Goddess, it will be beautiful.
Masked Tuscars hauled crates of Serpentheart to the cutgate. Keyes would have preferred to release the disease directly into the center of Ebonmark, and that had been the original plan, but Vellexa had stepped in. Stupid, pretty, arrogant little bitch. She was the only thing keeping Keyes from the control he wanted.
Why did she have to survive? If only the Jlantrians had finished her. But she’d managed to escape their clutches and return with a handful of her men, none of whom looked well after their run-in with the Jlantrian assassins. Before that she’d found Targo, and had learned all the Black Guild needed to know.
The Iron Count wanted the Dream Witch, and he wanted the Jlantrians out of the way. Now he’d get both, because the Jlantrians were setting a trap for the Phage in Black Sun, and Bordrec Kleiderhorn was helping them. Bordrec had the Witch.
Keyes could barely hear himself think over the roar of the furnaces. Sometimes the screaming flames were more than he could handle. Even when he was away from the labs – which was seldom – the buzzing in his brain rarely stopped.
The attack would require perfect timing. It fell on Vellexa to retrieve the Witch and act as a spotter for the Serpentheart deployment teams – once that was done, his child, his creation, would be free. The Jlantrians would be dead, the Phage would be dead, Kleiderhorn would be dead. Maybe, just maybe, Vellexa would be dead, too.
Keyes massaged his temples. He clicked an apparatus built into his wrist which increased the circulation of his bodily fluids. Blood and water rushed through his system, and pain-numbing narcotics shot into his veins.
It was an enchanting possibility. Kill the Phage, become the Black Guild’s hero. Kill Vellexa, become the only one left who the Count trusted. If Aram Keyes had possessed a heart it would have raced, but it had been replaced with a clockwork mechanism long ago.
He turned back to his work and directed his subordinates. A sense of pride filled his inhuman soul. In just a few hours, Ebonmark would be a very different place.
Fifty-Five
Vellexa’s quarters felt like a cell. The dark iron chamber was decorated with plush rugs and tapestries she’d placed to try and make the place seem more comfortable. She had a lavish bed, an ornate writing desk and a well-appointed wardrobe – every semblance of the sort of room a lady might possess.
She sat on the bed and furiously scribbled a note to her son Kyver. She couldn’t believe she was going through with this. Just that morning she’d thought it possible to make good on her situation. She’d found Targo, and she’d uncovered Bordrec Kleiderhorn’s whereabouts. Now, just a few hours later, she’d become a traitor to the Black Guild and a spy for the Jlantrians.
Despite what the Jlantrians promised her in return for her cooperation she gravely doubted their chances of success, or their ability to keep her and Kyver safe once her treachery was uncovered. The Iron Count had eyes and ears everywhere, and it would only take one person to eliminate her or her son.
In spite of the heat in the room her skin felt like ice. She didn’t trust Slayne. The memory of him killing Sammeus was frozen in her mind. She hated the murdering bastard, but the only reason she was still alive was because he’d offered her a deal. Blackhall had seemed content to burn her alive like he would any other Bloodspeaker, but the man who’d killed one of her only friends had offered her a chance to save both herself and her child.
Vellexa wrote apologies to Kyver, words of love in case she never saw him again, a frighteningly realistic possibility. She tried to apologize for not being there, for not being the mother he deserved. For leaving him behind with her legacy of lies and crime. She hoped he could forgive her, but she wouldn’t ask that of him. It was too much.
It didn’t feel right to betray the Iron Count, but every time she had second thoughts she saw her son. He was more important than the Black Guild. Damn Slayne, but what he’d said to her seemed right – Kyver deserved the chance to grow up outside of the Iron Count’s shadow.
She knew the letters weren’t making any sense even as she wrote them. Vellexa wanted to cry, but she hadn’t done that since her husband had died, and that had been so long ago she wasn’t sure if she even had tears left. Crying was a sign of weakness, and she didn’t believe in weaknesses.
“But you certainly are weak, aren’t you?” she said aloud.
The door swung open. The man who stepped into the room wore the same style of black cloak as her henchmen, but she knew it was Marros Slayne. He swiftly closed the door.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “It won’t be long now.”
“This is crazy, Slayne,” she said. “You’re as much of a lunatic as Keyes is.”
“Maybe,” Slayne said with a nod. “Maybe. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m ready, you son of a bitch,” she snapped. “Just remember our deal.”
“Your son is safe,” he said. “And he’ll stay that way, so long as you keep your word.”
Vellexa’s vision went red. She wanted to drive her fist through Slayne’s heart. He’d smuggled nearly a dozen of his men into the Cauldron, a dozen against a legion, but he stood there like he was invincible.
“You just make sure my son stays safe,” she said. “If anything happens to him, I’ll kill you.”
“Fair enough,” Slayne said. He showed no trace of fear, no emotion at all. “Just keep up your end of the bargain and everything will be fine. By morning, you’ll be free.”
He left without another word. Vellexa sat quietly for a long time. She started to cry.
So I still have tears, after all.
Fifty-Six
Dane woke. His eyes fixed on the pillar of water flowing straight down from a hole in the tall stone ceiling to a wide pool on the floor. The chamber stood just off of the main corridor, one of a series of interconnected and identical rooms, a network of giant baths.
He tried to clear the muck from his eyes. Dane hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but thankfully Kruje and Maddox were closeby, both watching for any sign of Bordrec Kleiderhorn’s hunters. The two of them looked every bit as weary and exhausted as Dane felt. His back was stiff and his skin was soiled with grime and sweat. He picked his vra’taar up from the ground and slipped it into the scabbard on his back.
It had been a miracle they’d made it out of the tower. That was one part divine intervention and three parts dumb luck.
Dane had inspected the rest of the narrow citadel they’d been trapped in while Kruje held the door shut, but all he’d found was an abandoned structure devoid of supplies or any other means of escape. Dane had Touched the Veil to give himself light in the apex of the structure, and that was when the way out had revealed itself: a door which only turned visible in the presence of magic. By the time he’d gotten back down to the others the bar over the lower door had been nearly snapped by the red-skinned beasts outside, and the three refugees just managed to get up and out before the tower was overtaken from below.
And now we’re in an entirely new nightmare. Hooray.
Dane stared past Maddox and looked into the confusing corridor. The stone was ice blue and the massive halls were chipped and worn from the passage of time. The labyrinth seemed to stretch on endlessly, and every time they eluded a squad of mercenary soldiers they lost their bearings and wound up right back where they’d started. Dane liked to think he had an exceptional memory, but even he couldn’t keep track of where thery were. They’d just moved from one trap to another, and it would only be a matter of time before they were burned out.
“Damn you, Kleiderhorn,” Maddox said from out of the blue. “You dwarf slime.” Maddox was holding up surprisingly well, Dane thought, considering he hadn’t slept since his bodyguards died for fear of losing the precious stone that gave him control over Kruje. Dane had considered dispatching the slave owner, but he still reasoned they needed numbers on their side, and right then three felt like a hell of a lot more than two.
“What’s he doing down here?�
�� Dane asked. Their position afforded them a good vantage of the endless corridor.
“How would I know?” Maddox cursed. “He’s always been a strange one. I used to like him – he refused to go to the Black Guild or the Phage, just like me. But he’s only out for himself, that one. He’d work with Targo sometimes, but he was too arrogant to give the rest of us the time of day.”
You could give lessons on being arrogant, Dane thought. Kruje stood near the doorway, the blade of his axe turned to the floor. The giant had grown quiet since they’d escaped the tower. He patiently waited for Dane’s lead, and seemed to have all but forgotten about Maddox.
“We need to get moving,” Dane said. “We can’t just wait here forever.”
“Why not?” Maddox asked. “We have food and water and a safe place to hide. They’ll forget about us eventually.”
“Are you sure about that?” Dane asked. “And what if they don’t? I’d rather find a way out now than make this room my final resting place.”
“We can’t go,” Maddox commanded. He was terrified, and he did a poor job of hiding it. “I won’t go, not while those Voss-bred monstrosities are out there hunting us.” He looked disdainfully at Kruje, and spat at the giant’s feet. Kruje didn’t seem to notice. “Made something nice, didn’t you, you big bastard?”
“I don’t think those things are Voss-bred,” Dane said. He poked his head out into the corridor. The air was colder outside the room, and the cross-wind was freezing.
“What do you mean?” Maddox said. “How would you know?”
“I think they’re trolls,” Dane said. “Bred for the Empress to be used as shock troops. I’d never seen one, but I’ve heard of them.”
Maddox didn’t say anything, but Dane figured he had some of the same questions Dane had, like why Empire-bred trolls would be in the hands of a criminal like Bordrec Kleiderhorn. Dane could think of a number of different possibilities, none of them good. Ultimately it didn’t matter – the trolls were there, and they weren’t very friendly.
“We can’t stay down here forever,” Dane said again. He looked at Kruje. “Vag,” he said, or “Go” in Vossian. The giant nodded. Dane looked at Maddox. “I’m sure you’ve got business to attend to. I know I do.” That almost made Dane laugh out loud even as he said it – his obligation to the Black Guild was almost a distant memory, and he doubted now if he even had the time to see his assignment through. There were other ways to come across money, and by now the Iron Count and his minions most likely thought Dane was dead. He’d find a way out of the frozen city and let the Guild find their own damned Dream Witch – he’d had enough of hunting people. The Black Guild would become just another group he’d have to avoid for the rest of his life.
“I’m not going out there,” Maddox hissed through clenched teeth. “And neither is he.”
“Fine,” Dane said with a shake of his head. “I’ll go and try to find a way out. If I do, and if I remember how to get back to you, I’ll let you know where it is.”
“You’re a fool.”
“Maybe. But I’m leaving.”
Maddox watched Dane uneasily. He’d developed a purplish bruise on his face from the earlier melees. “If you go out there, they’ll find you.”
“They’ll find us if we stay here,” Dane said. “Come on, Maddox. It’s time to go.”
Dane stepped into the corridor. His short sleep had reinvigorated him more than he’d realized, and he was thankful for it. He tensed his fingers and eased his way down the icy hall. Dane felt sure they’d explored the right-hand corridor, but not those beyond it. He paused at the first intersection and listened, and when he decided it was clear he moved on.
A sound from behind him caught his attention. Kruje was following, with Maddox in tow. Maddox clenched the control stone angrily in one hand, but Kruje looked at Dane and just nodded.
“Fools…you’re both fools,” Maddox muttered. Dane put a finger to his lips, took a breath, and moved down the hall, the sound of his boots obscured by the gushing water in the open rooms to either side. Even with the background noise Dane still heard armored feet and the clang of weapons. It was all but impossible to gauge numbers or distance – for all he could tell Kleiderhorn’s men might have been around the next corner.
He kept moving. Dane tried to keep a careful eye on their current position so they could head back if they needed to. He led the small group down a hall he felt sure they hadn’t already explored.
Dane heard voices, but he couldn’t make out what they said. He motioned Kruje and Maddox to stop, unsheathed his vra’taar and crouched low as he approached the next junction. The voices came from around the bend. His muscles tensed. He wasn’t sure if he was up to another fight, but he carefully peeked around the corner.
A small group of dark-cloaked Jlantrians armed with longswords nonchalantly marched by, accompanied by a fearsome troll warrior wielding a four-foot long hammer. Dane frantically motioned for Kruje and Maddox to back away. Trolls supposedly possessed an uncanny sense of smell, and if any of them stood downwind the beast would be alerted to their presence. They hid just inside a nearby room to stay out of sight.
Dane held his breath and watched as the red-skinned beast lumbered down the corridor. He counted out the seconds until he no longer heard its heavy footsteps.
“What…?” Maddox began, but Dane whipped his blade back and held the tip inches away from the slaver’s face. Maddox gasped.
“Quiet,” Dane whispered.
He watched the hall. More men filed by, most of them armed with heavy crossbows. Two men pushed a ballista on a rolling swivel mount. Further down the hall the orange torchlight showed more of Kleiderhorn’s mercenary forces, who apparently occupied a massive section of the complex.
That’s way too many men for a search party. They’re readying for a battle.
“I’ll be right back,” Dane said over his shoulder. He quickly set off down the corridor, silent as he stalked through the shadows. Dane kept low and moved fast through the darkened halls, using the bobbing torches in the distance to light his way. After he’d gone a few hundred yards a number of black-clad troops moved across the passages to either side of him, but somehow he escaped their notice.
I should probably come up with some sort of plan.
He reasoned that if he could find where the mercenaries had gained access to Black Sun he could show Kruje – and maybe Maddox – the way out, but that likely meant fighting their way through a small legion.
Dane looked back over his shoulder. He’d left Kruje and Maddox six intersections back. He knew they hadn’t been spotted or else he’d have heard a commotion by now. He didn’t care a spit about Maddox, but he’d grown to like the Voss, and he wasn’t prepared to leave the giant behind.
A tall Den’nari man rounded the corner behind him, his face red in the wavering torchlight. Dane silently fell to the ground and cursed the blade in his hand; the man was barely three paces back, and if his torch turned at the proper angle the light would reflect off of Dane’s vra’taar. The man looked up and down the corridor, but his eyes never sank to Dane’s nearly prone position in the shadows on the floor. A Jlantrian man with wild red hair appeared next to the Den’nari and eyed him quizzically.
“Come on, Draevac,” the Jlantrian said. “Those Phage goons aren’t going to be down this way.”
“The other intruders are here somewhere,” Draevac whispered. “You know they haven’t been found yet.”
“We’ll have to worry about them later,” the Jlantrian insisted. “Our guests are almost here.”
“I’ll be glad when this is done. It’s not smart fighting the Phage.”
The two men went the same direction as the other mercenaries. Dane let out his breath.
An ambush was being laid, and it wasn’t for him. It seemed the Phage were coming to take the Dream Witch from Bordrec Kleiderhorn, and Kleiderhorn knew it. A possibility suddenly blossomed in Dane’s mind – if a battle was brewing, maybe he and his bizar
re crew could escape in the ensuing chaos.
It was far from a foolproof plan. Goddess, with how my luck has been running lately, it isn’t even a good plan. Still, anything was better than waiting to be found.
He took a quick glance around the corner, didn’t see any soldiers coming, and made ready to head back when a hideous metal groan stopped him dead in his tracks. It came from the far end of the halls, so loud it drowned out even the crash of water. Dane went to investigate, against his better judgment. He had a sinking sensation in his gut.
Kleiderhorn’s mercenaries had converged near an enormous wall of ancient and crumbling limestone. A large open space waited on the other side. Dane kept to the shadows and watched.
The horrid metal grinding rattled his teeth in their sockets. The mercenaries had to scream to hear each other as they took up position and peered through the gaps in the wall. Several trolls stood off to the side, licking their weapons with utterly inhuman grins on their faces. There were easily seventy or eighty troops assembled, peering through the stone at an enemy on the other side.
Dane saw a cluster of rubble next to a small hole which would give him a clearer view of what was happening, far enough away from Kleiderhorn’s forces he’d likely escape their notice. He quietly ran to the rubble and dove to one side, keeping the pile of rocks between himself and the soldiers. Dane waited breathlessly for a few moments to make sure he hadn’t been found out. The wall pressed painfully against his back, and a bone-chilling breeze crept through the gap in the stone over his head. When he was content no one had seen him Dane cautiously turned and peered through the hole in the wall.
Enormous blue fires and massive stone pillars filled the garganutan chamber on the other side. The floor was white with frost. Dozens of mercenaries in flowing crimson cloaks and cloth masks marched across the floor – the Phage. Each yielded a wickedly serrated scimitar or short sword, and many had bows strung across their backs.
Dane’s heart jumped into his chest. At the head of the cloaked army were three monstrous metallic balls, hissing with magic and rolling across the floor with tremendous force. The black iron spheres were twice as tall as a man and caused such vibration it seemed the ceiling would come crashing down. Each sphere’s face was covered with thousands of intricate glyphs, interspersed with smaller iron plates Dane knew were capable of emitting vicious substances like acid sprays, gouts of flame and deadly razor projectiles. The vehicles rolled slowly, grinding up the stone and ice in their path. Each Iron Egg was a terrible marvel of Vossian war engineering, manned by a single pilot and capable of cutting a small legion to pieces.
City of Scars (The Skullborn Trilogy, Book 1) Page 26
