“And the reason for the torch, sir?” Lowe asked quietly, wiping the blade with a stained handkerchief.
“Testing something I read about in those contraband magic sources Major Books over there so kindly provided.” Festus extinguished his torch. In the darkness, the smell of burnt pitch grew stronger. “Fire seems to get the beasts excited . . . like waving warm, raw meat in front of a slobbering hound. Good to know. Scarly, you might as well dismount, too. We'll tie the horses to the trees and finish our approach on foot. Time to unload the cart.”
General Festus unfurled a long, black satin bag, which he tied around his body shoulder to waist like a sash. Off of Armand's perplexed look, he grinned. “For all the dragon treasure,” he said, patting the sash.
Armand looked at the ruins, doubtless looted centuries ago. As the emperor said, stealth trumped force when dealing with dragons. These ruins were a thief's paradise with their nocturnal slumbering guardians. The eerie blue light from the tower cast an ethereal glow over the prone bodies of the giant, winged lizards. “Treasure. Of course.”
They unloaded their mechanical armor, buckled the latches, and primed the hydraulics under the light of the new moon. They knelt in the dying leaves until a soft, shuddering hum emerged from each suit. Then they crept into Port Eclare as delicately as four men in full mechanical armor can creep.
Armand had grown to loathe the stupid cart horse and the hundreds of minor armor repairs and cart hitches that had suddenly become his responsibility along the journey. But as they drew closer to the dragons lounging on the broken walls of Port Eclare, he was glad they brought the new Mark 4 Drake mechanical armor.
Scarly must have noticed the major's discomfort. “See that beast snoring, sprawled over the wall?” The private pointed one of his huge gauntlets. “Is he really snoozing? Or is it watching us pass, biding their time, waiting to slaughter the lot of us?”
Vice said nothing and marched on, shoulders set, leaning forward, stoic. What did he care for the opinions of lackeys?
“Oh, Private Lowe?” Scarly asked. “Why don't you tell the major how 'xactly them large drakes would tear us apart? Remember all the general's old stories, eh?”
“Hard to forget, Private Scarly. Can't sleep a wink after he tells 'em. A big drake like that? Sneeze as soon as look at ye. Likes to play with his food like a cat with a ball of . . .twine, in't it?”
“Oh, yes.” Scarly's massive helmet creaked as he nodded and the suit amplified his movements. “Unravel you slowly. Jus like twine. Jus like twine. Then they laps up all your blood. Jus like wine. Jus like wine.” His eerie, cackling laugh echoed through the armor.
“Violent creatures,” Vice said. “Lucky I have you two fine gentlemen to protect me.”
“Feh,” Lowe said with a quiet ping. If Armand didn't know any better, he could have sworn the reprobate had just spat in his helmet.
“Those scaly bastards will sleep until dawn,” Private Scarly said. “Unless somebody does something stupid like poke them . . . or light a camp fire.”
“Or step on them,” General Festus said as they worked through the maze of reclining scaly bodies towards the tall, glowing tower at the center of the city ruins. “Watch where you put those big metal feet, lads.” A wry chuckle echoed from his helmet. “My boys are just being colorful, Major Vice. You would hardly notice any unraveling. Dragons like to cook their food before they peel it.”
As they approached the tower and the glow became brighter, Armand wondered what awesome weapon must be hidden within the tower. He had read those tomes vainly searching for some magic device he could turn against those cursed folk. He had failed. But the emperor had obviously seen something Armand Delacourt Vice had missed.
“Strange place for a lighthouse so far from the harbor,” Lowe said.
“It is no lighthouse,” Vice whispered. “It is a beacon. Though the tomes were never clear precisely how it works, the thing attracts dragons. There is no magic device on the continent more dire and dangerous . . .” He blinked. “Surely, that awful device isn't the object of our quest? Even the Corelian thieves weren't foolish enough to steal the thing.”
“Questioning the emperor again, Major?” the general asked. “And calling him a fool no less. The glowing bauble in that tower is indeed the object of our quest. Never fear, I've been assured by the emperor himself the satin bag will dampen or negate its effects. You think I read any of those stupid magic books?”
“And when the device is unveiled?” Armand growled. “This is the jaw of the emperor's trap? This is how he would cleanse the capital of mages? Vanquishing lesser two-legged magic beasts with greater, fire-breathing magic beasts?” It's profane. It's nauseating.
“An elegant solution, no?” the general asked. “You think we carted armor all this way to fight sleeping dragons? Getting the device out of that tower will be a task for mechanical hands.”
“Wait, that thing attracts dragons? What, like moths to a candle?” Lowe asked, the pitch in his voice starting to rise. “And we're bringing it back to the capital with us like some sorta trophy?”
“Yes, soldier,” Festus said. “That is our mission. Our duty. All non magical citizens are being evacuated even now to camps outside the city walls. The mages who remain will be flamed by dragon fire and the capital shall be cleansed.”
“It won't work,” Armand chuckled, the hollow sound reverberating. “Those clockwork devices the emperor loves so much don't detect mages, just magic. And the instant one of those vile mages causes a ruckus in the tent city, the ploy will collapse.”
“Will it?” Festus asked, bemused.
“The little revolution gathers steam. The city is already on the brink,” Armand said.
“Is it?” the general asked. “I hadn't noticed. So hard to separate rebels from common folks. Almost as difficult as separating rebels from mages. Are you certain there were no mages or nobles at Captain Jemmy's rally, Major? Absolutely certain?”
“He knows the clockwork gadgets hung by the gates don't work . . .” Armand said slowly.
“Of course they work,” Scarly said. “We caught a mage trying to enter the city just last week by the South Gate. He attacked us with his subtle vile arts. Didn't know anything was wrong until those blessed clocks started screaming. Alerted the entire guardhouse . . .”
“No, no,” Lowe said. “I was stationed at the West Gate and they told us those fancy brass boxes were to keep the mages contained within the city.”
“You're both wrong. The devices are just a decoy,” Armand said. “The emperor plans to purge the entire city to squash one measly rebellion. Sic dragons on the capital. And you agreed to this plan, General? Why? You loathe the beasts. All your prattling about honor . . .”
“Sic dragons on the capital?” Lowe gibbered. “What about everyone who isn't a mage? That's crazy. The emperor is fucke. . .”
“A word if you please, private.” Festus clapped Lowe on the shoulder, then punched the man's armor near the small of his back. There was a sharp retort like a giant egg cracking. The mechanisms in Lowe's armor rumbled to silence and then the suit froze. “Not our duty to question the mission. You need to ponder the soldier's loyalty oath for a bit: Empire. Army. Family. What's at the top of the list, Private?”
Noises of a brief struggle came from within the seized armor, then a resigned sigh. “The empire, sir.”
“And what's at the bottom?” the general asked. “Stop struggling. I merely cracked the casing. But those tingling little drops trickling down the back of your legs will pool at the bottom of your greaves. Eat through your flesh if you let it. Caustic stuff. Not to worry. Urine will dilute it.”
“Yes, sir. Can't pee right now, sir.”
“Start thinking about whether I'm going to bother picking up an insubordinate wretch or leave you for the dragons to find come morning to peel from your shell,” Festus growled. “That should get the piss flowing.”
“How are you faring, Private Scarly?” General Festus
asked. “Any doubts or fears you'd like to express?”
“No, sir.” Scarly saluted. “Merely perplexed our mechanized armor has such an obvious weakness if you know where to look, sir.”
“Only if you expose your back to the enemy. You know there's one thing I hate more than dragons, Scarly.”
“Yes, sir. Traitors and oath breakers, sir.”
“Good lad. Continue the mission. Coming, Major?” he asked as Vice paused to admire the sobs echoing from the stricken Private Lowe. General Festus started climbing the long spiral staircase.
Quick, vicious retribution. I knew there was something I've always admired about that man. A single, vulnerable spot, by the gods. No armorer in the world would allow such an obvious weakness. The army must have added that feature to stiffen their recruits. And I thought Black Guard armor was poorly designed. Vice peered at the plates covering the man's back, imagining the precise placement of his strike. “Coming, General.”
They clambered up the wide tower steps, a curving stack of solid stone fused to the building's wall. The general led the way with Armand in the middle and Scarly protecting the rear. They came across several small dragons lying prone, sleeping on the steps. Festus gleefully crushed them all between his metal fists. The violence was unnecessary, almost gratuitous.
Armand hissed as the general squeezed another dragon carcass. Festus seemed to be counting the drops of blood as they splashed with crimson steam on the cold stone floor. “I signed up to kill mages, General.”
“Did not reckon you for a dragon lover, Major,” the general said. “You would defend these beasts after what they've done to the sons of the empire? Never fear. The death of a few young ones shall not impact the plan.”
“A pox on the dragons. What of the citizens in the capital? This plan will slaughter thousands of innocents. It will bring nothing but doom and destruction. Not even you would do such a vile act for duty. Where is your vaunted sense of honor?”
“I have a duty to the dead as well as the living,” Festus sighed. He squeezed the last drop of blood from the dragon's corpse and threw it away. “Did nobody ever tell you why the army attempted a coup? All those honorable men rebelling against the sovereign whom they swore to serve?”
“No,” Armand said, shaking his head. He could feel the helmet swivel to match his movements.
“All I wanted was a stone, a plaque, a pillar dedicated to the boys we lost from the 12th Brigade, ambushed by dragons in the skirmish. The whole affair was swept aside as a failed training exercise. Nobody remembered. Nobody cared. We petitioned the emperor to erect a monument in their honor. He refused. He spat on our dead.”
“The emperor can do no wrong,” Armand said.
“Can't he?” Festus retorted.
“You instigated a coup for a monument to a few dead soldiers?” Armand asked.
The general snorted. “Almost 1500 men fell that day. They deserved better than to be forgotten by the citizens they swore to protect.”
“Officers in the Red Army never struck me as honor bound, sentimental types.”
“Feh. Most of the old timers died fighting High Guards in the coup. Those young fools who came up through the ranks fell over themselves making excuses to justify the coup. Honor for their fallen comrades never entered into it. They were nothing more than politicians in uniform. The emperor killed quite a few of the opportunistic little bastards.”
“Yet he spared you?” Armand asked. “One of the ringleaders? Such mercy.”
“Mercy? Exile was my punishment . . . and the endless monuments. He began erecting statues and plaques across the empire dedicated to everyone but the soldiers who died to protect it. The emperor thinks I fetch this talisman to help him obliterate the mages. I shall mount it in the glowing heart of a giant statue dedicated to every soldier fallen in service of the empire. The dragons shall guard the memorial forever and the emperor can go piss on his mages. Poetic, is it not?”
“Is the destruction of an entire city worth building this monument?”
“The monument is just masking the symptoms of a larger problem, a rotten empire and foul citizens. We must save them from themselves. Most imperials are only good for turning food into shit. Where were the men when we asked for volunteers to swell our ranks? Where were the women to comfort and heal our wounded? What haappened to the children with flowers and bouquets to welcome us home? They threw rotten vegetables.”
“You think the citizen's revolt Jemmy is brewing will attack you with spoiled produce? How will dragons crushing and burning their houses endear the populace to you? Will you come save them from the problem you created? Slay the dragons like heroes of old?”
Festus shrugged. “If the dragons smash a few houses to rubble, then those materials shall become the foundation of our glorious monument.”
“A fine sentiment, sir,” Scarly said as they reached the top of the stairs. “Would it be . . . treasonous if'n I sent a letter home to warn me Ma and little brother? Not all civvies in the capital are feckless shit machines, sir.”
The general held up one hand to silence the soldier and then stepped into the room at the peak of the tower. Scarly gestured for Armand to precede him.
“Come, we have a job to do.” Festus said, ducking into the room. Wind blasting through the arch reduced his next words to whispers. “The emperor is waiting to receive his new magic bauble.”
They all entered, the room made small by the size of their mechanized suits. A large, waist high granite plinth stood in the center of the pentagonal room mounted on the floor. A stiff breeze blew through the five alcoves, battering their armor with sand and grit. Only the center of the room was still and quiet.
The dim moonlight outside was diminished by the blue glow emanating from the lantern mounted on the plinth. The plates on the lantern shimmered as the large crystal floating in the emptiness within pulsed. Armand squinted through the holes in his helmet. Surely, those were not glass plates in the lantern? They looked to be perpetually melting and reforming. An evil, magic device.
“A monument to fallen soldiers built and protected by the foul beasts that slew them. Bizarre is the kindest word for such tortured logic,” Armand yelled, crossing some invisible threshold and his voice reverberated in the shimmering silence.
“You aren't really a soldier though you wear the uniform,” the general replied, dismissing Armand with a wave as his voice thundered from his helmet. Armand winced as his ears throbbed. “Don't attempt to understand what motivates us,” the general said with a loud whisper. “Scarly, grab the floating crystal. Both hands, now.”
The private stared at the shimmering object as his plaintive cry echoed through his helmet. “Looks dangerous, sir.”
“A necessary danger,” the general said with another stentorian whisper before cursing and removing his helmet. He gestured for the others to do likewise, and then pointed to the lantern. “Trust your superiors to know what's right, Private Scarly.”
The private nodded. He set his helmet aside and thrust his gauntlets into the shimmering blue morass. His arms began to shake. “It's like pushing through wet sand.”
“The crystal, Scarly. Grab the crystal. Twist it free like I showed you in that diagram.”
Armand stood and watched, arms crossed. Blind obedience to anyone but Lady Justice was a fool's enterprise. The emperor was once on that list, but now? Armand shook his head.
“It was all so simple once,” the general chuckled, glancing at the expression on Armand's face. “The loyalty oath was easy to uphold: Empire. Army. Family. We so often conflate those sentiments or rationalize them. You think you're the only one the emperor doesn't trust, Captain Vice? He's holding the memory of my dead friends and sons hostage. Is there nobody that bastard can hold over you?”
“Sir,” Private Scarly cried, “it's corroding my armor. It's seeping into my skin.”
“There is . . . one person,” Armand said, glaring at the private. Really, is such a simple task beyond a simpleto
n of the army? Hardly worth a monument.
“Almost reached it, Scarly,” Festus called, his eyes still locked on Armand's face. “A lover? A mistress perhaps? Someone whom holds your warped greasy affections in her soft, smooth embrace?”
“My hate for him burns hotter than dragon fire.”
“Oh. That one.” The general chuckled. “He built a little monument for the lads after the Battle of Port Eclare, you know. Down on the beach. We'll have to visit and pay our respects before we head home. Devin is a good person and a worthy adversary.”
“Only you would think a vile enemy of the state was 'a worthy adversary.' He is a criminal, nothing more.”
“And only you would be a hostage to hate rather than love. People are more complex than you realize, Armand Delacourt Vice. That criminal is a more decent person than your beloved emperor.”
“Why?” Armand asked. “Because he built a monument to your fallen soldiers after he slaughtered them?”
“It's not that simple,” Festus growled. “He is a good, honorable person.”
“All your talk of honor,” Armand said. “You're just going to launch another coup. Repeating the same mistakes. The emperor won't settle for exiling you this time.”
“My hands,” the private moaned, “they're trapped in the light.” A heavy thud made Armand and the general turn and focus on the plinth and the hapless private. The man had pushed the crystal onto the floor, but he seemed caught in lantern's light up to his wrists. As the light faded, so did his hands. The private stared at the cauterized stumps, waving his hands and screaming.
Festus patted Private Scarly on the back. “A noble sacrifice, lad. Guess you won't be writing that letter home after all.” He turned to Armand and smiled. “Horatio II has been losing his grasp on the empire for years, Major. Exile is such a useless punishment. You were so busy chasing after the revolution, we had to clean up your mess.”
The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 74
