Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series

by Maggert, Terry

  “True. There will be predators, most likely. I’m scanning as well.”

  “Great. No time like the present to become a mountain—um, not a climber. A descender,” he said and began picking his way down the peak in the runnel created by the capsule. Friction from the capsule’s descent exposed some rock that looked slightly less dangerous than the glare ice around them, so he turned around and began climbing a two-kilometer ladder backwards, one halting step at a time. In short order, Nolan began to wheeze. He was in good condition, but not prepared for a reverse mountain voyage.

  In minutes, he’d managed to get down less than a hundred meters, breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

  “This isn’t working. Fatigue will kill me by forcing me into a mistake,” Nolan said.

  “Nolan, target.”

  Nolan snapped his head around to see the space cow lumbering forward, a placid look on its face. It didn’t seem concerned with the heights, and it also didn’t seem interested in following him—at least not directly. It burped in the frigid air and then began walking sideways, ten meters above and to the left.

  On a path.

  “A cowpath. I’ll be damned,” Nolan said.

  “Can you ascend safely?” Cherry asked.

  In answer, Nolan began clawing his way back up the way he’d come and finally arrived at where the beast had disappeared. There was a path, all right, if you didn’t mind staring down a drop-off higher than most space elevators.

  “That’s . . . quite slim,” Nolan said with some trepidation.

  The clear area of stone was narrower than his shoulders, and even though he’d been raised on a mining world, he pulled away from the twisting path. Some human instincts can’t be overcome, no matter how long you lived among kilometer deep tunnels.

  “The animal made it down using that. Did it turn sideways?” Cherry asked. If an AI could be stumped, she was.

  “I don’t see how. Which means I can make it if I lean back and don’t sneeze,” Nolan said. He didn’t wait for an answer but began sliding out onto the ledge that wound around the mountain and down, now visible as a ribbon of gray that passed within fifty meters of the capsule far below.

  With punishing slowness, he took a step, flattened against the mountain, and began slithering sideways across the expanse of rock. It was much faster than the previous attempt but still made Nolan twitch with nervous energy as he peered down to a flat, dangerous looking landing far below.

  “I can see where my body will land if I miss a step,” he said.

  “Then don’t look down,” Cherry advised, helpful as ever.

  He took ten steps. Then fifty. Then Nolan met the first bend and doubled back around a boulder the size of a shuttlecraft, the path winding underneath the monstrous rock to plunge him into a gloom that was part twilight and open sky. On two occasions, pebbles fell away as Nolan brushed the edge with his boot, their bright clatter an unnerving chorus that made him cling even tighter to the perilous path.

  Nolan stepped. And stepped. Exhaled. Stepped—

  And fell, blue sky flashing across his visor in the last sight of his life.

  Or so he thought.

  “I’ll be damned,” Nolan said, voice thick.

  “Nolan,” Cherry said. Her tone was gentle.

  “Lichens.”

  “Lichens?” Cherry asked.

  “Yeah. Not just lichens, but thick, spongy, and growing on top of each other like giant, stinking cabbages with a hint of fish thrown in for good measure.” Nolan sniffed carefully through the cracked visor. “Maybe some sewage, too. Quite piquant.”

  “Nolan, your vitals are good, but you fell. Quite some distance,” Cherry said. “Can you see?”

  “Um. It’s muddy green, not blue. Hold on.” He swiped a glove over his visor to clear it and came face to face with an entirely different space cow who was doing the exact same thing.

  Eating lichen, chewing, and—

  “Space cow, silently judging me. I can feel it,” Nolan reported.

  “They sure are opinionated for being herbivores.”

  “Unh.” Nolan struggled to sit up and take stock after his second crash landing and discovered the fall was far enough that the slope was now manageable.

  “If I can avoid the herd, we’re making it outta here,” Nolan grumbled.

  Around him, a group of creatures chewed calmly, their thick tails swishing in an aimless beat.

  “I’ll just see myself out,” Nolan said, rising on wobbly legs.

  “What?” Cherry asked.

  “Not you. The space cows. I was—we really need a better name for them, but I was trying to be polite. For some reason.” He shook his head to clear it, checked his sidearm and pack, and shrugged. The path down was now a blend of gritty snow, soil, lichen, and tiny white flowers peeking out of cracks in the stones. In essence, it was a steep walk, which appeared far less deadly than the upper elevation of a moment before.

  “We’ll work on a name. As for now, do you see the capsule? Three hundred meters east. You’re quite close if you can avoid being gummed to death by the space cows. Before you ask, I don’t have a better name, but I agree. It needs work,” Cherry said.

  “That’s the thing about being a rogue fleeing with, ah, borrowed hardware. It requires gallantry and derring-do, I think, if I’m using the terms correctly,” Nolan said, trudging along in search of a clear pathway to the capsule.

  “And you think that scary creature names add to this air of danger?”

  “I do. It’s been proven. Can you open a small secondary hatch? If you can, I’m going to stow the ’chute,” he said.

  “It’s open. Controls for that unit are intact.”

  “Thanks.” In a few moments, he reached the battered capsule, its surface now dented and scarred as if it floated in a scrapyard. He dragged the ’chute across rough ground, but it never tore as it was composed of a monofiber that could be used for everything from clothing to sails.

  “Do you want an inventory?” Cherry asked.

  “Might as well.”

  “Not as bad as you think. The interior hatch is jammed, and if I blow the bolts, you won’t be able to close it tightly,” Cherry said, but that wasn’t an issue. There was no way to live in the cramped space, and it was too high up to be safe from storms. “If anything, I’d camo the site with rocks and use it for storage. No telling what’s on this rock.”

  That depended on the natives, if there were any. “I hold no illusions that everything will be as friendly as the space cows,” Nolan said.

  “Agreed. Ready?”

  “Blow the bolts. I’m clear,” he said, retreating ten meters and to the left. There was a muffled pop pop pop and the hatch fell forward and rang against the ground before sliding a few feet. “And there’s my sled, if I need it.”

  “Good idea. The door will slide easily. Interior is clear for you, Nolan,” Cherry said.

  Nolan peeked inside.

  “Chaos,” he said, though Cherry was getting a live feed as well.

  The interior was a jumbled mess, but most of what he needed was stowed behind the pilot’s chair and two standard side carriers. In quick, efficient motions, he emptied everything that wasn’t bolted down and a couple things that were, from a filtration canteen to food to ammo, med kit, and solar charger as well. There was even a small connection kit for linking to satellites or shiptech. In a pinch, the link could be used to siphon power from virtually any source. Nolan tucked that in a thigh pocket with a pat; stealing was almost always better than manufacturing, especially when it came to power or data.

  “Comms are roasted,” Nolan said.

  “No great loss. You’re a thief, a runner, and a criminal. Might be best to stay low for a bit, and having that unit smoked off keeps you out of sight and mind. For a while, anyway,” Cherry said.

  As he left the capsule, Nolan rapped a knuckle on the doorframe, then stepped back out into the brilliant daylight.

  “I know you can’t seal it, but can
you close the emergency door partway, if it’ll slide out of the wall?” he asked Cherry.

  “Got it. Not a pure seal but close enough to help,” she said. Without hesitation, the panel began sliding back with a hideous grinding noise. It covered the door and stopped, leaving a small gap. “Like I said, close.”

  “That’ll work,” Nolan said.

  Nolan took a long look down at the slope. Below him, the snow changed to grays and greens, and then in the distance, another set of low hills rose, huddled tightly along a small river that cut a lazy path through the broad plain. He strapped his salvage to the door, made a handle from loose cable, and began following the sled downhill, pulling against it in permanent tug-of-war as the mass guided him ever lower down the slope.

  “Cherry, can you fix on those hills? Something about them feels off.”

  “Steady your gaze,” she said, borrowing the direction of his right eye. Nolan stared at the distant hills, panning along the riverbank, the ridge that led to the other hills, and—

  —and stopped, locked in on a series of shapes that looked vaguely familiar.

  “A city? Sort of?” Nolan asked.

  “Sort of is right. It’s a town at least, built up under the protection of a cliff face. On old Earth there were people who lived like this, and on a dozen other worlds, too. It’s safe but has limited agricultural room so expect to see whoever lives here with farmland well outside the protective range of those settlements,” Cherry said.

  “We don’t even know if there are people here, or at least my kind of people,” I said. “For that matter, other than space cows and stinking lichens, I haven’t seen a ton of life. The place might as well be a graveyard.”

  “It’s a graveyard, but not all of us are dead,” came a voice from the left. Nolan drew his gun in a second, the barrel unwavering as he let out a long, calming breath, forcing his heart to slow down. “Oh, and please don’t shoot. Would ruin my day and all that,” said the man.

  He was small and compact, with a shaved head and a wide smile. His skin was weatherworn, and he was clad in furs, leather, and a crossing harness made of bright metal, stamped with an intricate pattern like filigree. At his side, he had a crossbow hanging on a thick belt, and a spear rested lazily in the crook of his arm, its head diamond bright.

  “I’d prefer not to. Ruin your day, that is,” Nolan said, wondering how he’d gotten so close. “Um, why can I understand you?”

  “I was already here,” the man said. “You’re not deaf. But you really should look around a bit more. This world isn’t only friendly Turgat and rainbows, you know.”

  I snapped my fingers. “The big things, like a—”

  “Cow? Yes, Turgat. Docile, unless they’re in a large group. Then you might be jostled a bit,” he said.

  “I like space cows better,” Cherry said.

  Me too, Nolan thought. “What’s your name, friend?”

  He started to move forward, hand out, then stopped, an unsure grin replacing his broad smile. “Crowe. At one time, it was Sergeant Virgil Crowe, aboard the Royal Ardent, but now, I’m—well, you see what I am. Just trying to get by.”

  “The Ardent? Are you shitting me?” Nolan blurted. “Explains why I can understand you.”

  “Wish I was. We came apart in upper orbit, and damned if I’ve found anyone else who made it down the well,” Crowe said. “As to my language, you’ll find you can understand everyone here. There are lingual shifts in some areas, but so many people come down through atmo, the new terms get folded in like we weren’t disconnected from the galaxy, even though we’re all stranded. Like I said, been here a while since the Ardent broke up.”

  “That was eleven years ago,” Cherry said.

  “I know,” Nolan said out loud, then regretted it.

  “Speaking to an AI?” Crowe asked.

  Nolan shrugged. “Not a good liar, so—yeah. I am.”

  “Figured. Your eyes go hazy when you do. Don’t suppose you’ve got a way off this planet?” Crowe asked. His question was driven by that most dangerous of conditions. Hope.

  “I don’t. I’m not even sure where the hell I am, let alone how to leave, even if I happen to find a functioning craft. Did your ship go into an uncharted jump point?” Nolan asked.

  “We did, in pursuit of a Libran patrol. The bastards made it in here, and when we came out, they got us. Two on one, and once they framed us with a firing solution, it was all over,” Crowe said. His face darkened with anger as if it had only happened that morning. Some wrongs never fade.

  “Missile got me. One before the jump, and one after,” Nolan admitted.

  “Libran?” Crowe asked.

  A pause. “No. Royal.”

  “You don’t sound like one of those sons a bitches,” Crowe said in what was meant to be a compliment.

  “Because I’m not. Borrowed a ship and got shot out of the sky. A long fall down that mountain back there, and here I am. I don’t quite know what comes next, but I know it doesn’t involve eating lichen with the—what were they? The space cows?”

  “Turgat,” Crowe offered with a grin.

  “Right. Well, I’m not spending the night on the mountain, and I don’t really know where to go next, except down.” Nolan paused as he regarded Crowe’s spear and armor. “If there are two of us here from other worlds, surely there are more?”

  His answering smile was brilliant. “An excellent question, and one that you have to see to believe. Told you, there aren’t just two of us marooned here. There are thousands, if not hundreds of thousands out east, and they all seem to want the same thing.”

  “Which is?” Nolan prompted.

  Crowe smiled slyly. “To be the shipwrecked king, of course.”

  Chapter Two

  Payments

  “I wanted it to come apart, but this seems enthusiastic, even for your people,” Gessin said on the dock, knees damp through his thin pants, speaking to the bobbing faces of the River Children as they looked up from their watery home. Around them, the river flowed past in silent enormity, the opposite shore too distant to see in the evening gloom. In the vast night sky, stars glittered in silent flame, silver points cast across the dome of heaven—but even their brilliance was muted in the east, where a raging fire sent smoke and ash upward in a blackened, twisting column.

  “You spoke to the guildmaster?” Creel asked, his wide face hooded with a suspicious cast. He was smooth and unformed. Half human and half water being, his hair swept back from skin that gleamed like a ripe fruit under the waning moons. No one else in the pod spoke, eyes aglow with the scrutiny of halfkin in their natural element. As their leader, Creel had a strong hold over their actions, but even to a human like Gessin, there was doubt on his face. Creel, Gessin surmised, had spoken to him before his pod, and now, he was awash in lingering worry.

  “I did, and we’re in accord. There will be no nets in the three central channels. Not while the spawn runs hard. From the first spring moons until the third, no one from Ferdwick’s guild will ply the waters of your territory, you have my—rather, our—word,” Gessin said, his dark eyes radiating sincerity. The lie tumbled from his lips without effort, a warm smile backing the falsity, which he boosted by nervously pushing his long brown hair behind one ear. It made him look even younger than he was, a trick that had worked to his benefit on many occasions. Though his face was young, an old, foul tongue rested in his mouth, scalded by the endless lies he told in his endless pursuit for coin and satisfaction.

  The promise to turn anglers away from a rich fishing ground was beyond absurd; it was the province of kings and queens to command the Anglers, and even then, only at the point of a sword. Telling Creel he would challenge Ferdwick’s guild was bold but free of risk.

  Gessin would do no such thing, and the barge was already roaring with fire and sinking into the black depths with hissing clouds of steam that withered the reeds for a quarter league in any direction. There was only one guild more powerful than the Anglers—the Cablers—and t
heir nets meshed together along the entire length of the river, awash in profit at the cost of everyone else on the river.

  He would cross neither for a job that was nothing more than a glorified killing, no matter how garish the barge and wedding had been. Politics and murder were first cousins by his thinking, and a heavy purse made any hesitation easy to set aside. He didn’t worry about long-term effects; he was paid to make corpses.

  Creel spoke to his pod in a slurry of tongues, words from across the three kingdoms and beyond at a speed too fast to follow. He gave a sharp nod, the muscles in his shoulders rippling with agreement. The River Children were decisive, unlike many of their distant cousins. When they came to a decision it was swift and without incident. When they did not, the water ran red, but that was a rare thing.

  “We agree to your terms, but if we find the netters in our water during spawn—you’ll be held accountable. Is this clear to you?” Creel cocked his head, a movement more human than anything else he’d done in their short conversation.

  Gessin lifted a hand and held it flat. “On calm waters, I swear it.”

  Creel barked an order, and his pod dove with silent expertise. When he turned back, Gessin’s sly grin faded. There was danger in the halfkin’s cherubic face.

  “We seeded huskworms along the hull some hours ago at all the key points. Once the worms feasted, no two boards could remain together. We knew there was no reason to wait, especially given the currents today. We like to do things in the present, before problems can arise and turn plans into a distant memory. That’s how it is to live in the river, drylander,” Creel said. His voice was flat, like his eyes. He thought little of anyone who made their living outside the water, that much was clear.

  “Problems. Indeed.” He knew life in the water was even more dangerous than among the kingdoms, and he was a professional killer. Unless he wandered too far from the water, few creatures would look at him as food. In the river, it was quite different. Humans were slow and prone to be found in the bellies of creatures who found the River Children fast, evasive, and annoying.