They all carried massive two-handed swords with wavy blades. Andy also noticed that none of these ychorons had tails.
The ychorons shouldered their blades as an older ryle walked through the two columns, up to the gangway. Ziesqe rushed to help him.
This ryle leaned on his walking stick, and a large apparatus was harnessed over his coat. It featured lenses and optic devices. A slender, auburn ychoron followed with a quill and scroll at the ready.
Andy watched Ziesqe and the older ryle talk. Occasionally, the older one would pause and look over to his attentive auburn ychoron, who would scribble feverishly, presumably transcribing the conversation.
They were escorted to a pavilion, and a new banner went up.
The next group was rather plain. A simple squad of beetles followed a female ryle. She wore an unadorned white dress, though the dress betrayed armor underneath.
She and Ziesqe shared an embrace.
Now hold on, I thought the beaked octopus monsters in the long pools were ryle females. She’s shaped like him.
A few words passed between the two before she walked off with her group.
He talked with the others for far longer. For them to be so casual, while everything else is so formal—
The next arrival was also a female, though she was quite different from the others. Her skin was blood red. She was taller than the rest, and her muscled flesh was tattooed all over with jagged symbols. She went nearly naked, and Andy realized the ryle body wasn’t that different from the human.
Her brutox were likewise blood red, armed with barbed tridents. They were also equipped with blades they had lashed to their wrists and joints. They reminded Andy of man-sized locusts, if locusts frequented gymnasiums.
The brutox and ychorons backed away to make way for the red company.
Ziesqe held a hand out for her, but she pushed past. “Where is the Dead God?” she bellowed. Andy heard her from half-way across the ravager.
Ziesqe tried to calm her, but she wasn’t having it. Andy spotted other ryle coming out of their pavilions to see what the noise was about.
Another guest was tapping her feet on the dock, angrily waiting to be announced, but the ruckus meant that she went unnoticed by everyone save Andy.
She was wearing an ivory gown covered in raised gold foliate patterns. Her slender tentacles were swept up over her head in an odd display, and held in place with stiletto daggers. She wore long, black velvet gloves and boots. Her escort consisted of stately manti, all dressed in livery to match her. They bore no weapons, but Andy remembered how dangerous they were, even unarmed. An ychoron attended her. His feathers were alternately golden and ivory, and he held a leash. At the other end of the leash were a score of mice, all also golden and ivory.
They look like intelligent mice.
Andy remembered Titus and Taptalles. His eyebrow nearly shot off his forehead, his lip curled, and he felt his heart beat faster at the sight of the restrained mice.
Ziesqe was pleading with the red ryle as she headed towards Andy’s cage.
“He’s right here,” Ziesqe said, annoyed at the breach in protocol.
She walked up to the platform and stared.
Andy stared back.
Her face contorted, and then she laughed. A little at first, but then more and more, until she bent over.
The other ryle approached. The old, the stout, the plain, and finally the golden and ivory all watched the red with annoyed faces.
Finally, the golden and ivory ryle snapped. “Step aside, you effuse viscera, and let your betters see!”
The red ryle snapped straight up and tore a trident from one of her guards. She crouched, and a set of dragonfly wings tensed open on her back.
The elegant ryle didn’t move, but her entourage surrounded her, their bladed arms suddenly opened and ready.
Ziesqe raised a claw as brutox and ryle everywhere were ready to fight. “Peace! Or I’ll throw you both overboard myself.”
The fighters lowered their weapons and came out of their stances, all save the red ryle.
“You have wasted my time, Ziesqe! This pathetic human can barely keep itself from wetting the floor!” She pushed through the crowd, her locusts close behind.
“Wait! Just wait! He will prove himself.”
“This is an insult. And the price of insulting me is double!”
Ziesqe was seething.
“You will receive ten percent more.”
“FIFTY!”
“Twenty or leave,” Ziesqe pointed to the gangway.
A little reverse psychology there.
She huffed and was suddenly calm.
The other ryle all tried to speak at once, but Ziesqe cut them short, “Yes, the increase applies to you all!”
They were satisfied.
“And now, I would like to welcome her ladyship, Z’tiela Veloiz of the velvet touch. She joins us from a successful campaign against the last enclave of heretic mice in Pansubprimus.”
Z’tiela Veloiz bowed slightly and gestured with a flat palm at the mice her ychoron was leading. “I’m certain it was luck, Ziesqe. Though the fine manti you’ve bred for me are luckier than most.”
“Mistress Veloiz!” Andy called out.
Everyone turned a glance his way.
“May I speak with your prisoners for a moment?”
She looked shocked at the breach of propriety. Despite her scornful glance, she was lost for words.
“Please, your ladyship, encouraging him might help us tomorrow,” Ziesqe said.
Veloiz rolled her eyes and waved for her ychoron to satisfy Andy’s request.
The golden and silver ychoron approached the platform carefully, the mice following. Andy counted seven.
Ziesqe watched curiously as Andy got to a knee inside his cage and looked the mice over.
“I’ve heard the worst has happened. Your city fell. I feel that part of the responsibility is mine.”
A few of the mice refused to meet his gaze. He couldn’t tell whether they were ashamed of themselves or furious with him. He could see the true color of their fur under the gold and ivory paint.
One mouse, a cold gray beneath his gold paint, looked up at him. “It isn’t your fault, Lysander. I spoke with Titus before the end, we know that you had an obligation, and that it pained you not to join us.”
“It would have been different if you were there!” said another mouse, shaking a fist at Andy. This one was dun colored underneath. “You had the Argument; you could have cut the brutes down! But look where you are now!”
Andy balked. He looked down and shook his head. “What happened to Titus and Taptalles?”
The mice conferred. One thought he might have seen Titus, but none could confirm that either still lived.
“Quite a few cyclostones escaped. Maybe they made it,” the gray said.
“And damn them for cowards if they did,” spat the dun mouse.
“That’s enough from the vermin,” Z’tiela complained, which prompted her ychoron to tug on the leash and pull the mice from the platform.
Andy had to bite his cheek. They didn’t deserve that.
There was a sudden rumbling. Andy looked up and saw the sheer surfaces of Zentule moving away.
“We’re underway,” Ziesqe said, breaking the silence. “This human’s day is coming. Follow this way and see my other capture.”
“Anyone can take the barbarian!” The red ryle complained, “But why would you? You’ll only waste good brutox keeping it caged.”
The ryle left and their assorted, colorful guards went with them. When the crowd cleared, Andy realized that, besides his own guard, another ryle had remained. It was the female with whom Ziesqe had shared only a few words. Up close, he found his attention focusing on the plainness of her dress, in comparison with the others. Plated indentations in the fabric revealed the armor underneath. She simply stood there, staring.
Andy tried to ignore her. He watched the compound sink into the distance. The acreage outside Zentul
e’s walls was cultivated, and a few scattered towns dotted the landscape. He saw efforts to remove trees.
He also saw villagers, but the ravager was so tall it was hard to get a good look at anything near.
How high are we—fifty feet? Maybe more.
Andy stood on his toes, and then climbed his chair and almost crushed his head against the bars to see over the pavilions. He saw two other ravagers, also mounted for war. A minute later, he spotted a third.
It’s almost camouflaged.
The blue ravager nearly blended into the sky. Its deep-green underbelly was reminiscent of the surrounding trees.
A minute later, the ravagers converged in a line, and then the jungle closed in on both sides in a frightening rush.
The guards at the fortifications went on alert. A loud crashing noise echoed back to him from far ahead.
Andy looked behind him, down onto the wake of the ravagers. Felled trees filled the path behind them.
Andy listened to the noise. It sounded more like thunder than anything else.
Maybe if I’m a good boy they’ll let me out to see. Andy sighed, stepping off his chair and sitting back down.
The plainly dressed ryle was still staring at him.
Andy almost snapped at her, but paused and wondered if he might make use of this. “I thought ryle females were giant octopus monsters that lived in the water,” Andy called out with a chuckle.
“We can be, or we can be like this. You cursed us with this choice.”
Andy twisted his face. What did she say?
She stepped forward and slowly put a clawed hand through the bars. “I’m called Kal, Kal Burriasqe.”
Andy blinked, surprised at her behavior. He instinctively raised his hand to shake hers. “Andy,” he said blankly.
“Thrag,” she spoke the name and just stared at him, particularly his eyes.
“What?”
She ignored him and continued, “The viper.”
“Do you mean Pythia?” Andy asked.
She tilted her head slightly. “Caspian.”
Andy rolled his eyes. “What did you mean when you said I cursed you?”
“Hmmm,” she nearly purred with consideration. “Centuries ago, when the Struggle was rife, the Argument struck a heavy blow by giving the females of our species a choice at birth. We might retain our traditional, water-bound form, or eschew fertility for a life in bodies like these. At first it was considered a misstep for the Argument, as our forces nearly doubled in a generation. As you can imagine, only a faint few cared to live trapped in the water. Your Argument was farsighted and nearly won the struggle, as our population declined rapidly thereafter. Life for a ryle in the field, at that point, was quite short. The Counter then replaced that choice with chance, regaining the balance, but retaining females, like me.”
It sounds like the Argument had the upper hand, but how could it change a whole species?
“What I don’t understand is, how can I be the Voice of the Dead God, if I’m also supposed to be Caspian?”
She grinned. “No, no. One might say, you speak with the Voice of the Dead God. That being, if it still exists, has no body. As to the distinction between Caspian and the Voice, we ryle are blind to that which is yours. Are there two flagging deities on the side of the Argument? I have heard this equated with being committed to the Argument. Either way, it is foolish of them to call you Caspian. His presence has always been clear, when he takes a body. He is still considered the greatest human hero, yet, true historians know him for what he is: a failure.”
“Fine, but why did Thrag call me Caspian?”
“Thrag is an insane murderous curse, worse than the Nightmare jungle. You said his name, then he snapped, because you look vaguely like the first Caspian.”
“First Caspian?”
“Yes, his original body, before his supposed ascendance, before he became the Usurper. This is the point most stick on: After he ascended, did he replace the Dead God? Is it Caspian speaking through you? None of us know, but locked inside you is the answer.”
Andy was astonished. Caspian is the Usurper.
“Ziesqe is convinced that you harbor the potential to attract the Usurper. He believes that your amazing skill and luck are not chance. He believes that the Dead God is speaking through you, and to that voice, follows the Usurper.”
“This whole thing is ridiculous. I don’t see what Ziesqe is getting out of it.”
“You will—” She paused, frowning. “What’s so ridiculous about stabbing a mantis through the throat?” she asked, her eyes so intense that Andy avoided meeting them.
“It was all I could do,” Andy complained. “Why is it so impossible for me to have fought and lived? I had weapons and armor.”
“A mantis is living weapons and armor. It was designed by your host, Ziesqe the Just.”
“The Just?” Andy blurted out, surprising them both.
“Indeed,” she said looking around. Even the nearby beetle had jumped a few inches at the outburst.
Andy shook his head, “I’m sorry, I just…” he rattled his chains to make his point. “Your species imprisons children in nightmare machines to create food your enslaved servants need to live.”
“Etherium can do far more than that. Though I can understand why you see us as a parasite race, but remember that all predators prey on those beneath them. Your species is predacious as well.”
Andy knew what she was saying was false, but he struggled to stay calm. “No. It’s not the same. Torturing intelligent victims for decades and hunting to survive are not the same.”
She put her clawed hand through the cage and stroked his cheek. “There it is. That key difference between us. The noble part of your savagery—the intoxicating will to suicide of your race—the sixth sense of morality.”
Andy reeled at her touch, and she looked almost hurt.
“Excuse me,” she said, pulling her hand out of the cage, before turning away.
“Thrag,” Andy called to her. She stopped. “Thrag isn’t the only person to call me Caspian.”
She stood for a long moment, before finally leaving.
If I speak with the Voice of the Dead God, whatever that is, how the hell am I still stuck in this cage?
He tried to reflect on everything he knew.
Both Thrag and Pythia called me Caspian. But Pythia, well, she’s a little lonely, and maybe I look a bit like him. But Thrag is crazy, he might have called me anything.
Andy felt doubt.
But he didn’t just say anything, he said something very specific, and so did she. I wish I knew who he was. What did he do to become their devil? Why is he the Usurper? I shouldn’t have scared the ryle away, she might have told me more.
He racked his brain, but nothing else would fit.
Andy leaned back in his chair, watching the tops of the tallest trees rush by. He rested his eyes, but opened them again when he heard a crack.
The brutox, armed with flaming lances, were leaned over the side, spouting gouts of flame into the jungle. Andy realized the ravagers had stopped moving.
He stood on his chair and saw a scuffle breaking out on the deck. A furry blur was racing across the ravager, knocking over crates and tearing through tents as it went. The brutox were stumbling over each other to get it. It leaped over the side, the lances spitting flames after it.
What was that fuzzy thing? Andy laughed. Maybe the reason they call this jungle the Nightmare.
His beetle looked at him, a trace of scorn about his chitinous face.
“What? I’m stuck in a cage; any distraction is better than nothing,” Andy complained.
The beetle had little to say.
I’ve heard one talk before. Was he an exception, or do they prefer not to speak? Either way, the ryle don’t care about discussing sensitive topics around the brutox.
The ravagers continued moving and the flame lancers stood down, though the ryle and their escorts weren’t bothered by the attack.
An
dy returned to his seat, and tried to get comfortable, but a minute later an ychoron approached his cage with a tray.
I’ve seen him before. He arrived with the older ryle.
The auburn ychoron motioned to the beetle to open the cage. The beetle did so, and the ychoron handed Andy the tray.
He could smell the food, and tried to remove the lid, but found it stuck.
The beetle closed and locked the cage, but the ychoron did not leave.
Andy struggled with the lid, before he finally noticed a recessed lock built into the tray.
“Are you serious?” Andy nearly slammed the tray into the wall of his cage.
The slender ychoron gave him an apologetic look. “I know it’s tedious, but politics being what they are—one must create a need, and then satisfy it for a price.”
“What can I possibly know?” Andy whined, suddenly aware of his hunger.
“I heard from a certain local that you have already met one of my kind.”
“Yes,” Andy said, calming.
“You called him, Martin?”
“Yes. He was remarkable, and nothing like any of you.”
Andy recalled that Martin had put him in a box once.
“You said that he had certain talents?”
Andy’s spine crawled. He felt regret for his being so loose with what he had seen. I hope this doesn’t get Martin in trouble somehow.
The ychoron sensed Andy’s hesitation. “I was his companion for some time. We worked together, with Master Boqreq.”
I see. Martin did mention his old master.
“But back then he was called Amalcaav. I see that you are allies, and I must tell you that at one time, Amal—uh, Martin and I were also allies.”
Andy saw sincerity in his eyes.
“Martin and I were successful products of our master’s breeding, though there are always unexpected results.”
Disarmed by the ychoron’s frankness, Andy spoke up, “I’m Andy. What’s your name?” Andy held his hand out in greeting, but, realizing that it would look like he was begging, quickly lowered it.
The ychoron eyed his hand but didn’t seem bothered. “My name is Alek. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to a human.”
All the ones you know are hooked up to machines, right? Andy felt himself sneer, though he kept his face calm.
The Ryle of Zentule Page 14
