“Now.”
What happened next was a blur of moving bodies. The jailor threw the door open. The two crossbowmen rushed in, each taking aim toward opposite sides of the antechamber, only to find it empty. “Clear!” one of them barked, and the jailor ran through the anteroom to the interior door, opened it and stepped aside to let the crossbowmen pass through into the main bedroom. “Stay down!” one of them yelled. “Don’t move!” said the other. The two other crossbowmen rushed in behind them. The four of them spread out along the perimeter of the room, their weapons trained on Lorentz, who laid propped up on his elbows in Caile’s bed, watching them with an indifferent air.
Makarria watched it all from the corridor, detached, still halfway in her trance-like state.
The kennelmaster and his apprentice rushed in next, their pole lanyards held out before them, the rope loops at the ends ready to grab Lorentz around the neck and arms.
“Nice and easy now,” the kennelmaster said. “Do this our way and you don’t get hurt. Get down onto the floor. Kneel and put your hands behind your back.”
“Today is not the day I kneel before any man,” Lorentz said, sliding his feet from the bed to stand.
Makarria pushed her way past the jailor in front of her and stepped through the anteroom into the main bedroom. “Do it. We know what you are, pthisicis-corporis.”
Lorentz stood there at the side of the bed, eying her for a long moment before responding. “And what, Your Highness? Now you’re afraid of my touch?”
Adrenaline coursed through Makarria, stealing away her dreamstate. “I would show you mercy and hear what you have to say for yourself, body thief, but only if you do as I say. Disobey me and I will have you shot.”
Lorentz narrowed his eyes and smiled. He began to kneel, and just when Makarria dared to hope it might all work, he leapt to the far side of the bed, and rolled away out of sight. One of the crossbowmen fired, but his bolt flew wide to stick into the far wall with a twang.
“Hold your positions,” one of the others yelled. “There’s no place for him to go.”
That’s when the bed was upended and Lorentz charged them from behind the protective shield of the mattress. Like fools, the other three crossbowmen fired their weapons into the down-filled mattress. Lorentz plowed ahead, unharmed. He knocked over the kennelmaster with the mattress and dumped it on top of him, its bulk pinning him to the ground. Then the first crossbowman was down, Lorentz’s sword cutting through the flesh of his belly before he could reload his weapon.
Makarria closed her eyes, imagining Lorentz’s limbs chained to his sides with his own skin, just like she had done with Warden Aymil in Khal-Aband. She did it fast, before Lorentz could get to the next guard, to kill him, or worse—touch him. She breathed out and exerted her will to push through the resistance to make it so…
…and something went horribly wrong.
She gasped as pain exploded through her body. She had felt pain like this only once before. Is it Emperor Guderian? Back from the grave to staunch my magic? She could barely open her eyes enough to see her hands before her, let alone take in her surroundings. Instead, she felt herself falling. She tried to hold her hands out to catch herself, but they would not respond. She watched the marble floor flying toward her face. And then nothing.
• • •
When consciousness came to her, it was only to be welcomed by more pain. She could not move her arms or legs. Her head throbbed. Her skull ached all around, like a crown of white-hot fire. I cracked my skull open, Makarria thought, remembering her fall and then all that happened leading up to it, like a bad dream. A sense of dread filled her. Lorentz? Did we capture him? Did my magic work? She willed herself to open her eyes and her vision slowly came into focus.
“He’s coming to,” someone said.
Makarria had to blink her eyes several times to believe what she was seeing. It was herself she was looking at, her own body that was staring back at her and speaking.
“He lives, it appears,” the pthisicis-corporis said, wearing Makarria’s body. “And we’re all safe now thanks to this wondrous device.”
The body thief reached out toward Makarria’s head, or rather toward some sort of contraption that was attached to the top of her head. Makarria could just see the perimeter of it above her brow, a brass ring of some sort, connected to a larger framework out of her line of sight. Blinding pain shot through her head when the pthisicis-corporis touched it. It was like a thousand of Guderian’s war machines, their cacophonous engines roaring in her head.
“The mind cage is screwed into his skull, blocking him from performing any sort of magic,” the pthisicis-corporis said, turning away from Makarria. “He won’t be able to switch bodies anymore, nor use whatever other powers he might have.”
The body thief was talking to others in the room, Makarria realized, focusing through the reverberating thrum in her mind. Yes, there was her father. Fina. Master Rubino from the Brotherhood of Five. All of them listening to the body thief, thinking he was her. All of them staring at the real her, thinking what? Makarria knew the answer before she could even focus her eyes downward at her legs below her. She was wearing Lorentz's clothes. No. She was in Lorentz's body, and she was chained to the wall in the dungeon. In one of the dank cells, deep in the dungeon.
She tried to speak, but her tongue was foreign in her mouth, tripping over the gaps where Lorentz had missing teeth. It’s me, Makarria, she tried saying, but the words came out as garbled nonsense.
The body thief turned back to face her and leaned in close. “Hush now, Your Highness,” it whispered in her ear. “I’m you now, and if you start to fuss, I’ll have your head.”
Makarria began to tremble. She tried closing her eyes and going into a dreamstate, but white pain shot through her head again, from the backs of her eyes to the top of her spine. Whatever it was attached to her head made it impossible to concentrate.
“You look so surprised,” the pthisicis-corporis whispered when Makarria’s eyes opened again. “You really should have known better. I can make the switch whenever I make contact with another, and the touch needn’t be physical. No, the mental touch is much more effective, in fact, so thank you for that, Dreamwielder. You just made my job all the more easy. And perhaps a little more fun as well.”
14
Flames and Shadows
The four-mast galleon flying the blue and red pennon of the Old World Republic was given leave by the Pyrthin navy blockade and laid anchor in Pyrthin Bay at midday. Queen Taera was notified immediately and was waiting at the docks with a regiment of spearmen before the ship was even secured to the berths at the main pier. She had no intention of letting the Old World emissaries set foot on Pyrthin soil.
“Ahoy,” the ship captain hollered, eyeing Taera and the soldiers warily as his men bustled about deck, battening down the sails. “We come on a diplomatic voyage. I bear representatives of the Old World Republic. They wish to meet with the Queen Taera.”
“Then send them topdeck forthwith,” Taera barked. “I am Queen Taera. I will speak with your representatives now and send you on your way, so don’t let your crew get comfortable, captain.”
“Aye,” the captain muttered, and turned to speak to a crewman who ran off to disappear belowdeck.
“Permission to come aboard, captain?” Taera asked.
The captain looked from her to her soldiers crowding the docks, then back to her before nodding wordlessly and motioning for his men to lower the gangplank.
Once the plank was secure on the pier, Taera walked aboard with six of her guards and stopped to wait there at the portside of the ship, effectively blocking anyone else from embarking or disembarking. Custom, as well as common wisdom, would suggest that Taera should greet the emissaries in the palace, where she would welcome them from her throne. She was queen, after all, and they were coming to treat with her. On the ship, she was meeting them on their territory. Plus, she was exposed. Even with her regiment of spearmen, she wa
s vulnerable onboard a foreign ship with a crew of seasoned sailors who were well accustomed to working and fighting on-deck. Her father, if he were still alive, would have called her a fool for even considering such a risk. Taera was many things, but she was no fool. She had already foreseen this day in a vision, so she knew she was safe. From physical harm at least. The Old World wasn’t here to attack her. They were here to seduce her.
She was here to scare them away.
When the two emissaries—clearly not sailors, judging by the opulently fringed togas they wore—emerged from the stairwell beneath the poopdeck, they at least had the good taste to not look surprised to see Taera standing there. The taller of the two men had graying blond hair, and the corner of one side of his mouth was lifted in a perpetual sneer. The other man was dark skinned and wore a cylindrical cap upon his head.
“Your Highness,” the man with the graying hair said, inclining his head. “You honor us with your presence. This is Ambassador Membai, and I am Senator Emil of the Old World Republic, endowed by the Republic Senate with the honor of sending our greetings and support to the new ruler of Pyrthinia.”
“Save your flattery for someone else,” Taera said. “I don’t know how things work in the Old World, but here in the Five Kingdoms news travels faster than ships. I know you’ve visited Queen Makarria, and I know what it is you’re out to get from me.”
“Your Highness, we are not here to ‘get’ anything. We are here merely to speak with you. There was a time when Pyrthinia and the Republic were the closest of trade partners. Now that Emperor Guderian has passed, we would rekindle that relationship. We ask nothing of your kingdom that would be unrequited.”
“Fine then. What is it you have onboard that you would like to trade?”
Senator Emil smirked, as if he had expected such a response from Taera. “You mistake my words, Your Highness. We have nothing onboard at the moment. We are merely ambassadors, here to forge trade agreements.”
“Then, by all means, state your terms. What commodities do you wish to trade? What tariffs do you wish to negotiate? I would hear them now and expedite matters.”
“Well, Your Highness, the Old World needs assurances that Pyrthinia and its surrounding kingdoms are stable first. We are concerned about the instability in Sargoth. We are concerned about your friend Queen Makarria who was nearly assassinated before my eyes a few days ago. I will be forthright with you, as you clearly are not here for pleasantries. The Republic is offering financial and military aid. That is the commodity we offer you. Once the Five Kingdoms are secure, we will move on to negotiating other commodities.”
Taera smiled at him. “Then I’m afraid I will have to pass, Senator Emil. Tell your senate they need to return to their scrolls and brush up on basic economic principles. Why would I want to trade for a commodity that I already have in surplus? Return home and tell your senate about the ether caverns that Pyrthinia has tapped in the Barrier Mountains. Tell them of the forges. And of our fleet of airships.”
Taera turned her head to the left, and there they were, right on schedule: two flying warships closing in from the north faster than any sea-faring vessel ever could hope to attain. The Old World emissaries followed her gaze and gasped in surprise. Even having seen hot air balloons and perhaps even having heard of Siegbjorn’s airship before, they were unprepared to see the spectacle of these ships—thin, sleek, and menacing in their silent approach.
The ships passed by overhead, and even though they were two hundred feet above the docks, the gale of wind summoned by the stormwielder pilots onboard the airships slammed into all of them standing there at sea level. Ambassador Membai had to hold both hands on his head to keep his cap from blowing away, and both his and Senator Emil’s clothes whipped up around their legs.
It was a good show of force, just the way Taera had planned. In reality, these were the only two warships completed, but Emil had no way of knowing that.
“As you can see, Senator, military aid is the last thing we need, and our trading outlook is looking up, I must say, even without your aid. So I will bid you a good voyage. Return home and tell your senate there is no need to worry. I am in contact with Queen Makarria. We are monitoring the election in Sargoth. All is well. Return if you will when you have something worthwhile to trade.”
Taera turned to walk away, but Senator Emil called after her.
“But, Your Highness. This treatment is uncalled for. We have just arrived. Our state status demands your hospitality. Send me away if you will, but at least accept Ambassador Membai as our official emissary. You will find him most accommodating and helpful.”
Taera turned on her heel to level her steely gaze upon Senator Emil. “You demand nothing of me. Be gone, and return only when you have the authority to negotiate in good faith a trade agreement that doesn’t involve your military presence and Pyrthinian concessions. And know this, Senator: any ships from the Old World discovered sailing in Pyrthin seas before then will be treated as vessels of war.”
With that, Taera turned her back on the emissaries for good. She walked down the gangplank, back onto the pier, and toward Castle Pyrthin. “Captain,” she barked out to the leader of her guards when they were out of earshot of the Old World vessel. “Send word to the shipyards. Our airship fly-by was a success. Casstian’s Breath is to set sail for Sol Valaróz immediately with my message.”
• • •
It had been a harrowing flight. With the storm bearing down on them, Siegbjorn had been forced to cross the Barren Mountains east of Talvera, taking a winding path between craggy peaks. Then the storm collided with the mountain range and the valleys turned into wind tunnels that sent the little airship careening recklessly close to the copper-toned rockfaces. As if that were not enough, next came the torrential hail, pummeling the air-filled hull above them and sounding like a thousand-horse stampede. Night descended then, and they were still in the thick of mountain maze, the wind and hail unrelenting. Caile could do nothing but retreat with Thon to the cabin with Talitha and silently hope the ship would withstand the beating. Siegbjorn was unperturbed, though, and when they finally poked through the eastern edge of the mountain range, all was calm, the airship no worse for the wear.
From there, it had been a smooth night’s sailing over the Forrest Weorcan, and now only a few low afternoon clouds hung over the Gothol Sea as Siegbjorn piloted his airship to land in the open meadowland south of Col Sargoth.
“Thanks for getting us here alive, my friend,” Caile told him.
The big man smiled in return, then turned to Talitha for his orders.
“Get some sleep if you can,” she told him. “I’ll return before nightfall.”
And with that, Caile, Talitha, and Thon strode across the meadow to the south gate of the dark city: Col Sargoth.
It was the same gate Caile had used on his first trip to the dark city, but on that occasion he had been on horseback along with Lorentz and a small contingent of troops to consign themselves as hostages to Emperor Guderian. On that trip, the dark city was crowned in a halo of black smoke that rose up from the two smelting factories, one each at the north and south ends of the city. On that trip, Caile had barely escaped alive. This time Guderian was gone, the factories dormant, and Caile was wiser perhaps, but far less certain of himself. Or maybe that’s what wisdom is, realizing you have little control of anything in this world.
The city was much the way he remembered it. The buildings were dreary, squat looking things, tarnished black with age and soot. Ether-fueled streetlamps burned even in the midday light, and the rutted tar-paved streets were crowded with a mixture of traditional beast-drawn carts and noisy steam-powered wagons and rickshaws. It took the three of them the better part of an hour to reach Lightbringer’s Keep at the center of the city. The keep was a monstrous structure, far more imposing than the royal palaces in either Sol Valaróz or Kal Pyrthin. Its five black towers were twice again as tall as the watchtower in Lon Golier, the second highest structure in th
e Five Kingdoms.
Guards at the main entrance challenged their approach, but they recognized Talitha when she identified herself. She had been a regular fixture at Lightbringer’s Keep for the last year, so nearly all the staff and guards knew her on sight. As they had discussed on the airship, Caile let Talitha do all the talking, first with the guards, and then with a porter who led them into the keep and showed Caile and Thon to their guest quarters in the dignitary wing. Talitha took no room.
“I’m merely here to introduce Prince Caile Delios to the council, and then I’ll be on my way back to Issborg,” she told the porter, who smiled at her warmly and entreated her to at least stay for the night.
It was encouraging to Caile to see that the porter liked Talitha. The houndkeeper and the other politicians had schemed to kick her out of the election council, but the working people of the keep genuinely admired her, Caile could tell. That gave him hope that they weren’t on a fool’s errand. More importantly, it gave him a sense of purpose, something to keep his mind off why he’d been sent away from Makarria, maybe even a way for him to redeem himself in some small way. I’m here to keep the Old World at bay, but also to make sure the people of Sargoth get a king who is worthy of them.
“I wish I could stay,” Talitha told the porter, “But I’ve been away from my own people for too long now.”
It was a lie, of course. Talitha would make a show of leaving the city and flying away with Siegbjorn, but Siegbjorn would drop her off as soon as night fell, and she would sneak back into the city. That was their plan, at least. Just like a year and a half before, she would take to the streets as a turnip vendor and learn what she could from the shadows and whispers in the streets of the city, while Caile would throw himself publicly into the lion’s den that was the election council.
Souldrifter: The Dreamwielder Chronicles - Book Two Page 16
