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Path of Ruin

Page 8

by Tim Paulson


  He didn't have time to hack at the damned thing so instead he whipped around to slap the creature on the side of its head with the flat of his sword. There was a crack as the metal met the thickened bone underneath the creature's flesh. A groan escaped its throat but then its claws released and the horror dropped limply from the side of the barricade.

  When he looked back Lyssa was gone. She could be heard screaming to the remaining guards to join her and round up the villagers. He wondered if it was worth it to remain up here fighting. He was as likely to be killed as anyone else. He might be alright with a sword but he was no warrior, he'd been lucky so far.

  What he ought to do is fish out his veil spectacles and... his fingers pawed at the breast pocket where he would have put the green tinted glasses, had he not forgotten them. That old woman had distracted him. He cursed himself. Now he definitely had to get out of here.

  Before he could even move a cracking sound from outside the wall grabbed his attention. He scanned the tree line for the source and it appeared. It was a goliath, a lighter one with the blue markings of Faustland and the griffin of house Halett. The lumbering giant was missing its head completely and two great javelins had impaled its body at odd angles, each as thick as a tree trunk. It had staggered out of a stand of trees near the small stream that ran along the West edge of the village. Headless, the goliath could only totter like a drunken fool.

  At first it looked like it might just fall back into the trees but then its motion arrested and changed direction. It was as if some great unseen hand were pulling it forward, directly toward the town's protective wall.

  “No!” Henri implored fruitlessly as the stone giant missed its next step and toppled, arms flailing. It landed directly on the palisade crushing it into a pulped mash of wood and twisted iron bars. The impact shook the entire wall knocking Henri from his feet.

  Horrors began to pour through the newly created opening.

  “Time's up!” Henri said as he used his sword to get to his feet and bolted down the nearest stair on what was left of the inner wall.

  On the other end of the village a little boy with golden hair awoke from a nap, yawning and sat up. He peeled a blanket from around his neck. Had he heard something? He thought so. Adem peered out through the holes in the door of the metal cage. A grasshopper! It crawled along a wooden chair on the other side of the room, using tiny forelimbs to clean its massive multicolored eyes.

  Adem's father was nowhere to be seen. Nor could any clanging of the hammer be heard. Adem pushed on the door of his box.

  It yawned open with a metallic creek.

  * * *

  Mia snapped awake.

  Something was crawling down her cheek. She swatted at it with a hand covered in chalky dust.

  Blood.

  It was blood on her face, running down from her nose and some place else. Her forehead?

  It ached. So did her leg. Where was she? What had happened?

  She coughed and pulled her veil dagger from its sheath so the faint blue glow illuminated her environment.

  It looked like a cave. Crushed stone was everywhere with hunks of twisted metal jutting out here and there. One of them was lodged in her thigh. Her leather riding leggings were covered with blood.

  Zeus.

  She was still inside his broken body, somehow not dead. Betrayed but not yet killed. They would wish they had killed her, oh yes they would.

  To her left, below her injured leg, she could see Zeus's heart. It had been smashed flat by hunks of broken stone.

  She sighed.

  The last thing she remembered was that Zeus had stopped responding. If he'd just done what she'd asked he might have survived. At the very least she might know who had betrayed her. They must have stomped her goliath's chest and left her for dead.

  Soon enough she would be dead if she didn't get her leg taken care of. She needed to get out of the pile of rubble, treat her leg wound and then, perhaps, see if it was possible to find Zeus.

  She sheathed her dagger and closed her eyes. Counting to twenty, she opened them again and looked. It was dark but there was some light. It was behind her.

  When she tried to move the metal in her leg shifted and white hot pain gripped her. It was excruciating but not unbearable.

  It would be foolish to attempt to crawl out with metal sticking out of her. Mia tore up a section of handkerchief she kept for polishing her blades.

  She jerked the metal out and wrapped it up. The wound was bloody but not terribly deep. She'd seen worse.

  Grunting, she crawled toward the light.

  It was a tight fit but thanks largely to her diminutive size it wasn't long before she was outside next to the pile of rubble that had been Zeus.

  She lay in the wet grass, catching her breath, allowing the pain to ebb from the wounds in her thigh and head, but also listening.

  The rain had stopped, that was something at least, though the sky was still overcast. It appeared to be well past noon now. Nor could she hear the sounds of battle. The Halett forces must have retreated or been slaughtered. She held no illusions about victory, not having seen all those imperial goliaths.

  Not to mention the betrayal.

  She sat up to inspect her wound. It was a good sized puncture, still oozing blood. Too much to walk any distance without something more than her improvised bandage. From the back of her belt she retrieved the small bag of veil powder she kept for her pistol and swords. She straightened her leg, getting the edges of the wound as close together as she could and sprinkled the powder over it in a neat line. Then she took a length of leather and doubled it up between her teeth to bite down on, pulled the lighter from her back pocket, struck a flame and lit the powder.

  The blue burn was excruciating but she managed not to scream. That was good given the circumstances. The sickening sweet smell of her own charred flesh lingered however, making her ill.

  “I guess no more garters,” she said. Not that she'd ever worn them anyway.

  The pain in her leg continued to burn as she used some of the nearby rubble to stand. There was no time to rest. Horrors would be stalking the battlefield. One of them might even have been Zeus. No. There might still be time.

  Mia hobbled around the crushed torso, looking for the right leg. Luckily the bottom half of it, the part she needed, wasn't too far away. It was lodged in a pile of wet earth. She found the back of the foot and opened the knight's storage compartment. Inside she found her sword, a pair of green tinted veil goggles which she placed on her head and the final item she needed: a capture container, a veil stone lined glass cube with a circular metal stirrup on top. It had the look of a lantern though it was not one, at least not yet.

  Hobbling to the top of a short earthen hill likely created by the skidding of her fallen goliath, Mia scanned the battlefield. The goggles revealed several hovering specters of light moving around at a distance. She hoped not very many people lived nearby. This area would be swarming with horrors for some time.

  She turned in a circle, trying to decide which ghostly form of light was closest but when she'd turned completely around she found one directly behind her.

  “Zeus?”

  The ball of azure light turned in a circle twice.

  “Thank God!” she said. “I thought I'd lost you. Let me get this open.”

  She twisted the glass cube around, looking for the clasp that opened it. It had a small amount of veil powder inside that would ignite and draw him in. Once he was in all she had to do was feed him some powder every now and then until they got back to Aeyrdfeld.

  If they were lucky they might even find a serviceable goliath without its heart somewhere on the field. Then they could do some damage on the way.

  Mia clicked the lighter on the cube which caused a sizzling sound inside. Obediently Zeus began floating toward it like a moth to a flame.

  Then he stopped. His spectral form, similar to a loose collection of glowing blue ribbons, spun around as if startled.

&n
bsp; “What is it?”

  Zeus shot off, heading toward a line of trees.

  “Where the devil are you going!” Mia said, hobbling along as quickly as she could. “Get back here!”

  Chapter 6

  "Their dark arts flood our lands with a foul pestilence, poisoning our wells, killing our animals and corrupting our very children. It is our duty as Tian men to put their profane existence to the torch!"

  -From a Marlinist tract on witches printed in Weizenstadt, 1613

  Smoke wafted silently from the baron's carved pipe on its rest to the right of the stacked papers and the cup of grayroot tea, now cold, that covered the right half of his desk. Baron Marcus Halett sat forward, fingers interlaced, staring at a document signed by the king.

  “What do you think Johannes?” he asked the tall severe looking man on the other side of the table. The man had a nose that seemed too short by half for the prodigious length of his face. Combined with his deeply creased brow it made him look perpetually displeased. Usually not too far from the truth.

  In response to the question Johannes adopted an even further pained expression, a feat to say the least.

  “I'm not sure a move against the companies is the best choice right now. Not given what's been happening in the streets of Valendam.”

  “Precisely my point! They give us no choice but to restrict them as they expand into every area of life not expressly forbidden,” Marcus said.

  “There are those who believe that kings men, such as yourself my baron, ought to handle as few duties as possible so as to allow those closest to the-”

  “I am aware what the printers say. I want to know if you think it's unwise. You're from a noble house with a long history, it's why you're here,” Marcus said.

  “I cannot say,” Johannes said.

  The man was even more of an obstinate pain in the ass than usual. Marcus wished Christine were here. His wife had an uncanny ability to know what men like that were planning. She'd cut right to the core of his objection.

  “You cannot or you will not?” Marcus said.

  “My baron, I... surely...”

  Now he was dissembling? What was the man hiding?

  Marcus should not to be surprised. He'd wanted someone with some backbone but instead he'd been strong armed into appointing Johannes Hvidsten.

  There was a loud knock on his closed study doors. Johannes' hand went immediately to the hilt of his gilded nobleman's rapier.

  Though Marcus had no idea whether the man had any inkling how to use it, he had the right idea. The guards never knocked that loudly and they always announced themselves.

  Could Giselle's story have been true after all? His men hadn't found anything in the mead cellar save for a single extinguished torch and a score of inebriated rats.

  He slid his chair back toward the wall, making sure he had room to stand, just as a heavily booted foot kicked his study doors in with a loud crack.

  The men who flooded in were dressed as guards but he recognized none of them. All had the self satisfied smirk and dead eyes of company men though one was shorter with the olive skin and dark hair of a Westerner.

  “I'd a feeling this day would come,” remarked Marcus as he smoothly extracted a note from beneath his pipe rest with one hand and opened a drawer with the other. “Which company are you with then? Veil? One of the Banks? Ah... perhaps a Shipping company?” He said as he pressed the paper note into an indent at the feet of a tiny stone sparrow which he tapped three times.

  “He's doing something there, stop him!” accused the olive skinned man.

  With a noise like a soft fizzle the stone bird transformed into a real sparrow. The bird used its beak to delicately pick up the note before flitting off toward the window.

  “Get it!” ordered the leader. The closest man made for the window, raising a saber to slash the bird from the air.

  Marcus used the commotion to reach deeper into his desk and retrieve a pistol which he immediately discharged.

  The man dropped to the floor clutching his chest and the saber clattered away.

  “Finish him! Now!” the leader said, drawing a pistol with his left hand due to the rapier held in his right.

  The other man approached, sword ready.

  Where were his real guards? Had they been killed? Lured away? Marcus resolved to find out as soon as he and Johannes dispatched the remaining two interlopers. He stepped out from behind the desk and drew his own veil rapier.

  “Your company will pay for this and you, if you survive, will spend the rest of your days in my dungeon!” Marcus said.

  A blade appeared from his chest. It glowed blue like his own, except where the light was obscured by the red of his blood. A perfect circle of crimson began to stain his favorite navy doublet.

  Instinctively his left hand reached for the blade protruding from his chest but before the fingers could close upon it, the rapier withdrew, only to be thrust through again. This time the other side of his breast began its own growing red circle as life poured from his body with every beat of his rapidly slowing heart.

  He coughed, tasted blood.

  Christine... I'm so sorry.

  The blade once again withdrew followed closely by a gout of blood that splashed onto the corner of his desk and the floor, leaving a bright red line on the carpet.

  Marcus loved that carpet, it had been a gift from the Shah of Parsa, a wonderful country. The food there had been so good... Christine had loved it.

  Had he actually been there? He didn't quite remember now.

  Marcus fell to his knees, one elbow propped against the desk. His sword dropped from slackening fingers.

  The man who'd stabbed him from the back stepped forth.

  “It turns out I don't care as much for titles and honor as my forebears,” Johannes said as he stood over the dying baron, hands perched atop his hips. “I care only for wealth.”

  “Quickly we must take his head,” said one of the other men. His Western accent sounded familiar, a Fulosi?

  “Why?” Marcus coughed, looking up at Johannes.

  “What do you mean why? I just told you. You're too trusting, too military in your habits,” Johannes said, continuing to drone on about how foolish Marcus was and how he had no right to be a baron. Clearly he'd been saving this particular diatribe for quite some time.

  Marcus didn't care, he wasn't really listening. He was thinking about a warm summer's eve two years past.

  Christine had looked so lovely that night in her soft satin gown. They'd sat together under the pink blossoms of a cherry tree celebrating each others existence with a constellation of kisses. Just as he'd been preparing to suggest they return to their chambers, she'd placed one of her fingers upon his lips and produced a small gilded box.

  “For you,” she'd said warmly, cheeks still flushed with amorous excitement. He wanted desperately to continue with their embrace, even right there under the cherry tree if necessary but he knew better than to countermand those eyes of hers. Despite the fire in her cheeks the hard dark of her chocolate eyes always commanded his attention with their infinite intensity.

  He'd taken the box from her.

  “What is it?” he'd asked, knowing she would never tell him before he opened it. That was not her way. Christine kept all her secrets, always. She'd simply smiled and waited and so he'd opened it. Inside was a short barreled pistol.

  It was the same pistol he reached for now with a shuddering left hand, as he held tenaciously on to the last shreds of consciousness. He leveled it at Johannes whose expression changed from self satisfied exultation to wide eyed horror.

  “Take this and conceal it upon your person. I've been thinking,” she said as the cherry blossoms fell around her, her eyes drifting away from his.

  “About what?” he'd asked as he handled the minuscule firearm. She must have had it specially made, perhaps for their daughter? The bore was far too small to kill a man. Most smaller pistols had a large bore so the shot, though wildly inaccurat
e, was still quite deadly at close quarters.

  He raised the pistol to aim at Johannes' chest and pulled the trigger. There was a blue flash as the veil powder ignited and a crack as the weapon discharged. Johannes raised his arms trying to protect himself. His mouth hung agape, his eyes wild.

  “The king. He's survived many attempts on his life and you're known to support him. It's only a matter of time before they come for you,” she'd assured him.

  “Who?”

  “The emperor of the Ganex, Any one of a hundred company officers, another noble family, even one of our own,” she had said.

  How he'd laughed at that. The idea that one of their own people would betray them. He had picked each one individually and rewarded them with titles and responsibilities befitting their skill and dedication.

  “This is to what, annoy them?” he'd said, with a smile.

  “No,” she'd said, her dark eyes deadly serious. “If you are

  ever betrayed my love, if they come for you, this will not kill them, but it will mark them. I'll use it to find them and make them pay.” Her voice was full of venom, the poisonous sound of pure and terrifying intention.

  “How?” he'd asked her, more closely inspecting the piece, trying to understand the mechanism of this marking.

  She had placed her hands on his.

  “You let me worry about that,” she said. “Keep it on you always. You'll forget we had this conversation until you have to use it. When that happens please also remember this... I love you darling. I'm sorry you're dying. I'll see you soon.”

  The shot went higher than Marcus might have liked, impacting Johannes in the right cheek. Blood sprayed and the man shrieked with pain as he clamped both hands over his bleeding face.

  The dark company man stepped forward, leveling his pistol and pulled the trigger. There was a flash and a crack and the baron felt yet another impact in the center of his chest.

  I did it darling. I did it.

  * * *

  “Adem! Emily!” Henri ran all out, his chest screaming at him for air.

  He could see them both. It did not look good.

 

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