.

  Teg’s smuggling days had acquainted him with Vigh’s shoreline. Scanning the area, he found a safe route onto the small beach at the inlet’s base. From there, he could skim along the shallows to a hidden cave system connected to the sprawling network of drainage tunnels under the city.

  Teg smiled. If the Theophilus was anywhere near Vigh, it was as good as his again.

  17

  Astlin followed the soldier into the white tower, which unlike other Guild houses was a tall open shaft; not a big empty box. But the trademark three-stepped gate platform bracketed by four reception desks stood right in the middle, and Astlin’s military escort led her toward it across the oddly empty white floor. Their footsteps were lost in the distant heights.

  “Where is everyone?’ she asked, eyeing the metal pin on the soldier’s blue jacket with the name Capgrave stamped on it.

  “The lobby was cleared because of the orbital strike,” Capgrave said. “It’s standard security protocol, but we’ll make an exception for you.”

  Astlin faced him. “Your leaders—your real leaders—have my husband. I need to see them.”

  Still smiling, Capgrave activated the gate and directed Astlin toward the large ball of light that hummed atop the platform. She suppressed the urge to look back, climbed the steps, and strode through the gate.

  Astlin’s formerly silent heels now clicked on polished stone. She passed down a short hallway, pushed aside a yellow banner covering the exit, and stepped onto a wide disc of gold marble. Windows spanned from the floor’s edges to the ceiling, alternating with banners—each a different solid color—and broad columns of the same golden stone.

  Where am I? She could still sense Teg at the edge of her nexic awareness, so she hadn’t left Temil.

  A cool breeze smelling of grass and the sea stirred Astlin’s black skirt from behind. She turned and saw to her surprise that the gate was now a set of doors made of many wooden frames holding small panes of glass.

  Should’ve brought my jacket.

  The open doors gave onto a green terrace whose manicured lawn ran to a sandstone parapet. Long blue and white streamers flew from slender poles planted along the low wall. Past the wall the land fell away, and beyond that shining silver waves stretched toward the azure sky.

  That sight and the sensations that came with it hinted at fond memories from one life or another, and Astlin embraced the faded echo of joy as she left the door and approached the table in the middle of the room.

  Before she’d taken ten steps, the grass and salt scents gave way to the aromas of smoked meats and cheeses, stuffed olives, and dried fruits piled into brightly painted dishes on the scuffed tabletop. The feast could have served a family gathering—or, Astlin thought darkly, a council of robbers.

  The lone man seated at table hadn’t been there when she’d entered. Now he seemed to fill the whole room, though his height was average and the body under his robe of red-gold silk, which matched the banner behind him, was lean.

  Astlin would never forget the man’s face no matter how many lives she lived. The furrowed skin framed by a greying beard and wiry receding hair; the small square glasses perched upon the crooked nose and the eyes hard as weight stones behind their lenses—all had been burned into her mind at the burning of her flesh.

  Moving as if in a trance, Astlin seated herself in a cross-framed chair facing the man who’d once plunged her into a living nightmare of madness and fire.

  “Are you going to talk,” he asked at length, “or are you just going to sit there staring daggers at me?”

  Astlin fought to keep her voice even. Her eyes never left his. “I think I’ll do both.”

  With a sigh, he plucked a walnut from a brass bowl and held it between his thumb and forefinger. “Why not have a bite instead? Try the cured ham.”

  Astlin’s hand balled into a fist. “I don’t want anything of yours, Kelgrun!”

  “Don’t you?” Kelgrun arched one bushy eyebrow. “What about knowledge—of Shaiel’s new host, for instance?”

  Despite herself, Astlin couldn’t prevent a quickly indrawn breath.

  Kelgrun smirked. “His ship got a taste of our new battle cruiser’s guns. We’d have shown him better hospitality, but he barged in unannounced.”

  Anger fed Astlin’s resolve. “Where is he? Give me a straight answer, or I’ll rip it from your mind.”

  “Will you? I saw firsthand what you could do before…” Kelgrun waved his hand over her. “So go ahead; try to read my mind. Any page. Rip it out. Frankly I doubt you’ve still got the nerve. Whatever’s beyond the Nexus, it tends to make you people soft.”

  Astlin must have failed to hide her surprise, because Kelgrun spoke again.

  “I’ve been around a while. Do you really think you’re the first of your kind I’ve seen? It’s a small world, and nothing new in it!”

  In her shock, a portion of Astlin’s power slipped its leash. Her anger lashed out at Kelgrun, hungry to avenge the pain he’d caused. His will turned the blow with a subtlety she hadn’t expected, but even his skill couldn’t fend off her greater strength for long.

  Astlin closed her eyes and leaned forward, planting her hands on the table. She tore through Kelgrun’s defenses. Sweat rolled down his face, and his left eye twitched as he struggled hopelessly to keep her out of his mind.

  You disfigured me, she reminded him. It’s only fair if I return the favor. Cut your eyes out.

  Kelgrun’s left hand twitched as it removed his glasses. His right hand jerked toward a silver carving knife.

  Another will intervened. Though weaker than Kelgrun, its wielder caught Astlin off guard and broke her mental hold on him. A third nexist; a fourth, then a fifth, joined Kelgrun’s defense. Their combined power forced Astlin to break off her assault and drove her back into her chair.

  Her head pounding, Astlin opened her eyes to see that she now faced six men instead of one. No two came from the same tribe or race. All wore luxuriant silk robes similar to Steersmen’s, but instead of black e
ach man’s robe matched the vivid color of the banner behind his seat.

  She wondered where the five had come from, and if the banners hid secret gates.

  Kelgrun’s right hand had kept its grip on the nut throughout the nexic duel. Now he cracked it with a loud snap.

  “Poor form, child,” he said, donning his glasses again. “You’d best control that temper. Or better yet, give it free rein. You made such a lovely monster, and your career as a savior was doomed before it began. Now, thanks to that love-struck boy you’ll always fall somewhere in-between. No matter how many shards you steal, Zadok will just cleave off more.”

  Astlin spoke with a conviction she didn’t feel. “If Szodrin keeps bringing souls into this world forever, I’ll keep doing everything I can to free them—forever.”

  “Have you told your darling husband this plan?” Kelgrun asked. “Perhaps my brother Magists and I should hold on to him for you.”

  Dread quenched the last spark of Astlin’s anger. “Xander is here?” She couldn’t keep her question from sounding like a plea. “He’s alive?”

  Kelgrun exchanged a look with the blue-robed, dark-haired man at his left before saying, “Somewhere between life and death, actually. Don’t blame us. We’d be enjoying his company now if we could get that pestilential mask off. Sadly, unexpected forces of the most dangerous sort are inhabiting his body, so we’d best not wake him.”

  Astlin swallowed the lump in her throat. “Give…give him back to me.”

  Kelgrun leaned back from the table, a wounded expression on his face. “And give up my only insurance against being brutally murdered at your hands?” He shook his shaggy head. “No.”

  The other Magists chuckled.

  “You’re holding Xander hostage,” Astlin accused.

  Kelgrun shrugged. “Whatever terms are easiest for you to understand. Regardless, you should avoid prying into our minds or dazzling us with your crown, for poor Xander’s sake.”

  Astlin spoke through gritted teeth. “What if I pick up this chair and bash your sick heads in?”

  “That’s right out,” said Kelgrun.

  Holding back her fear and rage, Astlin said, “We’re only talking because you wanted to. Why am I here?”

  Kelgrun popped the shelled nut into his mouth and crunched on it as he spoke. “You’re here now because you passed our little test down at the landing pad.” He grinned at a bald man in mustard-colored robes. “Belar didn’t think you’d find our guide.”

  “I did.”

  Astlin’s eyes followed the high, nervous-sounding voice to its source and saw a small man in pine-colored robes who sat hunched over the table, feeding thin strips of meat through a black web pulled tight against his face. Not quite a veil, it looked more like he’d pulled a fishnet stocking over his head. His unkempt goatee poked through the mesh, and dull brown hair peeked out from under his black velvet cap.

  “Don’t boast, Gien,” Belar said in the thickest Temilian accent she’d ever heard. “You’re offending our guest.”

  Gien suddenly stared at Astlin. His ice blue eyes held an animal hunger that deeply disturbed her. She noticed that he’d finished his meat and was gnawing his own fingertips. Blood trickled down his pale, trembling hand.

  Astlin averted her eyes, letting them come to rest on Kelgrun and marveling that she found the sight of him a relief.

  “What do you want with us,” she asked, “me and Xander?”

  Kelgrun steepled his hands. “A while back we set in motion a series of events that were to culminate in the Last Working, Thera’s return, and the end of the cosmos. Sadly, we miscalculated certain variables. A great deal of time and effort went to waste.”

  “You want to rip out part of my soul again?”

  “No need,” Kelgrun said. “We’ve got the original piece—along with all the rest—thanks to your friend Smith.”

  “Smith.” Astlin made the name a curse. “He’s working with you?”

  “His life’s ambition is to build a god. What better partners than us?”

  Astlin folded her arms. “He already made a god.”

  “Only a larval one,” said Kelgrun. “Under our auspices he can succeed where all others have failed.”

  “So Thera can destroy everything? She’ll probably start with you.”

  “Thus, our need for you and Xander,” Kelgrun said. “Smith claims that you two thwarted Zadok’s designs. If so, perhaps you can help us control Thera. The pseudo-incarnation inhabiting Xander’s body may offer an extra advantage.”

  Astlin pointed at Gien. “If you think me, Xander, and Shaiel will help you control Thera, you’re crazier than the guy who eats his own fingers.”

  Gien’s smile showed pink, crooked teeth.

  “Assuming you’re right,” Kelgrun said, “disappointing us would have unpleasant consequences—especially for your friends.”

  The floor seemed to give way under Astlin. “Friends?”

  Kelgrun scowled. “Don’t insult us. Our capabilities exceed the Guild’s at its height. We’ve confirmed at least two other infiltrators. One translated from your ship to the swamp, where he murdered one of the plebes. Another killed an intelligence officer at a secure docking facility last night. He must have hidden aboard that ragtag ether-runner.”

  Astlin strove to hide her sudden dread. The only one on the Theophilus with Xander was…

  “You’ve sent a pair of wolves among our sheep,” Kelgrun lectured her. “Both are quite elusive, but no matter. Both have been drawn inexorably into our trap.”

  18

  “One crab cake,” Teg told the vendor. “No onion.”

  The mingled aromas of fish, vinegar, and old hot grease wafted from the sidewalk food stand. Glancing at Celwen standing on the wet pavement behind him, he added, “Make that two.”

  The local underground had changed since Teg’s last visit, and a detour through a narrow side-tunnel had forced them to ditch the car. By the time they’d wound their way through the drainage tunnels and surfaced in the heart of Vigh, night had fallen, bringing rain with it. The clouds rolling in from the sea weren’t thunderheads, though the continued Night Gen barrage against the shield above looked like green-white lightning.

  Teg paid for his order with Scrope’s money and turned to offer one piping hot, paper-wrapped cake to Celwen. Her green eyes studied the package skeptically from under the hood of Scrope’s borrowed jacket.

  “You spent all day running from your own people and the local spooks,” he told her. “Eat.”

  “Quiet!” Celwen hissed. “Someone may be listening.”

  Teg looked up and down a commercial block with half its gaudy signs unlit and a dozen screens counting down the fifteen minutes till curfew. Just before the next intersection to the west, yellow lights blinked on a police line cordoning off the front of a building where a drifter had crashed.

  “I think we’re the worst ones out tonight,” he said.

  After a moment’s pause, Celwen took the crab cake. Her agile grey fingers undid the wrapping and pressed the steaming morsel to her lips. She chewed the first bite slowly; then finished the rest in two greedy mouthfuls.

  Teg savored his own portion, along with the memories evoked by the taste and aroma. Finished, he wadded up the wrapping and pitched it in the gutter where the swift current carried it away.

  “What now?” asked Celwen. “My people and the Shadow Caste are locked in a stalemate that I am expected to break.”

  “Now you tell me why you deserted from the side that’s putting on the nonstop light show.”

  Celwen studied the sidewalk as she spoke. “My people want to wipe out yours. I would not answer the clay tribe’s bloodshed in kind.”

  “You’re the only Night Gen opposed to genocide?”

  “No!” Celwen’s head jerked up. “At least, I doubt it. Understand, my people embraced conformity to survive. Dissent is prohibited, and the telepaths are vigilant.”

  Teg mulled over the answer. “You’re s
ure my ship’s around here somewhere?”

  “Yes and no,” Celwen said. “It is hidden far from Temil; far from the Middle Stratum. But the entrance to its hiding place is nearby, somewhere below.”

  Teg looked eastward to where the side street ran into the Strand. A big empty lot occupied the corner. Amid the luxury hotels towering on both sides of the main thoroughfare, it stood out like a missing tooth.

  Rain cascaded down signboards fixed to the wire fence that encircled the lot. The older signs looked to predate the Cataclysm, and Teg recognized one bearing the logo of a major Temilian construction company. The faded picture on the same ad showed a glittering new hotel that had yet to rise.

  That’s where Gray’s used to be, he recalled. The upscale inn and gambling establishment had been a monument to Vigh’s more refined past until an ether-runner crash two decades before the Cataclysm had leveled the place.

  With all the new construction around here, it’s odd that they never rebuilt…

  A drifter sped into the western intersection, rounded the corner, and lurched to a halt near the police line. The car’s shiny exterior reflected a constellation of lights, screens, and signs. All of its doors opened at once, and four men in dark clothes stepped into the street.

  Celwen pressed up against Teg’s back. He felt her slick diving suit through the soggy jacket.

  “Agents of the Shadow Caste,” she said. “How did they find us?”

  Back in the direction of the empty lot, part of the fence running along an alley rattled. A sudden breeze might have shaken the wire, but Teg hadn’t felt any.

  Strange.

  The rainless man-shaped space at the top of the fence was much stranger. It disappeared so fast that Teg would have doubted his eyes if not for Astlin’s account of something similar.

  Teg slid his hand into the pants pocket where he’d stuck his gun. His fingers closed around the checkered grip.

  “I was wrong,” he said to Celwen. “Something way worse than us is sneaking around.”

  She turned toward a gift shop on the other side of the street and tugged on his arm. “We should run.”