Authors: Nathan Hawke
Gallow (110 page)
T
he Vathen rode slowly through the ruins of the village. There was little left. Burned-out huts, not much else. They stopped at the edge, at what had once been a forge. One of them dismounted and poked through the rubble. Whatever had been done here, it had been a while ago.
‘The forkbeards call themselves men of fate.’ She said it without much feeling one way or the other, as if noting that the clouds had turned a little darker and perhaps more rain was on the way.
‘This is a Marroc village,’ said one of the others, with a voice that was keen to push on.
‘Yes,’ said the first. ‘But a forkbeard lived here once. They called him Gallow. Gallow the Foxbeard.’
THE FALL OF AULIA
NATHAN HAWKE
Phorbas Evistimacchus, Imperial Subterranean Architect. The Imperial Palace, Aulia.
In which your devoted pupil wishes to inform you of an unexpected discovery beneath the imperial palaces and begs the wisdom of his former mentor Bassus.
Bassus! Old friend! How I’ve missed your dry sensibility these last few days. I’ve no time and can only be brief to the point of scandal, but I simply must inform you of our recent momentous discovery. Would you have thought this possible, I wonder, ten years ago? It seems such a distant time and so many who work here have long lost any thought or memory as to why we do what we do. You must ask yourself, I’m sure, how could any forget that terrible day when the news came of the Emperor’s wife and daughters lost at sea. I remember the look on your face when you told me his command to you which I later inherited, to delve ever deeper into the mountain until we reached the underworld itself to bring them back. Impossible? I know we both thought so, yet so we were commanded. How can any forget? Yet they do, Bassus, and I’ll tell you why – it’s because I’m almost the only one left here who began this with you.
But I forget myself. Three days ago we broke through to a shaft that descends deep into the mountain. It’s round like a tunnel and glassy smooth and too steep to walk down without risk and we lost two men to their own enthusiasm on the first day when we broke into it. But it’s exactly as you said we’d find it! Is it an entrance to the underworld itself? Could it be? The emperor is convinced. For my own part, I’m less sure. Honestly, Bassus, I don’t know what to think save that I wish you were here to see this discovery for yourself.
Bassus Orichalum, Prefect of Cthonic Engineering. Varyxhun.
In which your former but long-surpassed tutor is thankful for any wisdom you may consider to have come from him and wishes very much that he might share in the triumph of Phorbas Evistimacchus.
Phorbas, I cannot begin to describe both my excitement and my apprehension on hearing of your discovery, nor can I express how dearly I wish I could be with you at this time. You know I have long predicted such tunnels delving deep into the heart of Mount Aulos. In my feeble efforts to help, I remind you of the dangers of choking gasses so deep under the ground and to be warned of places where the walls become unaccountably warm. I am, however, quite sure that my meagre wisdom is entirely unnecessary and also will arrive far to late to be of any use. I hope that by now you’ve explored your new tunnel to a great extent and look forward very much to learning what marvellous discoveries you’ve undoubtedly made. I suppose I must express my doubts that the underworld itself will open before you. If it does then I both envy you and am quite glad to be far away. If it does not, then I hope the disappointment of the Emperor will be tolerable.
My own situation is far more unenviable. This accursed land is cold and wet and thoroughly uncomfortable and I’m yet to find a single Aulian content to be stationed here. You’re aware of what our predecessors carried here and and why, and that much of the work required was completed long before I arrived. A skeleton garrison remains in the fortress and in the secondary tomb, but the few natives who dwell in these parts are wild and ignorant men and their superstitions are quite enough to keep them away, thank goodness. I completed work on plugging the lake floor two years ago and have had little to amuse myself since that time other than to watch it slowly refill. I can report that the spring melt has now ended and that the dam holds fast. Phorbas, I wish you could be here to see my work. Although a paltry trifle when placed against your own, I’m really quite proud of it. The garrison commander is as eager to leave as I am, I think, and so when we see there is no leakage for another month or two, I imagine that will be enough. The tomb will remain drowned forever and I can finally come home. I hope it will be to rejoin you in Aulia itself and bask in the glow of your many marvellous discoveries.
Phorbas Evistimacchus, Imperial Subterranean Architect. The Imperial Palace, Aulia.
In which your devoted and yet frustrated pupil can report only very meagre progress and wishes you well and a speedy return.
Yes, yes, yes, choking air, I know all about choking air, Bassus. Your lessons on that point were very practical ones as I remember, and I thank you for how very firmly they’ve kept the danger at the forefront of my mind. It has indeed been an almost insurmountable problem, as the foulness appears content to lurk in depths of the tunnel, refusing to emerge. The air is uncommonly warm too, as you predicted. All in all the situation is entirely unsatisfactory to me and vastly more so to His Imperial meddlsomeness. I do wish you were here if only so that one of us could get on with things while the other attends to his constant summonses. You must remember the Smoljani? He has his clanking iron-clad guards supervising us constantly and they do nothing but get in the way and badger us with constant questions. I have a scholar from the desert here with me now who thinks he has a solution to the problem of the air. We shall see.
Postscript: I’ve now arranged for you to find this delivered with an urgent summons carrying the Emperor’s seal for you to return to the capital, as surely your work in the barbarian lands is complete. I hope this pleases you.
Bassus Orichalum, Prefect of Cthonic Engineering. Some gods-forsaken place in the middle of nowhere.
In which your former but surely long-surpassed tutor is thankful beyond measure.
Well we’re finally on our way, though not as quickly as either you or I would have liked. The commander of the castle has taken the Emperor’s order as being an end to his entire mission here and so we’ve all left, every single one of us, which I can tell you took a goodly more time than if I’d left on my own and so I’m afraid I’ll be a month later than otherwise might have been the case. It did however mean I had an escort of two hundred guardsmen to watch over me across these blasted mountains and just as well, for as we emerged into the hills on the other side, our vanguard was set upon by bandits and our main force was barely able to catch up in time to drive them off. I tell you, out here on the fringes of the empire it gets worse every year and I wouldn’t be surprised to see outright insurrection before much longer. So I can say in all honesty that this has been the most exciting journey I’ve ever undertaken and I look forward very much to returning home, though I might suppose this in part stems from what I hope to see when I arrive.
Phorbas Evistimacchus, Imperial Subterranean Architect. The Imperial Palace, Aulia.
In which your devoted pupil begs your proceed with all speed home.
Bassus, you should see the contraption this desert man has made – didn’t I once tell you they were by far the best scholars and inventors in the empire? We all wear iron masks now – I must say they make the Smoljani look like monsters – and drag great bladders full of air behind us into the depths of the tunnel. Together we’ve devised a pulley system that constantly moves new bladders from the top of the shaft to the bottom and returns the spent ones from below. With this system finally working, I’ve plumbed the depths of the shaft and made a most remarkable discovery. Towards its end, the tunnel grows wider and ends in a dome-like protrusion. The texture of the rock is even more like glass, more so than I’ve ever seen, and it’s quite clearly hollow. When I stand there, I have visions of a vast subterranean cathedral beneath my feet. I’ve kept this discovery to myself for now, old friend. I was hoping you might be here when we open it. Travel in haste!
Phorbas Evistimacchus, Imperial Subterranean Architect. The Imperial Palace, Aulia.
In which your devoted pupil begs your forgiveness.
I’m sorry, Bassus. I wish I could wait for you, but the Emperor is constantly informed of our progress from the Smoljani he places among us and someone has explained our discovery to them. I’ve tried to advise caution but the Emperor will accept no delay. He’s convinced we’ve found the entrance, at last, to the underworld. In truth I’m every bit as excited. It’s absurd, but I’m starting to wonder if he might even be right. Tomorrow I shall break through and we shall see. Come with all speed, old friend. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you.
If you’ve read this far, I’m kind of hoping you’ve read
The Crimson Shield
and
Cold Redemption
, because otherwise you probably had a real
who on earth is he
moment somewhere in the battle for the fifth gate. If you have, then I’m sorry for repeating myself. I’ll be brief. Thanks go to Simon Spanton, who commissioned this and to Marcus Gipps, who edited it, and to all the people who put together the wonderful covers these books have had. They go to the copy-editors and proofreaders and booksellers and the marketeers and everyone who makes books possible. They go to you, for reading this.
And thanks, still, to all the crazy people who think the best way to spend a week in February is to strut though York in mail carrying an axe.
As always, if you liked this story, please tell others who might like it too. And if you did like it, there are other stories out there that you might like too, ones that had a touch in shaping these stories or ones that I read afterwards and wished I’d read before, including:
Legend
by David Gemmell (Varyxhun castle has six gates after the six walls of Dros Delnoch);
Wolfsangel
by M. D. Lachlan (I can still smell the blood and the iron); and
The Ten Thousand
by Paul Kearney (The fight scenes – ouch!).
Nathan Hawke is a British writer of fantasy fiction. He has worked variously in the city, as a consultant to the police and to the services. He has travelled in the far east, worked for a time in Las Vegas, was briefly involved in video game design, and once skied off a mountain under a parachute for a bet. His current ambitions include rafting the Colerado River and walking the Milford Track. The Crimson Shield is his first novel.