Shadespire: The Mirrored City

by Josh Reynolds

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Reynar said, advancing alongside Khord. He lifted his blade and placed it under the corpse-man’s chin. ‘I believe you have something we’re in want of, my friend. Hand it over and my companion won’t pulverise your knees. Again.’ He glanced at Khord, and the fyreslayer nodded approvingly.

  ‘Aye,’ he growled, hefting his maul.

  Culos cowered back before them. It – he – had been a merchant once, Khord had claimed. Now, Culos was one of thousands of broken, creeping things that haunted the streets of Shadespire. A glass-pedlar, scrounging bits of shadeglass and using it to buy himself the protection of more able souls. He was also a liar. And a bad one.

  ‘This isn’t your last piece, and we both know it,’ Reynar said as he wrenched the fragment from the dead man’s crumbling hands. ‘You’re a pack rat, Culos. You’ve got a cache somewhere, probably close by.’

  ‘No,’ Culos whimpered. Reynar felt a spasm of pity for the broken thing. Whatever sort of man he’d once been, Culos was little more than a shadow now. He passed the shadeglass to Khord and stepped back.

  ‘Don’t make us carry you,’ he said. He gestured with his blade. Culos stared at him, and then looked at Khord, who grinned. He whined again, like a beaten animal, and shuffled past, moving as if every joint pained him.

  And perhaps they did. From what Khord and the others had said, the dead of Shadespire felt every moment of their dissolution, even when their very nerve endings had rotted away from the bone. Reynar didn’t like to think about that.

  They urged him out onto the street. The others were waiting for them. Many of Sadila’s followers were men and women like himself. Treasure hunters, scavengers and sellswords, all looking to escape the Mirrored City. He knew some of them by name now. There was the Aqshian, Bolas, with his shaved pate and burn scars; the Chamonite, Tirax Mariketes, with her battered copper war-plate, robes of black silk and veil of coins; and the Azyrite, Dolmen, clad in gear worth more comets than many of them would see in their lives, with his Ironweld long rifle.

  ‘You caught him, then?’ Dolmen said.

  ‘No thanks to you lot,’ Khord said, glowering at them. ‘Can’t catch one mangy corpse – what good are you?’ He shoved Culos forward. ‘Now, where is this hidey-hole of yours? And no tricks, or I’ll scatter your bones across the district.’

  Dolmen and the others fell in around them. Reynar found himself studying them, as he often did. Some had come looking for treasure in the ruins of Shadespire – the other Shadespire – while others had somehow been drawn through mirrors of shadeglass, wandered into the wrong ruin or been cursed by a witch, as Bolas claimed.

  All of them had their stories. Not all of them shared them freely, or at all. They didn’t trust each other, and Reynar didn’t blame them. They all had red hands and black deeds to their names, whether they admitted it or not.

  Bolas had the look of a man who instinctively sized others up for the stew pot, while Tirax refused to reveal her face when anyone was looking. When he thought no one was listening, Dolmen prayed with the feverish intensity of one who knows it’s futile. And Khord’s laughter was a brittle thing, just on the knife edge of madness. Reynar wondered how long it would take before he was like them. He tried not to think about it.

  Culos whimpered and muttered as he led them into a tangled warren of side streets that had likely been a slum even before the cataclysm that destroyed Shadespire. It put Reynar in mind of a rat’s burrow – all narrow passages and overlapping paths – and he instinctively sniffed the air.

  ‘Sniffing for ratkin, manling?’ Khord asked.

  ‘Never hurts to check,’ Reynar said as the others tensed. Most of them had fought skaven before. The ratkin infested every realm, no matter how harsh. Khord nodded.

  ‘No ratkin here, manling. We’d already know if there were. They always leave traces, and not just the stink of their musk.’ He set his maul across his shoulder. ‘Not that I doubt that there’s something watching us, eh, glass-pedlar?’ He made as if to catch hold of the back of Culos’ neck, but the dead man suddenly twisted out of reach.

  Culos leapt away with a strange hunching motion, and Reynar heard the sound of a rope snapping. ‘Trap,’ he shouted, flinging himself to the ground. Something sharp swung down out of the darkness above and slammed a burly Shyishan right out of his boots. It carried him back, slamming into the side of the street, where it shattered, and the twitching body collapsed in a bloody heap.

  Reynar glanced back and saw the remains of what might have been an improvised scythe of black glass dangling from a frayed rope. He heard Khord curse, and turned to see Culos scampering down the street as fast as his withered limbs could carry him. ‘I’ve got him,’ Dolmen snarled, lifting his rifle. Reynar slapped the ­barrel aside.

  ‘Don’t be a fool.’

  ‘Don’t call me a fool,’ Dolmen snapped. ‘And never touch my rifle.’

  ‘Then don’t shoot our damn guide.’ Reynar started after Khord, who was already stumping in their quarry’s wake. ‘At least not until we’ve got what we came for. Now try to cut him off before he gets to the Lane of Sighs.’

  As he caught up with the fyreslayer, he said, ‘What are we looking for, by the way? Another piece of the Faneway?’

  Khord laughed harshly. ‘Something like that.’

  Reynar looked back. Dolmen and the others were moving off. If they were quick enough, they might be able to cut Culos off before he lost himself in the maze of side streets. Or they might be lost themselves. He’d heard the stories of expeditions vanishing to the last sword, or of groups going out only to return weeks later with no idea they’d been gone so long. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t have split up,’ he muttered.

  ‘Too late to worry about that now,’ Khord said. ‘Stay close. Shadespire plays tricks on you. There are places in the city where time is like tar, trapping anything that wanders in. Or else days run like water. I’ve seen a man turn to dust just by stepping down the wrong alleyway.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Reynar said, his skin crawling. He thought he heard someone chuckle just behind him, and he spun, hand on his sword.

  Khord stopped. ‘What is it now, manling?’

  Reynar shook his head. ‘I thought I heard… never mind.’

  ‘What?’ Khord peered at him, suddenly alert. ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘I thought I heard Sadila.’

  Khord grunted. ‘You might well have.’ He grinned. ‘She spies on us, you know. They all do. The Katophranes. They like to watch us struggle and die.’

  Reynar swallowed. ‘How do you know?’

  Khord shrugged. ‘What else do they have to do? Now come on. We don’t want that worm getting too far ahead of us.’

  Thankfully, Culos wasn’t hard to track. He wasn’t moving fast – but fast enough to stay out of reach. Khord slowed, and Reynar was forced to do so as well to avoid running into the duardin. ‘He’s getting away,’ he said.

  ‘No. He’s going right where we want him to go.’

  Reynar frowned. Then realisation hit. ‘You knew about the trap.’

  Khord grunted. ‘Not hard to see, if you’ve the wit.’

  ‘You could’ve warned us.’

  ‘Then he would’ve led us into another. Culos is smart. He was never going to lead us where we wanted to go while we had a knife to his throat. But now he’ll run right to it.’

  ‘You sound sure of yourself.’

  Khord looked at him. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Care to make it interesting?’

  Khord frowned. ‘A wager?’

  ‘First gleanings says there’s another trap.’

  Khord grinned and spat into his palm. Reynar did the same, and they clasped hands. ‘It’s a wager.’ Khord shoved him forward. ‘You first.’

  Reynar sighed and started back after Culos. The glass-pedlar had reached the end of the
street and was hustling down what looked to be another blind alley.

  Reynar reached the mouth of the alley just as Culos wriggled through an oddly shaped gap between the wall of a building and the street. It was a slanted wedge of black, curled at the back corner of the alley. He paused, suddenly feeling as if he were being watched.

  He glanced up. His heart stuttered in his chest. A skull the size of the moon, or perhaps a moon shaped like a skull, was looking down at him from far above. It lacked solidity, and seemed almost a trick of the shadowed unrealm that Shadespire drifted in, but it was there nonetheless. Gazing down not at him, he realised, but at the city. That didn’t make it better. He shook his head, trying to ignore it. That was the only way to be safe. When he looked up again, it was gone. He let out a shaky breath.

  Khord pushed past him. ‘Don’t look at the sky, manling. I keep telling you – no good comes of looking up.’ He stumped towards the gap Culos had wriggled through. ‘There we are. Just like I thought.’

  ‘It’s a hole.’

  ‘It’s a window,’ Khord said. ‘This building was taller once. Or the street was lower. There’s likely whole chambers under there, and cellars beneath them.’ He sank to his haunches, his maul braced across his knees.

  ‘Also traps.’

  Khord glanced at him, frowning. ‘Just watch the street.’

  ‘No. I’ll do it,’ Reynar said. ‘You keep watch.’

  Khord nodded, not arguing. ‘Don’t take too long, manling. The streets are unsettled today. Something is on the prowl.’ He gestured meaningfully to the sky. Reynar allowed himself a half-second to wonder if Khord had tricked him before he bent and set about squeezing through the gap.

  It was a tight fit. Culos had left pieces of tattered flesh on the stones, and Reynar scraped himself raw before he tumbled through. He slid down onto the floor beyond. Dust filled his lungs, and he coughed. At first, it was pitch black. Then motes of light seemed to bloom. Will o’ the wisps, dancing on chill drafts, illuminated the chamber with washes of pale green light. Waving a hand to clear the air, Reynar looked around.

  The chamber was in disarray, and had been for some time. Roof beams had collapsed, and a wall had toppled inwards. At some point, a fire had been set. There was shadeglass – fragments of shattered artefacts – strewn about the floor and embedded in the mortar of the walls. A single support pillar marked with hundreds of large cracks occupied the centre of the chamber, and the roof overhead groaned alarmingly as Reynar stood. He could almost feel the weight of the structure above, and he tensed, half expecting it to collapse.

  ‘Culos,’ he murmured. No reply. He hadn’t expected any. He could see places where things had been moved as if in a hurry. Streaks in the dust. Smudged masses of mould. Disturbed trails of cold water dripping down from somewhere above. There would be another passage somewhere – a set of concealed steps, perhaps. Whatever Culos had come for was gone. He glanced back towards the gap, where Khord would be waiting.

  He smiled. Not yet. They’d made a wager, after all. He intended to find the trap, and if he happened to stumble across something of value… well, that was just his good fortune. He started looking, searching for anything that Culos might have forgotten. Shards of shadeglass hung like decorations from the ceiling beams, and he was careful not to disturb them. They could be collected later if Khord decided they were important. Reynar avoided touching shadeglass now unless he had no choice.

  He reached out to brace himself on a support beam. He felt the string snap before he heard it. He threw himself to the side as half a dozen spears of shadeglass dropped from somewhere above his head and embedded themselves in the ground, right where he’d been standing. He came quickly to his feet, his heart pounding.

  ‘Well,’ he muttered. ‘First gleanings to me.’ A woman laughed. He paused, but only for a moment. Long enough to see the flash of her smile in the dangling shards of glass. ‘Lady Sadila,’ he said with forced cheerfulness. ‘Checking up on me?’

  ‘There is little else to do. I have no hands to work, no belly to feed, only my mind to occupy.’ She circled him, streaming like condensation through the fragments of shadeglass hanging from the beams. ‘How long has it been? I’m sure you’ve been keeping track.’

  He went back to work, trying to ignore the creeping sensation of her eyes on his unprotected back. ‘Two weeks,’ he said, moving aside a broken plank. Something with too many legs scuttled away, seeking a new shelter. ‘It’s been two weeks since I arrived.’ He turned.

  Sadila studied him through the shards, a half-smile on her face. ‘Two weeks of life you would not have otherwise had.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Sadila’s smile widened. ‘Perhaps. You are built for survival, sellsword. That is what caught my eye from the first.’ She drew closer to him, bobbing through the fragments, her form stretching and skewing strangely. The glass clattered gently, almost like footsteps. ‘Among my people, cowards were doomed to a short life. Fear killed more quickly than any blade. But you…’

  ‘I’m no coward. I just know the value of my own life.’

  She laughed. He hated that laugh. He turned and gestured with the chunk of wood he held. ‘What do you want, Sadila?’

  ‘Lady Sadila,’ she corrected, still smiling.

  ‘I see no lady. Only a ghost that has not the wit to lie still.’

  Her smile vanished. Dead or not, she had a temper. ‘I am not a ghost. Merely a prisoner. Like you.’ She stared up at him through fragments at his feet, and across at him from the far wall where a cracked mirror hung, her unblinking gaze broken into a hundred black opal shards.

  Reynar did not meet her splintered gaze. Whether Sadila had the power to hurt him directly or not, she had influence over those who could. Even as he baited her, he was careful to avoid doing anything to attract their ire.

  ‘It’s not much of a game so far,’ she said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘You are singularly determined to be uninteresting. Two weeks, and not a scheme, not a plot – not even a whisper of an escape attempt.’ She sighed. ‘You had best make me smile soon, Reynar, or I shall grow bored. And then I will find a new amusement, and you will be cast adrift in this sunless place – after losing your head.’ She paused, her smile returning. ‘Or perhaps I will merely have your arms and legs hacked off and your limbless body left to grub in the dirt. Think on that, sellsword.’

  She was gone a moment later, vanished as suddenly as she’d come. Bored perhaps, or called away by some new interest. Reynar was not so arrogant as to think he was her sole amusement. He was beginning to suspect that it was a whisper game of sorts, played with all of them to varying levels. He wondered if she spoke to Khord as well, and what she might say to him. The duardin didn’t strike him as one who could be bullied.

  Something clinked beneath his foot. He looked down. Beneath a splay of tattered cloth was a broken box, full of straw and pieces of glass. A thick, heady smell rose from it, and he sank down into a crouch. Broken bottles were mixed among the straw. And one intact, buried beneath the rest. Some sort of wine, he thought, though he didn’t recognise the vintage. Old though. The sort of thing he’d have been tempted to sell, once.

  He retrieved the bottle and weighed it, considering. Then he stowed it carefully in his bedroll, where it made for an awkward weight. He’d taken to carrying the blanket wherever he went. Travel light, or not at all. Still, the bottle might come in handy. He stood and stretched, trying to ease the persistent ache in his muscles. He had not slept. He’d wanted to, but sleep, like hunger, did not come here.

  He heard a thump and a curse. He turned, hand on his sword. ‘Khord?’

  ‘Aye, manling. It’s me. You’re not dead, are you?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Good. Find anything?’ Khord asked as he stepped beneath the fire-blackened timbers. Ash swirled about him as he moved, and Reynar thought he saw faces in it before it
fell away. He shook his head.

  ‘Nothing of interest. If Culos hid something in here, it’s gone now. Culos as well.’

  ‘Let the others worry about the glass-pedlar. We’ll find what he hid. We always do.’

  ‘We don’t even know what it is. He might’ve taken it, for all we know.’

  ‘He might’ve.’ Khord ran a finger along a blackened beam. He tasted the soot and smacked his lips. ‘Fresh as the day it was set,’ he murmured. He looked at Reynar. ‘We don’t know what any of it is, manling. It’s all shards and splinters. That’s why we take what we find to Ilesha and let her puzzle it out.’ He tapped the shards of hanging glass with his maul. ‘Might be these, here, even.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No.’ He squinted past Reynar and pointed with his maul. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What’s what?’ Reynar turned. ‘I don’t see anything.’

  ‘That on the floor, there.’ Khord pushed past Reynar and looked down. Reynar peered over him and saw only what he’d at first taken to be a curious burn mark on the floor amid drifts of ash and burnt wood. ‘That’s a rune-hatch, or I’m a beardling. My folk devised these, among other mechanisms, for the people of Shadespire long ago.’

  ‘It’s a mark on the ground.’

  Khord scuffed a foot over the char, revealing a small plate set into the flagstones. Its surface resembled a map of an unfamiliar labyrinth – curving lines interlocking in a strange geometric pattern. ‘No, it’s not.’

  Reynar looked around. ‘He must’ve moved things around, made it look as if he’d taken everything. Figured we wouldn’t see it.’

  ‘He figured wrong.’ Khord crouched before the strange, puzzle-like plate and began probing its corrugated contours. ‘Probably thought it was safe enough. Didn’t reckon on us being able to – ah.’ There was a sharp metallic click. Reynar saw that Khord had somehow slotted several of the curving lines into new positions. There was a pneumatic wheeze and a sudden gust of stale air. The hatch turned inwards, as if balanced on a fulcrum.