City of Light & Shadow

by Ian Whates

  The instinctive adjustment almost spelled disaster, as in bringing his left arm down Tylus' right arm automatically went up and he started to roll. He quickly corrected but in the process lost sight of the bug. He had visions of the thing still coming straight at him and tensed, expecting to feel metal latch onto his leg at any moment and inflict who knew what damage; but then he saw the thing dropping back towards the ground, a wisp of smoke trailing behind it. In fact, both the bugs that had been arrowing in to intercept them were now heading groundward. Whitmore had evidently dealt with the second. Realisation struck home. The arkademics' weapon actually worked!

  Tylus had no idea what the blue light was supposed to do, but he knew it was something the arkademics had developed after studying the crushed mechanism he'd recovered. He'd been assured that it would prove effective against similar technology, but such assurances were easily given by folk sitting comfortably back in the Heights. This was the first time the weapon's effectiveness had actually been put to the test. Thankfully, it seemed to have passed with flying colours.

  Tylus was almost disappointed to see the main group of metallic bugs – a dozen or more – flare briefly and brightly as they drew close to the four Blade. He had no idea what the Blade were doing to them but it was as if the bugs hit some invisible barrier a few steps ahead of the four ebony figures. The bugs died in a ripple of tiny flashes and then dropped to the ground, depriving the Kite Guards of the opportunity to try out their new weapon on a larger group of targets.

  With the immediate danger averted, Tylus flew on to the river, hoping to gain some clue as to where the metallic bugs had come from. He scoured the bank and the terrain between the group and the water but there was nothing to see. He came back and touched down, leaving the other two Guards aloft to watch for any further threat. The bugs had surely been no more than an opening salvo.

  Following M'gruth's comment about hoping their quarry wasn't aquatic and the direction the bugs had come from, Tylus fell into the trap of assuming their enemy lurked somewhere in the depths of the Thair. As they reached the banks of the river – still a considerable waterway even if diminished from the great river that flowed into the under-City – he found himself scanning the water, searching for a hint of something breaking the surface. So the attack, when it came, took him by surprise, though it shouldn't have done. After all, it was hardly the first time this trip they'd been ambushed from beneath their feet.

  The thing that surged out of the ground almost at the tips of the Blade's toes was very different from the scorpion/snake/human hybrid that had attacked them before. That one had looked to be a hotchpotch of parts harvested from various creatures, stuck together if not at random then certainly with little thought of aesthetics. This one had far more the appearance of a complete, planned entity; though whether the entity was organic or mechanical was more difficult to determine. Tylus had the impression, though, that this might once have been human, that machine parts had somehow been grafted onto and into a human body to create an obscene fusion of the two. It was bigger than the previous creature; broader, more powerful and less sinuous.

  As soon as it appeared, the creature – presumably this Insint they were hunting – leapt upon the nearest Blade, grasping the black figure in metallic claws; and then it seemed to fall apart. No, nothing so dramatic, Tylus realised. The legs that gripped the Blade detached, or rather the part of the thing's body they belonged to did, leaving behind a spindly mechanism vaguely similar to the Maker's creations that had subverted the street-nicks so effectively, but bigger, much bigger. Nor was it alone. An identical contraption broke away from Insint's other side and latched on to a second of the Blade. It occurred to Tylus that these may perhaps have been the templates for the Maker's smaller mechanisms.

  Everything was happening at once. Tylus had the impression of a broad back, metallic but resembling a beetle's carapace. It might have been gleaming and bright once, but was now tarnished and scratched, and it even showed a hint of rust at the edges. This creature was old, an impression only emphasised by a series of indentations that ran down the thing's back like symmetrical pockmarks. From some of these rose more of the small beetle-like mechanisms that had attacked them before – no more than half a dozen this time. The bugs sped straight towards the Tattooed Men who, reacting far more quickly than Tylus had even thought to, were advancing on the scene, coming to help the Blade.

  Belatedly, Tylus remembered himself, spread his arms and took to the air, hoping to use the arkademics' weapons as they were intended, against Insint. Behind him, the other two Kite Guards did the same. Only as he took to the wing did he see four great forms rushing towards the party from behind. "Look out!" he yelled, just as the pack of demon hounds smashed into the ranks of the Tattooed Men. Tylus watched as two of the men went down, disappearing beneath impossibly huge canine forms. Another screamed as slavering jaws crashed together, tearing away an arm amidst jagged white bone and flying blood.

  Insint was in constant motion, its movements surprisingly quick for a creature so large. The two detached elements of the creature were wreaking damage. The first Blade attacked had collapsed to the ground, the spidery mech poised above, its legs puncturing the Blade's tough hide. Energy crackled between and around them. The second Blade remained on his feet, arms clenched around the main body of the mech, holding it at bay while some of the spear-tipped legs latched onto the Blade's torso and others scrabbled for purchase. Again bolts of energy surged between them but it was unclear who had the upper hand; they had evidently fought their way to an aggressive stalemate.

  Tylus took all this in at a glance, turned to Whitmore and called, "Help the Tattooed Men with the hounds. Both of you, move! I'll take care of Insint."

  All of which sounded a great deal more confident than he actually felt.

  The central part of the mechanism, or creature, or whatever it was, kept low to the ground. Despite losing spidery legs on either side of its body Insint remained highly mobile, using the disconcertingly human-looking hands of its foremost limbs to grip the ground and help manoeuvre. Other than those hands, the most human feature was its face. Embedded in metal, surrounded by corrugated tubes and odd receptors, the features were still unmistakeably human; nor was that face blank and inflexible as the earlier creature's had been. When appropriate, Insint grimaced with effort and his brow furrowed in concentration. Such emotions, so much in evidence, were what gave the impression that this was a person in an outlandish, oversized suit rather than a cunningly contrived construct. Tylus wasn't about to let that sway him though. He sighted along his arm and squeezed his fist, but Insint was gone, and the blue light played harmlessly across the ground. Cursing, Tylus relaxed his hand, banked, and prepared to come in for another pass, but the creature kept moving unpredictably, dodging ordnance thrown at it by the Blade. An ebony lance narrowly missed skewering him and then he twisted away from a black beam that struck the ground with explosive force, throwing up a cloud of debris, detritus and smoke, forcing Tylus to swerve sharply or risk being engulfed.

  Peripheral images crowded in on Tylus as he persisted with trying to get a clear shot. He saw one of the Blade blast the spidery mech from its stricken colleague, glimpsed one of the demon hounds go down in a tangle of netting fired by a Kite Guard while another yelped as its back legs were hamstrung and Tattooed Men darted in for the kill. He watched as Insint squirted a stream of liquid at one of the Blade that had come too close. Whatever it was smoked on contact – acid, perhaps? Still the infuriating creature wouldn't stay still or even perform a predictable movement. A master of evasion, no doubt about that.

  He needed to be. The two spidery mechs lay smoking and broken. The Blade were driving Insint back, hemming him in. One of their number lay unmoving while another stayed close to Issie, but the remaining four Blade were working in concert, steadily squeezing the space the creature had to manoeuvre in. They attacked and closed, Insint defended, dodged, and occasionally fought back, but his options were in
creasingly limited. Tylus seized his chance. Dipping his arm and banking, he triggered the blue light and watched it strike the stretched and augmented human-mech hybrid squarely on its dimpled carapace.

  The effect was immediate and dramatic. Insint screamed. Tylus had no idea what eldritch properties the arkademics had instilled within this pale blue luminance, but its touch clearly brought agony to the creature, having far more effect than anything the Blade had thrown at him. The ebony warriors didn't hang around to watch, though. As Insint writhed in the blue glare a spear slammed into his body, perhaps below the carapace – difficult for Tylus to see while on the wing, but it lodged there – while black energy licked at his back quarters, producing a cloud of acrid smoke as the metal seemed to blister and wither.

  Insint clearly decided that enough was enough. Voicing a wail of frustration and pain, the beetle-like body sprung into the air, heading towards the river. Tylus wasn't sure if this was a huge leap or a glide – though the creature had no wings – but before he or anyone else could catch him, Insint had dived into the water, disappearing beneath the surface. The Blade were in close pursuit, two of them plunging in after the creature. Tylus flew over the patch of water where Insint had disappeared, but he could see nothing in the murky depths. He landed on the bank, where the other two Blade had stopped short, and was soon joined by his fellow Kite Guards. It wasn't long before Issie and even the Tattooed Men came across as well, the demon hounds evidently having been driven off or killed. Tylus made a quick head count. Besides M'gruth, he made it six of the former Pits warriors still standing. They'd be leaving a few more comrades behind for the Stain's scavengers, it seemed.

  No one spoke. The whole group of them simply stood and waited, all eyes fixed on the water. For long minutes there was nothing to see. The surface of the Thair remained calm, with no indication that two of the Blade and the creature responsible for so nearly destabilising the whole of the City Below had disappeared beneath it.

  Then, as Tylus was contemplating taking to the air for another pass over the river in the hope of seeing something – anything – he felt a deep vibration, a rumbling that travelled up through the soles of his feet to spread throughout his body. Even as this registered, the bubble of an explosion arose in the centre of the Thair, a great dome of displaced water and energy that burst to disgorge a boom of sound and spray them all with water. Issie shied away and Tylus moved instinctively to step in front of her, to protect her, even though one of the Blade still hovered at her shoulder.

  The river subsided, though waves now lapped at their feet in the aftershock. A dark form began to emerge, climbing onto the bank: one of the Blade. Tylus watched, but no second figure appeared.

  "Insint lives, though badly damaged," the Blade reported, its voice deep and resonant. "It has headed further into the Stain."

  M'gruth and Tylus looked at each other. The Tattooed Man raised his eyebrows. "I suppose you're going to tell me we still have to go after this brecking thing."

  "Yes," the Kite Guard replied, no happier at the prospect than M'gruth. "I'm afraid I am."

  It would mean going on into the far cavern, the dark bowels of the Stain, where light from the sun globes failed to penetrate. Weren't they the lucky ones.

  Morning had marched forth, chasing out that recurring usurper night to fully establish her dominion over the world by the time Dewar blinked into wakefulness. It was unusual for him to sleep so late, but then it had been an unusually active night. Memories of their energetic lovemaking chased through his mind: Seffy's soft kisses and expert hands, her long hair tickling his thighs, her firm and slender body pressed beneath his one moment and then writhing on top of him the next…

  He reached out a hand, but aside from his own lethargic self, the bed was empty. He sat up sharply, to find the room likewise. The girl had gone, slipping away while he slept, which at least saved him from having to make one unsavoury decision. He couldn't pretend to be sorry.

  Dewar sat up, rubbing his eyes, to see an empty bottle on the floor and a glass lying on its side close by. Red wine, a decent if over-priced Bexon rouge. Perhaps that explained the fragility of his head this morning. No, he hadn't drunk that much, and the wine certainly wasn't responsible for the bitter aftertaste lurking at the back of his palate. Valerion root! Doubtless mixed with something else for it to have been so effective. He didn't bother trying to discern what that might be, it didn't matter. Seffy had drugged him. Him. Realisation came as a shock. Did she routinely carry a sleeping potion with her or was this an impulse purchase made as a precaution during that late afternoon visit to the herbalist? Either way, it showed admirable resourcefulness and meant that he had severely underestimated her.

  Concern chased hard on the heels of insight. He leapt from the bed and reached for his money belt, pulling it from the back of a chair where it lay buried beneath the rest of his clothes. Had she robbed him as well? The belt felt lighter than it ought to, but that might just be his concern colouring perception. At least it hadn't been emptied. He opened up the belt and poured the contents out, kneeling on the bed to count it. A quick calculation showed that all she'd taken was what he'd promised her plus a little more, presumably as payment for the night's frivolities.

  Dewar sat back, looked at the money spread across the rumpled sheets and felt his shoulders tremble. He threw back his head and laughed. Clever girl, resourceful girl. She had surprised him, delighted him in truth, and very few people managed to do that. He couldn't begrudge her what she'd taken, not even the conveniently overlooked sum designated for buying the zyvan berry juice. She'd earned every copper.

  If Seffy was as astute and resourceful as this suggested why had she cooperated in the first place? The danger must have been plain to her from the outset. Had it been out of curiosity, or perhaps for the thrill, even for the sex? Most likely a little of all those things, Dewar concluded.

  He suddenly realised why he'd approached this particular woman in the first place. In so many ways, she reminded him of Marta.

  THIRTEEN

  Up until now the corridors had seemed overly warm to Tom, but as he stepped back into them after the claustrophobic swelter of the pump room they felt cool, even airy and refreshing by comparison; though he suspected this said more about the pump room than it did about the corridors.

  Tom had done all he could in both words and thoughts to thank the kayjele for his help, trying to recall how he'd communicated in similar fashion with Kohn. Now, as then, he had a sense that his words were understood and accepted, and hoped this was more than just wishful thinking. As anticipated, the kayjele made it clear that he wouldn't desert his station to go with them.

  So the same three exited the pump room as had entered. The corridors seemed eerily still in contrast to the constant thrum of that great engine. For a while, as they headed onward, Tom thought he could still feel the beat of that huge pump through the soles of his feet, but dismissed the notion as imagination, unless perhaps the memory of that powerful vibration still resonated through his body.

  Initially they walked in silence, Tom guiding the way but distracted by his own inner turmoil.

  He wasn't at all surprised to find the goddess walking beside him. "You must hurry," she said. "Time grows short." She appeared as a picture of vigour and vitality; the fragility he had sensed in her at times in the ice citadel nowhere to be seen.

  "I know, don't worry," he assured her. Where were you when I needed you, when a Demon came so close to killing us all?

  "You didn't need me." Thought and speech became a jumble with a goddess in your head. Again Tom worried that his most private thoughts were no longer private at all. "You just thought you did, when you already had the strength and resources to defeat the Demon without me. I would have intervened if it had become necessary."

  "Easy enough to say that now," he said, but the goddess had gone, leaving an imperious command to "Hurry!" hanging in the air behind her.

  "To say what, exactly?" Kat asked. He must
have spoken that last retort aloud.

  "Oh, nothing," he said quickly. "Just thinking out loud."

  She seemed far more sensitive to his moods than she ever had when they crossed the City Below together. Half the time during that journey she'd acted as if she couldn't care less, now she seemed genuinely anxious for him. He wondered whether that was down to changes in him or in her.

  "That figures," she said. "Mind you, about time you stopped looking so thoughtful all the time, I reckon. Trust me, it doesn't suit you."

  "Thanks."

  "So, what were you mulling over anyway?"

  Realising that she wasn't about to let the matter drop, he searched for something plausible. There was no way he was going to admit that he'd been chatting to an invisible goddess in his head.