City of Stone and Silence

by Django Wexler

  Safiya sidles closer, kindling fire on her palm. “If that’s Prime, sir, do you want me to try to take him out from here?”

  I frown, and check the Eddica currents. There’s a small thread linking the faceless thing to the greater flows, but not enough for it to be another Eddica adept. I shake my head.

  “It’s just a puppet,” I mutter. “Prime apparently doesn’t want to show himself.”

  Someone laughs, a warm, bass sound that echoes through the chamber. The voice that follows is nothing like the cracked whisper I heard when the corpse-thing grabbed me. It sounds like an actor declaiming, rich and thick as butter.

  “My apologies,” Prime says. “You don’t live as long as I have by being incautious.”

  * * *

  For a moment, we all freeze. Then I straighten up, square my shoulders, and walk out into the room.

  Rot it. I never thought we’d get to Prime without a fight, and he obviously knows we’re here. If he’s going to come at us, I’d rather it be somewhere we have room to maneuver.

  The rest of the crew follows. I crane my neck to look up at the shadowed figure, but I still can’t see much.

  “Welcome to my domain,” Prime says. “I must say I’m a little surprised to have so many guests. It’s been quite a while.”

  “We won’t be staying long,” I tell him.

  “Oh, I imagine. Such anger.” He gives that beautiful laugh again. “You’d think I’d done something to you.”

  “You attacked us,” Zarun says, stepping up beside me. “Your corpses killed four of our people on the beach, and would have killed us all.”

  “Am I really to suffer this insect bleating at me?” Prime says, with an irritated sigh. “You, Eddicant, are welcome to stay. I am sure we have a great deal to learn from one another. The rest of these … people…” His tone turns contemptuous. “Well. I’m sure I can find a use for them as raw material.”

  Eddica swirls around us, and I hear the shuffling of many feet. My blades ignite with a snap-hiss, and my armor shimmers into being as I shout a warning.

  “Here they come!”

  There are three other doorways leading into the circular room, and corpses boil out of all of them, a dense crowd of the things scrambling over one another in a near-mindless attempt to reach us. Before they can even get clear of the doors, though, pillars of flame blossom in their midst. Safiya, Ylla, and the other Myrkai users in the crew stand shoulder to shoulder, orange-red auras blazing around their hands, lines of Myrkai power glowing across their exposed skin. The chamber is suddenly thick with the smell of burning flesh as the horde of corpses stumbles on, dozens of them crumbling into ash and bone, crushed and pulled apart by those coming on behind.

  Some manage to get through the flames with only a light scorching. As we’d planned, though, Thora and the other Tartak users form the second line of defense, slamming the writhing bodies backward with bolts of concentrated force, magical energy flickering blue-white in the air around our little group. Thora herself is strong enough to break bones and crush skulls, but even some of the weaker talents can still fling the creatures backward into the flames.

  The few that trickle through this gauntlet find the rest of us waiting for them. Honestly, there aren’t enough to go around. Zarun and I confront them with Melos blades, and without darkness and panic on their side the shambling creatures are unthreatening opponents. Aifin, ablaze with golden light, flickers from place to place without seeming to occupy any space in between, and the corpse-things in his wake fall apart into neatly sliced sections. Jack, laughing, plays with the monsters, letting them close in around her before shifting into her own shadow and reappearing behind them, hamstringing them with a short blade.

  It feels like only moments before the fight is over. Huge piles of burned corpses are heaped in front of each of the three doorways, with dismembered monsters scattered across the floor of the room. As far as I can tell, we haven’t taken a scratch, our group still packed into a tight circle. I find a wild grin spreading across my face, and turn back to the figure on the balcony.

  “We’re still standing, Prime,” I tell him. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

  “I suppose I will,” he says, urbane and unbothered. “Let me see what I have that might serve.”

  There’s a new sound from the tunnels, the heavy scrape of claws against stone. I drop back into a fighting crouch, blades crossed in front of me, trying to watch everywhere at once. In spite of everything, I feel calm. Whatever he has, we can handle it—

  Something jumps up on the mound of charred bodies. It looks like a cross between a lizard and a vulture, covered in colorful feathers, walking on two massive legs with short, crooked arms tipped with claws and a long reptilian tail. A narrow snout holds a jaw full of viciously curved fangs, and another claw like a sickle juts backward from each of its heels. I guess that its head would be about level with mine if we stood face-to-face.

  The thing is as unmistakably dead as the rest of Prime’s minions. Its hide is torn and decaying, with rotting muscles and polished white bone showing through the gaps, and huge clumps of feathers are missing or caked with dried blood. In spite of its state of disrepair, though, the thing moves fast, quick and graceful, head darting from side to side. It hops down from the corpse-pile and stalks toward us.

  “Do you like it?” Prime says, genially. “I found it under the ice, out where the Harbor meets the rest of the world. It’s amazing what you can turn up with a little digging.”

  In answer, Safiya hurls a bolt of flame at the lizard-thing. It sidesteps, lithe as a snake, and the Myrkai blast explodes against the stone wall. A moment later, though, Thora spreads her hands and bonds of blue force close around the monster’s limbs, locking it in place. A half-dozen more blasts of fire catch it head-on, blowing apart its rotting flesh and ancient bone, until there’s nothing left but scattered, burning pieces.

  “Now that’s a shame,” Prime chides us, with a sly chuckle. “Fortunately, there’s more where that came from.”

  The wave of lizard-things emerges from the darkness of the three tunnels at a dead run, as fast as a charging horse but far more agile, dodging around one another in a chaotic maelstrom of feathers, claws, and rot. Bolts of flame whip out, but the monsters avoid them with preternatural grace, closing the distance in seconds. The Tartak users have more success, bludgeoning the things backward or—in Thora’s case—ripping them in two, but they can only stop a few. I hurriedly reshape my left-hand blade into a shield as the onslaught rolls over us, and then I don’t have time to spare for anything more than what’s in front of me.

  The lizard-things attack without subtlety or any regard for their own welfare, as one might expect of the dead. One of them comes directly at me, and keeps coming even as my blade carves a slice off its snout. I interpose my shield, and its jaws scrabble at the Melos energy, drawing coruscating sparks. It backs off, and I take the chance to lunge, spearing it through the throat. It’s an instinctive move, striking for the vitals, and it’s worse than useless here—the monster simply ignores me, its clawed hands tearing at my exposed arm and drawing more sparks from my armor, sending a wave of heat running across my skin.

  I pull back, hurriedly, and give way a step. I’m aware of the others fighting around me, and out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of a shadow slithering across the stone floor. I attack again, this time with a sideways cut that severs one of the thing’s hands at the wrist, then get my shield up as it tries to rake my stomach with its hind leg. My hand is starting to burn as green energy writhes between us, but I hold it in place long enough for Jack to materialize out of her shadow and take the thing out at the knee with a quick stroke. I sever its head as it falls, leaving the creature thrashing on the stones.

  “Hey, pack leader,” Jack calls, flicking shreds of rotten flesh from her blade. “Getting a little hot!”

  Rot. I turn and give the battlefield a once-over. Several of the lizard-things are
on fire or torn to shreds, and Zarun is finishing one off with a series of elegant cuts. But our tight group fragmented as the creatures bounded into us, and not everyone got out of the way in time. Ylla is standing over Kotaga, who rolls on the floor clutching a bloodied shoulder. Fire spurts aimlessly from the hands of a pigtailed girl lying spread-eagled on the stones, her stomach opened from navel to crotch and spilling crimson entrails. Beside her, an infuriated Safiya hammers firebolt after firebolt into the corpse of a monster already reduced to charred meat.

  Blessed’s rotting balls. My lips twist into a snarl. The remaining creatures have backed off, circling. Prime, I’m going to carve you into tiny rotting bits—

  The ground shakes. First once, then again, dust puffing from between ancient stones. From the center tunnel, directly in front of us, something new emerges. It makes the lizard-things look like chickens; it’s so tall it has to duck its head to get under the arch. When it straightens up, it rises above me, as high as a second-story window. It’s shaped vaguely like its smaller cousins, but has no arms at all, only a massive set of jaws big enough to swallow me in a single bite. The feathers that run down its flanks are blood-red, with great rents torn through them to show gleaming ribs and muscle black with rot. Its tail, tipped with plumes, lashes back and forth like a cat with a cornered mouse.

  “That’s a rotting big beastie,” Jack mutters.

  “Deepwalker?” Zarun says, backing up.

  Rot rot rot. He’s looking at me. They’re all looking at me. As usual.

  I charge the thing.

  It’s not even the biggest monster I’ve ever fought. Maybe the tallest, but the dredwurm was certainly bulkier. Of course, the dredwurm would have killed us all if I hadn’t managed to immobilize it with Eddica, and Prime already proved to me on the beach that won’t work here. So we’re going to have to do this the hard way.

  It lumbers forward, head coming down for a bite. I dodge, feeling the wind of the thing’s passage, the rotten meat stench of it. Then I’m past, shield shifted back into a blade, both weapons raised to carve a chunk out of the monster’s chest.

  I don’t see the kick coming until it’s too late. It’s fast. If not for my Melos armor, the enormous talons would have carved me into four pieces. As it is, I feel myself screaming as bands of fire ignite around my body, excess power burning itself into my skin. I’m only vaguely aware that I’m airborne until I hit the ground, hard, too stunned to even turn the fall into a roll. As the crackling of green sparks fades around me, it’s all I can do to breathe.

  “Deepwalker!” Someone is shouting. Several someones. I raise my head, try to speak, but all that comes out is a dry croak.

  With the mammoth creature’s attack, the smaller ones have closed in again, working in perfect synchronicity. I see Zarun struggling between two of them at once, until Ylla blasts one aside with Myrkai fire; another jumps on her from behind, bearing her to the ground. Thora, Jack, and Safiya are running in my direction, but so is the enormous lizard-thing.

  “Hey, ugly!” Jack shouts. “Over here!”

  I don’t know if it hears her, but it turns, coming after her with jaws wide open. Jack fades into a darting shadow, flickering behind the thing. Her sword slashes at its ankle, tearing dead flesh.

  “I question your parentage and general morals!” Jack taunts. “And your past sexual companions have confided to me that their experience was subpar!”

  Thora skids to a halt beside me, with Safiya standing in front of us, fire blazing in her hands.

  “Isoka,” Thora says. “Can you get up?”

  “Ngh,” is about all I can manage. Rot. I try to sit up, lines of agony still hot across my skin. She helps me onto my hands and knees, panting. After a moment, I gasp out, “… get out of here. Everyone.”

  She nods, understanding. Thank the Blessed for Thora.

  “Past instances in which I expressed affection for you were fraudulent!” Jack shouts.

  The monster-lizard, apparently wearying of its efforts to squash the elusive Jack, turns around and heads for us. I try to muster the energy to summon my blades, but even the thought hurts too much. Thora springs to her feet, hands spread, and blue-white bands of Tartak force grab the beast like a choke chain. Somehow she holds it in place, in spite of the enormous bulk straining against her. I can see lines of smoke rising from her, as the power sears into her skin.

  “Get Isoka back!” Thora shouts. “Now—”

  One of the smaller lizards hits her from behind, a full-body tackle that sends both of them skidding across the stone floor in a heap. Jack screams, high and piercing. The monster-lizard, suddenly free of its bonds, surges forward. Safiya, standing between me and the creature, lets off a blast of fire that strikes it square in one eye, searing that whole side of its face, but it doesn’t stop coming. Its foot comes down right on top of her, pinning her beneath those long talons with an ugly crunch. She’s screaming, too, until its jaws descend a moment later. With a twist of its neck, the monster rips her in half. Blood paints the stone floor in a crimson slick.

  The thing takes another step forward. A careful step, putting its foot down beside me, one long, curving talon setting its tip on my breastbone. The slight shift of weight, and it will spear through me like a knife through a rotten apple.

  Hello again, Prime says, Eddica surging out of the creature to make a connection between us. The voice that echoes in my head is raspy and wet, as though emerging from the throat of a corpse. Good of you to come all the way here. I hope you’ll stay.

  Long enough to kill you, I spit back at him.

  Such bravado. It will be interesting peeling that away from you. Will there be anything left afterward, I wonder?

  If you’re going to kill me, go ahead. I swallow hard, trying not to think of Tori, of Meroe, of anything. Terror gnaws at the pit of my stomach, held back only by the need not to give this rotsucker any satisfaction.

  I’d rather not. It’s rare that Soliton brings one of us to the Harbor. An Eddicant. I’ve accomplished so much on my own. Can you imagine what I might do with a partner?

  A partner? My mind recoils. You have to be joking.

  A junior partner, of course. I get a flash of a desiccated smirk. You have a great deal to learn.

  Is that what you told Silvoa, before you killed her?

  It’s a shot in the dark, but at this point what do I rotting have to lose? And it seems to hit the mark, because I can feel confusion through the link, a sudden rage. Prime’s voice is still under tight control, but there’s genuine emotion underneath.

  Silvoa was … difficult, Prime says. She made it clear to me that she would be more useful dead than alive. You haven’t demonstrated that, yet. For your sake, I recommend you reconsider your position. The smirk again, blackened teeth showing behind lips like tanned leather. Because you do have uses, even dead. Oh, yes—

  The connection cuts off abruptly, and the pressure on my chest vanishes. I open my eyes to see the huge lizard-thing staggering sideways, hammered by bolts of blue-white Tartak force strong enough to make even that monster give ground. Thora has risen to her knee, the wreckage of the smaller lizard strewn around her, thick crimson rivers staining her hunting leathers and pattering to the ground. One of the thing’s claws has laid her cheek open to the bone, white peeking out under a gory hanging flap of skin.

  Jack skids to a halt in front of her, shadow boiling around her feet. She grabs Thora’s hand, trying to pull her up, but the other woman shakes her off.

  “Go!” Thora says. Every word sprays blood across Jack. “Get out of here!”

  “Go to the Rot,” Jack screams. She pulls harder, but Thora is a big woman and Jack is skinny as a rake. “Get up!”

  I feel someone grab me from behind, pulling me unceremoniously to my feet. Zarun.

  “Time to go, Deepwalker,” he says.

  “Help…” I look around, past the slick of blood from Safiya’s mutilated body. The rest of our fighters, those still on their feet, are
falling back toward the door. The huge monster-lizard rights itself and struggles to stand. “Help Thora.”

  Zarun shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  “I … can walk.” I gather my legs under me and push myself to my feet. It hurts, every motion stretching my powerburned skin, but I simply refuse to let the rising ocean of pain close over my face. “Help. Her.”

  Zarun’s eyebrows go up, but finally he nods and runs for Thora. Between him and Jack, they get her up, and half-carry her toward the door, leaving a trail of blood. I follow them, moving as fast as I dare, legs shaky underneath me. If I fall again, I know I’m not getting back up. Bodies are strewn across my path, mixed with rotting chunks of lizard. Ylla lies facedown in a vast pool of blood, her throat torn away.

  Behind me, the monster has regained its feet. I expect it to come charging after us, but instead it ducks its head, one side bubbled and scarred from Safiya’s final burst of fire. The few remaining smaller lizards cluster around it, watching us, but making no move.

  He’s letting us go. I look up at the balcony, but the faceless figure is already gone.

  * * *

  If not for Aifin’s sense of direction, we’d never have found our way back to the entrance. The Jyashtani boy leads the way back out through the maze of corridors, until we emerge onto the face of the ziggurat. The sun is setting, painting the world golden as it descends toward the horizon.

  At the base of the ramp, I call a halt. Most of the others collapse at once, but I stay on my feet, fearful that if I stop moving I won’t be able to start again. The pain is subsiding, a little, but I’m no stranger to powerburn, and I know that it won’t be long before the fever sets in.

  Even so, I’m better off than some of the others. I do a quiet head count and come up with eleven.

  “We didn’t…” I cough, and close my eyes for a moment. “Leave anyone? Anyone who was…”

  Zarun shakes his head. He seems intact, though from the way he’s cradling one arm I suspect he’s suffering from powerburn as well.