Would the Guard even obey me? Are they even mine to command? Or do they obey the Chancellor?
The door opened at the end of the long hall. The guards all tensed, a dozen hands dropping as one to the hilts of a dozen swords.
At least they actually protect me. At least that's real.
But is it because they love the Emperor, or because I'm a convenient figurehead?
And what happens when I become of age?
Will I be allowed to ascend to the throne? Will the Chancellor cede his powers and leave me to rule in peace?
The hands fell away from the swords when the glo-globes cast their light on the face of the Chancellor. He walked the length of the hall with a scowl on his face, and the scowl deepened the closer he got.
"Are you all right, Lord?" asked the Chancellor.
I don’t even know his name.
It was a startling realization. And his confusion must have been apparent, because the Chancellor leaned in close. "No, you're not all right, I can see that," he whispered.
"No," said Malal. He had felt alone. Now he felt afraid. "No, I'm not."
The Chancellor waved a hand. Malal felt as though a heavy weight was pressing on his shoulders. The weight shifted to his head, then seemed to sink through his skull and press on his mind. His thoughts clouded.
What was I thinking about?
He blinked. The Chancellor was standing before him. His good friend was smiling.
When did he come in?
How long have I been sitting here?
What was I thinking?
"Are you quite all right, Lord?" said the Chancellor. Concern clouded his features.
Malal hurried to reassure his friend. "No, Lord Chancellor. I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep. I'm sorry if you were troubled by my late night walks."
"No, Lord. No need to apologize." The Chancellor bowed low, and Malal wished as always that his friend wouldn't do that. The Chancellor was more a father to him than a subject. If only they could make that relationship official.
That's an idea. I wonder if there's any way I could adopt him into my family.
I shall have to look into that.
For a moment he screamed inside himself. For an instant he knew – knew – that this was not what he had been thinking. Was not what he wanted to be thinking.
Then the moment passed. And there was only his good friend in front of him, and his good will for that friend burning in his heart.
"Would you like me to sit up with you?" asked the Chancellor.
"No, my friend," said Malal. He waved. "Please, retire to your chambers. Sleep. The Empire needs you rested and mindful of her interests."
The Chancellor nodded, then turned and walked away. Malal watched him leave.
He is my father. In reality if not in name.
There must be a way to make it official.
He didn't have to just sit here alone anymore. He would go to the records room to review the Laws and Statutes.
He had much to research, and possibly much to do.
8
Smoke looked around and said, "You know the air-cars, right?"
Rune rolled her eyes. "How did we all get in here, Smoke? And even if we didn't come in them, of course we know about them – not everyone's spent their life in prison, you know."
Smoke bristled. Sword wondered how it was possible that these two hadn't murdered one another.
Rune looked like she was going to say something else, but an arrow planted itself in the dirt between her feet. By the time Sword looked at Arrow, the young man had already replaced the bow in its position on his back. "Stop antagonizing him," he said softly.
That was a surprise, she thought. She had been sure that Arrow only had two basic settings: irritated and fully angry. But he seemed calm now, focused. Just wanting to get to the meat of whatever Smoke had to tell them.
Smoke looked like he was going to make a snide comment, but another arrow snapped into the earth at his feet, and he bit back whatever he was going to say.
"It looks like the Empire has developed a new kind of air-car. But ten times bigger, ten times faster."
Brother Scieran shook his head. "That's impossible. There's no Push that could keep something like that afloat and moving. Not even with a massive balloon."
"It doesn't have a balloon," said Smoke.
"Then how does it work?" demanded Rune. She managed to make it sound like a sarcastic comment. Wind and Cloud nodded as one: the closest thing to participation in the conversation that Sword had yet seen. Wind even had something approaching an expression on her face: the very slightest wrinkle between her brows that was somehow a larger question than a thousand shouted queries by Rune.
"A bunch of Pushes bound by Threads have it enchanted to get airborn, and it has some kind of spinning wheels at the front that push it forward. You all seen children's pinwheels?" Everyone nodded. "The things at the front look a lot like that. Steel spokes that have been enchanted by the Pushes as well. They turn, and the faster they turn, the faster the thing goes. They call it an air chariot. Only two of them in existence – so far – and the Minister of Finance has one of them. "
Arrow had been frowning during Smoke's entire explanation. "Wait, the pinwheels go faster or slower? That's not possible. Pushes enchant things and they only go one speed. That's it."
"I thought so, too," said Smoke. "But the nice lieutenant who told me all this – before he got very handsy and I was forced to slit his throat – told me they have a handful of Pushes actually on the air chariot. They Push one way on the pinwheels to speed them up, then Push on them in the opposite direction to slow them down."
"So we'll have to hit the Minister when he gets off," said Rune.
"Yeah, except get this: he never does get off. Apparently he's turned one of the things into pretty much a floating fortress. Has a room inside it, a couple of Ears, some Eyes, a dozen guards. And rumor has it he only gets off at random stops, so there's no way to plan for an assassination, because there's no way of knowing when he's even going to be on the ground."
"A bit paranoid, huh?' said Rune.
"Yeah, like you're a bit slow," said Smoke.
"And you're a bit ugly," she bit back.
"And you're a bit uglier."
"And you're a bit ugliest."
Smoke couldn't think of a good response, so he turned away from Rune and said, "I managed to get the Minister's stops for the next week, but like I say, he probably isn't even getting off his contraption. He might not even land, in fact – might just do flybys to keep the nobles worried about him dropping in on them." He shrugged. "Sorry."
"No," said Brother Scieran. "Nothing to be sorry about, my boy." He rubbed his hands together. "Nothing to be sorry about at all. This is excellent."
Rune shook her head. "Didn't you hear our pet monkey? We don't know when or where he's landing."
"No," agreed Brother Scieran.
And suddenly Sword understood. She looked behind her. Several of the air-cars in the cavern could be seen, hovering gently above the air-dock. "We're not going to catch him on the ground," she said. "We're going to attack him in the sky."
Brother Scieran nodded.
"Not if you're thinking of having our boy here," said Smoke, gesturing at Cloud, "shoot them down with a handy bolt of lightning."
"What do you mean?" asked Arrow.
"The gentleman who… ahem… rented my services wasn't clear on the details, but he said there was some sort of anti-lightning apparatus on the chariot. To protect it in storms. Apparently lightning strikes just pass over its body and do no harm to people inside."
Brother Scieran thought a moment. "Well then," he said, "if we can't shoot it down, we'll simply have to take it instead."
"How?" asked Arrow.
At one side of the large tent sat a table covered in maps. Brother Scieran went to it and started tossing sheaves of paper to the side. Finally he found the one he wanted.
"Smoke, you said you know wher
e he's going, the routes he's taking?" he said. Smoke nodded. "Will he be flying by any of the outposts?" Another nod. Brother Scieran smiled. He put a finger down on the map.
"Then I know what we're going to do."
9
Ambek had been worried at first. Worried that being confined to the air chariot would be a burden. That he would constantly want to go outside, to step onto firm land.
How wrong he was.
The chariot felt like home. More than that, it felt like his own small kingdom. Up here, he looked over the entirety of the Empire, and there was no one looking over his shoulder. True, he still had his orders, still had the Emperor's Ear whispering what he had to do week by week. But the whispers seemed farther away the higher he got in the chariot.
The chariot itself was outfitted with all the luxuries. A kitchen with plenty of stores, a cook who fixed the finest meals. And since they were in a closed environment, there was little chance of poisoning.
Ambek's quarters were palatial. Rich wood on all sides, deep brown and polished to a sheen so lustrous that the mirror attached to the wall was nearly superfluous. The bed was more than large enough to accommodate him and the girls he took away with him at every landing. The hold was big enough for them to sit in their cages when not busy entertaining him.
The only thing the chariot didn't have was a good shower. There was a bath, with water cleaned every day by the Patch who was also onboard, but he distrusted baths. He would rather remain dirty.
He had never minded getting dirty.
In truth, this was nearly the perfect life. Only the Ear, with his orders from the Chancellor and his puppet boy-Emperor, marred it. That and the periodic times when he absolutely had to land for stores or for the occasional business that required him to be present in person.
One of those times was coming up. He was visiting a prison outpost on Fear. The outpost leader had begun to ask too many questions. Moneys earmarked for the buildup of the prison had started shifting strangely, and at the same time there were rumors that neighboring villages – poor places that regularly had trouble meeting their taxation responsibilities – were suddenly flush with cash.
The Chancellor had not said the prison warden was actively participating in treason, but the questions were enough that he should be removed and brought back to Center for observation, reeducation, and – if necessary – elimination.
Why me? I'm too important for this kind of thing.
Of course he knew why. If there was any kind of financial mismanagement going on, there was no one better suited to find out than him. One look at the books would tell him all. He was – no need to mince words – a financial genius, and the best one to figure out what was really happening at the prison and the surrounding areas.
Ambek left his room. There was a long hall leading to the front of the chariot, with smaller rooms that held his guards, the Ear, the Pushes who kept the chariot flying, the cooks, the pilots, and the rest of the small army of support that he needed – no, deserved – for his work.
There was only one pilot on duty. He sat in a leather chair, holding a wheel that adjusted the tilt of the turnwheels and made the chariot turn right and left, up and down. Speed was adjusted by the Pushes who were locked – sealed, really – in the belly of the air-chariot, and for that the pilot had a knob that rang a bell back where they were: two rings to increase speed, one to slow down.
Ingenious. I couldn't have thought up a better system myself.
Though that was just false modesty. Of course he could have thought of better. He just hadn't wanted to. Enough to let lesser people deal with the details, while he concerned himself with the big picture.
He looked out the front window. It was similar to the windows of a conventional air-car, though curved to allow for a greater field of vision. "How close are we to the prison?" he asked.
The pilot pointed to either side of the chariot. "We're just passing through Gods' Pass, so maybe another twenty minutes."
Ambek took a moment to revel in the fact that he was one of the few people who would ever see Gods' Pass like this. It was one of the only places in the five States of Ansborn where the mountain reached so high that no one lived at its peak. The rest of the mountains all flattened out into mesas so large they could hold the vast populations of the States. There were hills and valleys, but the populated areas were more or less flat.
Here, though, at the outskirts of the State of Fear, the mountain became craggy. It reached fingers to the sky, as though the mountain hungered to return to the realm of the Gods that had birthed it. Gods' Pass was the space between the two highest of these grasping fingers: two stone columns that reached so high the tops often could not be seen, covered by clouds or simply obscured by distance.
The chariot was passing between the two columns, and unlike the occasional adventurer who traveled across Fear – a dangerous journey – to cast their eyes on Gods' Pass, Ambek was looking at it from above. Looking down on Fear.
As it should be. As was only right.
"What…." The pilot shifted in his seat.
"What is it?" said Ambek. Not really worried, but curious what could have the pilot sounding suddenly uncomfortable. The turnwheels were all spinning, that was clear, and Ambek had absolute faith in the construction of the chariot.
Before the pilot could answer, he saw what had him concerned: an air-car had come around the side of the west column of Gods' Pass. It had appeared suddenly, and so close there was little chance for the pilot to react.
He tilted his wheel to the side, thumbing the speed button at the same time. The bell rang in the back of the chariot, and the craft's speed dropped.
Then the pilot looked west, and cursed. So did Ambek, and his curses were far worse, far more imaginative and violent.
A second air-car had appeared around the side of the east column.
And now they were headed right at it.
"Get out of the way!" screamed Ambek.
"I'm trying!" shouted the pilot. He spun the wheel, pushing on it at the same time as he tried to both turn and dive below the air-car that was on a collision course with them.
How are they going that fast? No air-car goes that fast!
Ambek saw what looked like a silver face in the cabin of the approaching air-car.
Mad. Going mad. Suicidal air-cars and silver faces. Gods, don't let me die, I don't deserve to die here.
He blinked, and the face was gone. But a moment later the fear that he was going insane returned. The air-car hit the chariot, but in the instant before it did he thought he saw two figures fly out the side door of the air-car.
One was the silver-faced figure. The other was a man in a white robe with black edges, hand held out and with what looked like lightning dancing along his fingers.
Then thought dissolved into mayhem. The chariot tilted madly to the side with the impact of the air-car. The pilot cursed, sounding half-terrified, half-enraged by what was happening.
Ambek was more unified in his thinking: he was all terrified.
The chariot didn't go down. Somehow. It managed to stay in the sky, and a moment later Ambek saw the air-car that had hit them spinning down, its balloon deflated – probably punctured by one of the turnwheels. He looked out the right side of the air-chariot. The turnwheels on that side were all functioning.
He looked to the left. All the pinwheels were moving on that side as well.
But the other air-car was almost on them. It had taken advantage of the slowing of the chariot to drop directly over it and….
Ambek wiped a hand over his eyes. He couldn't believe what he had seen.
But yes. It was true. The air-car had landed on the wing. What kind of pilot could do that? What kind of perfect eye would be required to make that kind of landing on a moving target?
Two people emptied out of the side of the air-car, and then it flew away. The two were women – girls, he saw. And that let him recover a measure of control.
I know how t
o handle girls.
He hit the pilot on the shoulder. Pointed at the girls on the wing. "Get rid of them," he said.
The pilot nodded and shoved the wheel forward. The chariot nosed into a dive. Steep enough that it shoved Ambek back, even though he was holding tight to the pilot's chair. Muffled screams came from the rear of the chariot as the people inside were tossed by the sudden motions.
Ambek looked out the window.
The girls were still there. He could see their faces – they looked positively green – but they were still on the wing. As though the air itself had tied them down, as though the very wind that should have torn them away had instead lashed them to the wing.
Impossible.
The pilot pulled up. There was no more room to dive. Any further and they risked crashing into the columns of the pass. Something thudded above him. The roof.
What –
Black-gray clouds suddenly swirled outside. Lightning flashed in a dark maelstrom.
Where did that come from? What's happening?
Ambek's comfortable life felt like it was ending. These people were here for him. There was no other possibility.
"Guards!" he shrieked. "To me!"
Immediately his men emptied out of their rooms. Some wore the outfits of the Empire's Army, but most wore his personal livery: green tunics with brown borders. They were his dragoons, and he knew that they could take anyone short of the Emperor's own guards.
Whoever these people were, they were in for a shock.
Then something pounded on the side of the ship, right where the wing joined the front cabin. Once, twice.
And a huge hole suddenly blasted in the side.
Ambek screamed. He had a moment to see that same silver face – the face he thought he had imagined, standing in the space where a wall had once been. It was a woman, and she waved her hands and three guards flew past her, sucked by nothing but the air back through the hole and to their deaths far below.
Beside her was a man, strangely expressionless, with a black-edged white robe. He held out his hand, and three more of Ambek's guards died, burned right before his eyes by a lightning strike that seemed to come from the man's dead eyes.
The Sword Chronicles: Child of the Empire Page 20
