The Clockwork King of Orl tok-2

by Mike Wild

  Kali knew now what she had to do. There was no way she could reach the key with her rope so instead she was going to have to play a game. And it was going to be exactly the same game she used to play as a girl, disturbing the regulars in the Flagons. Its aim was to get all the way around the bar using only furniture — okay, and the occasional head — and without touching the floor.

  Exactly like that game. Only deadlier. So much so that every one of her movements had to be precise.

  Kali took a steadying breath, and then slowly lowered and then removed her hands from the rope so that she was suspended only by the waist, then turning face downwards let her body find its own level as the rope took her weight. It was a delicate balancing act but, when stabilised, she was able to raise her arms and legs so that she hung horizontally spread-eagled, her limbs outstretched.

  She gave a small kick, and turned, examining the chamber about her. There was a ledge there she could use, a ridge in the wall over there, and — whoah, difficult one — a slight rib between panels there. But then she'd be next to the key. Okay, she thought, running it through her head again — One, ledge, two, ridge, three, rib… four, key.

  Oh, the hells with it, just go!

  Kali swung forwards on the rope, building enough momentum to carry her over the first gap, then cut her rope cleanly with her knife. She sailed away, arcing forwards, hit the ledge and twisted, at the same time kicking herself away with her foot. Flipping forwards, somersaulting smoothly in mid-air, she felt her toes touch the ridge and lunged forwards, spinning this time slightly to her right, correcting her balance with a flap of her arms as her hip grazed the wall. There wasn't enough width in the ridge to keep that balance for long so she hopped quickly along it, only at the last second batting the wall with her hand so that she flew sideways out into the room. She let herself fall, inclining head first, then landed on the ridge with the palms of her hands, immediately cartwheeling once, twice, then three times, and coming upright at the exact point the ridge came to an end. Flexing her legs and bouncing as she returned to vertical, she leapt upwards and forwards, yelling with the exertion it took, and crossed the final gap between herself and the key. Landing on the edge of the mould on the balls of her feet, she windmilled her arms once more for balance, then stood upright, looking down at the object she sought.

  Piece of pits, Kali thought. She only wished she could have done that sort of thing as a kid. It would have earned her a drink or two.

  Kali bent and extracted the key from the mould — oh, ooh, ow, ow, ow — a little prematurely as it happened. She juggled it from hand to hand, her heart lurching as she almost dropped it on the third pass, then sighed with relief as it cooled. The key firmly in her grip, all she had to do now was get out of the place. She was about to start examining the walls for an escape route when a long rumbling signalled the rotation she'd suspected they were capable of. A number of doors were revealed, which then opened — a spiral stairway visible beyond them — and in each stood one of Makennon's people, aiming a crossbow directly at her. If that wasn't bad enough, framed in the last to open was Makennon herself — and beside her was Killiam Slowhand.

  He didn't speak. But Makennon did.

  "Miss Hooper, we meet again," she said. "Pray, tell me, what brings you here today?"

  Kali smiled. "Oh, you know, out for a walk, fell down a hole…"

  "And there was I thinking you'd taken up a career as a chimney sweep. You should, you know — as an occupation it's much less hazardous."

  "But not as rewarding," Kali said, holding up the key.

  "Give me that key, Miss Hooper."

  "No." Kali looked down at the panelled floor. "Want to come get it, Anointed Lord?"

  "I'd rather you just threw it to me."

  "Not going to happen."

  Slowhand spoke for the first time. "Hooper, just do it. The lady has you outgunned."

  "Nice backwatching, Slowhand."

  "They had us marked as soon as we entered the cavern. Took me as soon as you disappeared inside. I guess they wanted you to do the job for them. Give her the key, Kali."

  "She's not getting the final key!" Kali shouted. She hovered on the edge of the mould, her intention clear. "It melts with me, if need be."

  Makennon sighed loudly. "I gather that since our last talk you have been doing some research into the keys and what they are?"

  "I've seen and heard a few things."

  "And I imagine this behaviour is because you veer to the… darker interpretations of the facts to hand."

  "That's right. End of the world, and all that. But hey, I'm not the one blinded by holy light."

  Makennon smiled coldly. "I understand your concerns, I do. But I have seen insufficient darkness to dim that light, and perhaps the opposite is true of you. So, as I once said to Mister Slowhand — what if I could prove to you that it were otherwise?"

  Kali faltered momentarily, remembering what she had seen on the map. But she dismissed the concerns quickly. This was, after all, still the Final Faith.

  "Makennon, you're not getting your hands on this key."

  "Hooper…" Slowhand urged again.

  "Slowhand, no! This thing is dangerou — "

  Kali never even saw it happen. One second Slowhand had no bow in his hand, and then he did — and an arrow knocked the key from her grip, its trajectory perfectly aligned to bounce the key to Makennon's feet. The Anointed Lord bent to pick it up.

  "Thank you… Lieutenant," she said.

  Kali stared at the archer. She didn't know what to say.

  "Hooper, they'd have — " Slowhand began, but broke off as a sudden push from Makennon sent him sprawling into the centre of the chamber. At the same time, Makennon and her guards retreated, and the walls began to rotate back to their closed position.

  The last thing Kali heard from the Anointed Lord was, "Gentlemen, we have an appointment in Orl."

  The wall sealed itself with a jarring thud. And the floor beneath Slowhand sank slightly with a grating sound.

  The coils in the mould began to glow.

  Slowhand took a look at the charred bodies and the reddening mould. "Oh, pits," he said.

  "Pits?" Kali repeated. Now that the mechanism was activated there was no reason to stay perched where she was, and she jumped down, trying to find a way to reopen the wall. There was none. "That's all you can say after betraying me?"

  "They would have killed you, Hooper, you know that. I was saving your life."

  "Maybe," Kali said. Now she was pulling at the panelling, trying — desperately — to find some kind of off switch. Again, none, and sweat was already breaking out thickly on her body. "Dammit!"

  She stared at the mould, at the window of the observation area and back again. That done, she moved with Slowhand to the rim of the chamber, but the heat was still intense — as intense as it would need to be to make the key molten in a matter of seconds.

  And seconds was all they had, because her hair had begun to smoke. Her double take on the mould and the windows had given her an idea of how to get out of there, though, even if it would take split-second timing. But first she needed to deal with Slowhand. She needed him but his breathing was becoming increasingly laboured — he was having a much harder time of it than her.

  Kali dug into her toolbelt and pulled out what appeared to be a small conch. The shape of it was something that could be bitten down on in the mouth, and Kali did this, testing the thing with a couple of inhalations before handing it to Slowhand.

  "Use this," she said. "It'll be easier."

  Slowhand took the conch, bemused. What, she thought he'd feel better if he could listen to the sea? He looked inside, and then recoiled. There were things inside — horrible, little, pulsing, slimy things.

  "Don't ask me," Kali said. "But they produce oxygen. The supply's limited but it does gradually refill. Go ahead, chomp down, it'll make a difference."

  Slowhand did so, reluctantly. And his eyes widened as the things did what they did, fi
lling his lungs with cool air. "Fwer joo ged theef fings?"

  Kali shrugged. "That one? That one I bought from a pirate in a little place called Crablogger Beach." She dug in her belt again. "This one, however, I found in an elven ruin — and I've had it for a long, long time."

  Slowhand stared at her questioningly as Kali rolled the icebomb in her hand, remembering her encounter with Merrit Moon all those years ago. "Keep it because one day you might need it," he'd said. Well, old man, guess what…

  "If this thing still works, things in this room are about to go from very, very hot to very, very cold very, very quickly. You know what happens when things do that?"

  "They blow up in your face?"

  "A-ha. So find somewhere to use as cover."

  "Hooper, there is no cover."

  Kali looked upwards. "Then Killiam Slowhand is going to have to be a little bit faster for once."

  Slowhand followed her gaze. "Understood."

  "Right, then," Kali said. She pressed the stud on the globe and threw it towards the forge. For a second nothing happened, and then everything before their eyes exploded and turned white.

  The old man had not been exaggerating about the power of these things. It might have been tragically effective when he'd used one outside, but in these close confines it was almost elemental in its impact.

  The forge frosted, and they waited. The floor cracked beneath their feet. The very air they breathed seemed to be crystals, and still the pair of them waited. The timing had to be perfect.

  The two of them were covered in a thin sheen of ice now, and shivering violently. Their breath froze as it left their mouths.

  There was a crackling sound from above, perversely sounding as though the forge were on fire.

  The glass of the observation chamber frosted from left to right, as if something invisible had painted it white.

  "Now, Slowhand!" Kali shouted.

  The archer struggled to steady his grip. Kali could hardly blame him. She, too, was shaking like a leaf.

  "Slowhand…"

  Slowhand let fly three arrows in quick succession, the first spidering the frozen glass, the second cracking it and the third shattering it completely.

  The glass blew out at the same time the forge exploded. Sharp slices of death — glass and metal — rained and hurtled at them from above and below.

  They didn't hang around to feel their touch. As soon as his final arrow impacted with the wall of the observation chamber behind the glass, Slowhand grabbed Kali about the waist, circling her so his hand could still grab the rope, and then launched the pair of them up towards the broken window, frozen hand alternating with frozen hand as they climbed.

  Behind and below them the forge didn't know what to do with itself, the chunks of the mould that had landed on its floor again triggering the heating coils at the same time as they crackled with intense cold. And as Kali and Slowhand reached window level, the stark contrast between temperatures caused a renewed series of explosions, and the whole chamber blew.

  Kali and Slowhand were sent hurtling towards the observation area wall, thudded into it and landed on the floor, stunned. But as its floor subsided beneath them, they knew there was no time to waste.

  The whole place was going up.

  They ran, exiting first the observation area and then the dome itself, the whole place quaking beneath them. Makennon and her party had already left but some guards remained. They were not concerned with Kali and Slowhand, however, as they were too busy screaming and running for their lives.

  The reason for this was that the lava lake surrounding the dome had ceased its gentle bubbling and become now a seething, broiling mass that lurched and spat at the rock that contained it. Thick, liquid fire had even begun to spit above its lip and, as Kali and Slowhand looked on one last, unfortunate woman was engulfed in a burning tongue that fried her screeching form to a skeleton in less than a second.

  Those same lava spurts hitting them wasn't their main problem, however.

  It was the lava spurts that had hit the suspension bridge.

  Because as they watched, their only way off the central island warped and twisted in the intense heat, and then its cabling snapped away with a sound like a whiplash.

  Almost instantly, the bridge was gone.

  "Hooper?" Slowhand said, worriedly.

  Kali looked down, her brow beetling. "We're stuffed," she said, succinctly.

  What she neglected to mention was what Slowhand had not yet noticed. Because she didn't want to worry him more.

  The lava lake was rising.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Resurrection was a second coming. Somewhat more than a second, actually, but in the circumstances Merrit Moon thought it would be churlish to complain about the delay.

  The sharp intake of breath with which he returned to life echoed around the cave of the ogur, empty now apart from the ogur themselves, gathered in a tribal huddle where, by the look of the cleanly gnawed bones around them — all of the bones of Munch's people — they had been sitting for some time. They stared at him in silence, their expressions a mix of fascination and fear caused by what was likely the strangest occurrence they had ever seen.

  The occurrence was no less strange to Moon himself, this being the first time he had died.

  Or not — as the case seemed to be.

  That the artefact had worked — albeit in a way and on a subject he would never have anticipated — renewed his faith in the Old Races and the wonders, rather than the horrors, they had once achieved. He doubted, however, that the ogur that had triggered the amulet had found its effects wondrous in any way, and he sighed. Perhaps it was a horror after all.

  The poor creature knelt before him, hand outstretched and touching the amulet, but it was not what it had been. Where moments before it had been indistinguishable from the rest of its tribe — solid and formidable, awesome — it was now a shadow of its brothers, wasted and drained. The same ogur that had attempted to approach Kali — likely the alpha — it had obviously been the first to approach his body and it had paid the price.

  The creature still breathed, haltingly and raspingly, and stared at him in utter helplessness and confusion, but there was nothing Moon could do to help it, and he felt deeply sorry. It had not, after all, been greed that had motivated the ogur to touch the amulet, just primitive curiosity. It had yet to learn — and he hoped it would have the chance to do so — that all that glistened was not gloob.

  Therein lay the simple beauty — and horror — of what the amulet was. Moon thought back to his hidden room in his cellar in Gargas, and the mixed emotions the sight of it had engendered in him. Sitting there on the shelves amidst other acquisitions he had deemed too dangerous for even someone such as Kali to see, its physical beauty was undeniable — a scintillating, perfectly faceted gem inlaid in gloob that could have been used to pay the ransom of a king. It was for that reason that he kept the amulet locked away, because if the wrong eyes were ever to see the gem it would be impossible to resist, taken from his possession with no knowledge of what it truly was and what it truly did. Not that he didn't trust Kali implicitly on that level, of course. It was just that by the amulet's very nature — the fact that in the absence of the direst circumstances it could not be tested — it was unpredictable and therefore potentially very, very dangerous.

  He had found the amulet in an elven site many years before, certain as soon as he had that it was more than it seemed, because if there was one thing he had learned in his long career it was that Old Race artefacts generally were. It had taken two years of research following the find to identify what it was, cross-referencing a dozen Old Race manuscripts, until he finally knew that what he had acquired was an example of a battlefield boobytrap that the elves called scythe-stones. Products of their science or their sorcery — or both, he still wasn't sure — they masqueraded as spoils of war, prime to be plucked from the fallen body of an elven victim, but in actuality what they did was transfer the life essence f
rom a victorious warrior to the defeated at the moment of death, reversing their roles and effectively turning the tide of many a battle. The psychological effect on the surrounding enemy was not to be underestimated either, because the host body fleetingly absorbed some of the features of the victim, looking almost as if its soul were being stolen from the body. In a way it was, Moon supposed, and to the enemy — the superstitious dwarves — the supernatural aspect was often far more disturbing than the truth of what had actually happened.

  Moon looked at the ogur again, and frowned. The efficacy of the amulet couldn't be denied — he was, after all, alive — but nevertheless something seemed to be wrong. For one thing, the process was meant to be almost instantaneous, and for another he… didn't feel quite right. Whatever was happening here wasn't happening the way it was meant to, and apart from his own discomfort it was evidently prolonging the agony of the poor creature before him. As Moon watched, the ogur's body and features seemed to shrink in on themselves even more than they already had, the blue wisps that were still being drawn from it by the amulet seemingly extracting its essence still. Moon was, as yet, still too weak to move, and so he had no choice but to witness the process continuing for another few minutes, at the end of which time he turned his eyes away. For the amulet had taken everything from the ogur, and now, in the end, the beast all but disintegrated before him, collapsing into a desiccated heap on the cave floor.

  The amulet snatched what wisps of it remained in the air with a sigh.

  Wrong, Moon thought. That was wrong. And the other ogur in the cave obviously thought so, too, because now they were stirring from their prone positions, grunting with what sounded like growing confusion and agitation. What was happening? Now that their alpha was dead, had their deferment to him ceased? Was he now as exposed to their primal hunger as Kali would have been had she remained in the cave?

  No, Moon thought, it wasn't that — but it made his situation no less dangerous. Something had to have changed about him during the revitalisation process — perhaps something as simple as his scent — and the reason that the ogur were no longer deferring to him was because to their senses he was no longer the man they had deferred to before. The end result, however, was the same. He was no longer welcome here amongst the ogur — not as anything but food, that was — and he had to get out of their cave before their slowly revising opinion of him resulted in his being ripped apart.