The Seascape Tattoo (24 page)

The men responded at once. They threw tarps off the devices they had been hauling. Tubes as long as canoes, mounted on wagons.

Before they could get everything in place, an ungodly howl rose from all around them.

“Sir!” Sergeant Fflogs screamed against the wind. “We don't have time!”

“If we don't have time, then we'll have blood. On your guard!”

The first wave hit their lines, and the battle began. Aros wielded a sword like a demon; the general fought beside him. “Too many of them!”

The grubs carried swords made of bone—but harder and stronger, like bones dipped in steel—and spears, also made of bone. They were dressed in human skins, explaining the resemblance to men. Beneath those skins was flesh more alien, and coming to the distance for sword strokes just made it clearer that the soldiers were not fighting cannibals. Cannibals eat the flesh of their own species. These things had never been men at all.

Aros perceived a pattern in their attack, something that he did not understand: the things were coming for Silith. More than their dreadful attentions to the other men, they sought the general. Once, twice, three times.

The line seemed to be breaking—

BOOM!

Cannons fired into the mass of grubs, shattering the line. They swarmed back, and then in again …

BOOM!

And then tubes bundled together like straws fired, pop-pop-pop, ripping the ranks.

“I don't know what those weapons are,” Aros yelled above the din, “but I'm glad they're on our side!”

The cannons roared again, jolting the wagons backward, and the ground under them buckled.

Then one of the cannons
exploded
; the barrel shattered as if a bomb had burst in its guts. Amid a rain of fire and hail of torn steel, the soldiers were thrown screaming to the earth, stunned.

They were recovering, their brother soldiers protecting them. Then—

Cracks ran along the sodden earth as the ground collapsed, and men plunged screaming into the dark. General Silith watched the chaos for a moment too long, and the very ground beneath his feet dropped away.

“What in nine hells—?”

“General!” Aros screamed. He could see down into the hole. Despite the murk, he could tell that the men had fallen ten feet down, perhaps, to a ledge of rock, a tunnel beneath the surface. Silith lay stunned, and grubs squirmed toward him, away from other men who had fallen through the crust.

General Silith's men hesitated, frozen with terror. A few climbed on crumbling dirt.

And not entirely knowing what he was doing, Aros jumped down into the collapsed ground, as the general was swarmed by grubs.

Aros got Silith to his feet, the grubs clawing at him until they pulled his cloak off. There were too many of them; they would be slaughtered …

And then the strangest thing happened. The grubs were ripping and tearing and fighting over Silith's coat, almost ignoring Silith and Aros. Aros had never seen anything quite like that.

Ropes were dangled down from the surface, and Aros helped the dazed Silith step into a knotted loop at the end, and he was hauled up. Aros climbed as rapidly as he ever had, and a moment later was at the surface.

The sun was rising in the east, and as its rays stretched across the land, the grubs fled, vanished into their holes and back into the darkness. They had what they wanted: the cloak was shredded and gone.

*   *   *

“General, sir!” Sergeant Fflogs yelled. “Are you alive? We saw the ground open and swallow you.”

The general glowered at him, struck the sergeant to the ground. “Yes! And the only one of you miserable bastards who went after me is Kasha.”

“Sir, I wasn't close enough!”

The general's eyes were like coals. “Corporal, give the sergeant your sword.”

Fflogs's eyes flew wide. “General, what—”

The general was like ice. “When Kasha and I came upon you this evening, you were asleep.”

The sergeant was stricken. “Sir! No! It … don't you remember?”

The general turned to Aros. “Kasha. You remember, don't you?”

Aros didn't know what to say. The sergeant's face was twisted in a silent plea. “Maybe … maybe he'd closed his eyes for a moment.”

The general drew his blood-crusted sword. A little more would mean little. “Then let him close them permanently.”

The sergeant recoiled, mouth working without producing sound.

Aros raised his hand. “I said …
maybe
. I came upon him first, general … and I believe his eyes were open. It was a blink.”

“A blink?” Silith asked.

Aros nodded, holding his eyes. “A very long, slow … blink.”

In spite of his mood, the corners of Silith's mouth flickered up and then flattened again. “I see. I owe a favor to the man who saved my life. Is this the favor you seek?”

Desperation lived in Fflogs's face. He was a man who needed a favor and knew he had no right to ask.

“He was awake, sir. I ask no favor. Just … justice for a good man.”

Silence, as the entire camp watched. “I see. Strike the camp! We head home.”

*   *   *

The soldiers were a thinner, shorter line than they had been just a day before. But blooded warriors all.

The general pulled his horse beside Aros. “Last night,” he said.

“A hell of a night.”

“Could have been my last one,” the general said.

“Close call.”

“Yes. Very. That cannon exploded. Someone will be held responsible for that.”

“I'm sure, sir. Don't sweat the small stuff.”

The general's eyebrows jumped. “Compared to what?”

“Your cloak. Did you notice the way the grubs came at you? And then, when you shed it, how they went after the cloak?”

Silith shook his head. “You're right. I must be getting old. I was so dazed I really didn't think about that.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Almost as if it was pulling them.”

“As if there was something they wanted in it. Or something that angered them.”

“There are lures that hunters use,” Silith said. “The musk of certain animals attracts them.”

“Something they can smell that you did not.”

Silith hunched in his saddle. “Yes. Almost as if someone had deliberately scented my cloak. I wonder,” he said, with a side gaze at Aros. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Great men have great enemies, sir.”

Silith nodded. “Much to think on. You have a very good head, Aztec. I want it close to me.”

“Whatever you wish, sir.”

Silith was silent for a quarter mile, lost in thought before he spoke again. “Last night, when the sergeant was on the spot. I had the impression he's made things hard on you. Why did you testify for him?”

“And against you, I assume you mean.”

“Some could see it that way,” the general said.

Aros fought for the right words. “I am new here. I don't know how things are done, or what history there is that would motivate your lordship. Maybe I don't know the customs hereabouts, and folks sleep standing up. I can only say what I saw.”

“Some would say you were impertinent,” the general said.

Aros snorted. “But, sir, if they said that, do you know what I'd say?”

A muscle the size of half a walnut twitched at the corner of Silith's jaw. “What would you say?”

“I'd say that I don't know what that word means, sir. Me being a simple man and all.”

The general stared at him … and then roared with laughter and kicked the sides of his horse. As he did, he called back over his shoulder: “You keep your sword for now, Outlander. But I'll get it, one way or the other!”

It seemed that Aros would never be alone. The sergeant rode up next. “Aztec!” Fflogs roared.

“Yes?”

The sergeant shook his head. “I've ridden you pretty hard.”

Aros laughed. “This is the army, not a damn nursery.”

The sergeant nodded approvingly. “No. No it's not.”

Aros rode along. The other men grunted approval, and one handed him a canteen to share. It was beer. He grinned and drank deeply.

I could get used to this,
Aros said to himself.
I truly could.

 

TWENTY-SIX

The One

Shyena the Red Nun stepped down from her carriage and presented her papers to the guard at the gate in the Great Wall. Her face alone should have been sufficient, but the general was taking no chances, and neither were the Hundred, let alone the Ten.

Or … the One. She shuddered at the thought of facing him, kept her fear locked deep inside herself, walked with purpose and poise, her red robe trailing lightly behind her, her eyes focused directly ahead, arms folded into her sleeves.

The wall Neoloth had crawled through was thick, as if designed to keep in some enormous beast. The lies that had been told to the population of the capital city had been convincing, she supposed, and it had required over a year just to create the skeleton, let alone the time required to fill it with cement.

The thousand-year spell had begun.

From around the world, the mages had come, drawn by the One, and the Ten, to be part of the Hundred who would rule the Thousand …

A pyramid and the One who ruled them all were terrifying to her, and she could not let that show, because fear would open the door to her heart, and once the One was in her, the One would know who had betrayed them.

Shyena's carriage passed the shops, the training grounds where the Thousand, recruited from Shrike's armies and artisans, worked, built, and trained with the anomalies. That was what these strange devices were called. The anomalies.

The king knew a bit about what was going on here, but the senile old fool couldn't possibly know precisely what was happening. Even she could barely hold the reality in her mind, and there were times she awakened in the middle of the night sweating even if the night was cold. What were they doing? Could such a colossal action take place without risking the sanity of reality itself? What price would they pay, would the world pay, if they were making a mistake?

What price this final victory? Her mind swam.

Her carriage paused before the round red building, and she dismounted. Other carriages, as well as several of the odd two-wheeled balancing vehicles, were parked around the building, and she heard the voices within even before she entered. The hall was designed so that it might hold the Hundred, with semicircular rows of seats facing a raised dais. On this day the Hundred only numbered sixty-one.

She was one of the last to arrive, and the others turned to watch her as she entered. In terms of power and authority, Shyena was positioned in the Hundred's bottom half, but due to her beauty and mystery, she was of interest to those among the highest.

The Red Nun took her seat. Folded her hands and waited. Two more arrived and took their seats.

Two acolytes closed and bolted the door.

The lamps were dimmed, and a glowing glass cast a circle of light on the dais. The smell of incense, cinnamon, and blood filled the room.

And then a voice floated out of the corners of the room, from everywhere and nowhere, all at once. “Our time is here,” the voice said. It was neither male nor female, and she shuddered.

The One.

A cloaked figure moved from the shadows. Had it been there previously, unnoticed? She wasn't sure, but it was possible. Hiding in plain sight. Watching them, unsensed.

Her flesh crawled.

The form was bulky, with wide hips and shoulders, thickness in the middle. The arms of the robe were swollen with muscle, the chest doubled with enormous breasts.

When the One reached the dais, the One threw back the cowl to reveal a face that was both strongly masculine and beautifully feminine, depending on the angles from which it was perceived. Long black hair, painted mouth, eyes lined with highlights. Strong cheekbones, full lips with the tip of a pink tongue darting to moisten them.

The One. “Belot” was all the name the Red Nun knew. She had the impression that once Belot had been either male or female and that some magic had been employed to change the body and mind. Why? No one knew. Some said Belot was a woman who had wished the strength of a man. Others that Belot was a man who had desired to bear children, that the acolytes that accompanied Belot everywhere were those offspring, and that Belot had had them without the intercession of another male. Had impregnated herself.

No one knew. Or dared to ask. Belot was the most powerful sorcerer known to walk the earth, and Belot's word was law.

“Our time is here,” Belot repeated. “That time for which we have worked so long, suffered so much is here. I wish to acknowledge the works, the very good works from our brothers and sisters of the Guild. It is they, and their descendants, who have accomplished this. You are strong in the Way.”

The room broke into murmurs. The Guild was all-important, its members lives extended to twice the norm. It would be their task to keep the Spell going through the years. The decades. The long centuries. For the moment, the cave was blocked by a long, conspicuous wall. Gates were there to support the traffic that carried explorers in, anomalies out. When this work was done, the wall would disappear; the cave wall would be partly blocked, then hidden.

She did not understand all that was being done. Knew that it required the lives of slaves and captives to drive the energies that pierced time. Children to do the seeking; but why children? She knew that slowly, the aperture between this world and that to come was growing wider. And what would happen as it did? Shrike would have weapons no other kingdom could match, and it would take the lead in the world. And as the tunnels lengthened?
Was
there a far end?

She could not even imagine. But with a sinking feeling in her gut, she suspected that Neoloth was right: of what use is magic in a world in which every cobbler can create a miracle?