Stranger of Tempest: Book One of The God Fragments (53 page)

‘Go lead your men one last time,’ Lynx added. ‘We’ll not leave that part out when we tell the tale.’

The Exalted nodded slowly, looking down at the maspid corpse at her feet then cocking her head towards the way they’d come. The bridge was empty from what Lynx could see and the gunshots were less frequent now. Still she hesitated before turning her back fully on the mercenaries, but eventually Uvrel accepted they were as good as their word. She started back that way, one hand slipping into her cartridge case to pull a fresh cartridge out.

The mercenaries backed away, Teshen keeping his gun level in case she turned, but Lynx knew she wouldn’t. They were almost out of sight, up the slope, when she had loaded the mage-gun again and started off purposefully down the bridge. Holding the long gun one-handed she rested it on her shoulder as though at complete ease and out hunting.

‘Luck to you,’ Toil whispered as the woman disappeared from view. ‘You won’t make it, but all the same.’

Lynx nodded and turned away, looking up the slope towards where he hoped he might soon see the faint glow of daylight. ‘Now let’s find the sun again.’

She snorted quietly. ‘It’s night-time; dawn’s a way off still.’

‘Woman, I’m really starting to hate you.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

Toil led the mercenaries out into the chill night air no more than half a mile from the great rift. Not a word was spoken, but relief broke over them like spring rain as the Skyriver lit their path. They pressed on in the near dark to get clear of the city-ruin and dawn was a glow on the horizon before they stopped to rest. Anatin was suffering badly by that point, despite Sitain’s best efforts, but he kept pace with fierce determination. They made a brief camp, barely speaking as the sun appeared over the horizon and the dull shine of the Skyriver faded, before pushing on once more.

The danger wasn’t over, but Toil knew the worst had passed and the rest seemed to assume as much. The wild places that bordered Shadows Deep seemed to be bursting with life after those days underground. For most of that first day the mercenaries almost fired on every bird that broke from cover, the dark having marked them all in some small way. With food and water their biggest concern, elementals notwithstanding, they travelled as fast as they could towards civilisation. When Teshen found a stream and Kas felled a deer as the others replenished their waterskins, their supplies and spirits were restored so the miles passed as easily as could be expected.

It took three days of hard travel to find anything approximating a road, another two before they came across a village where they could buy ale and bread. By that point Anatin was close to collapse, but a combination of money and Reft’s winning smile secured them a stringy mule to carry him.

The rest were forced to walk for another three days, mostly in bone-weary silence as even the hardiest among them flagged, but finally they found a town where horses and proper supplies were available. It cleaned them out of those small pieces of jewellery mercenaries carried for such an emergency, but the town traders assured them that the city of Chines was only five days travel by horse. They made it in four, arriving at that grand old city of towers and aqueducts as the first storms of early winter whipped up the waters of Parthain beyond.

It turned out the rest of the company was yet to arrive so the group gratefully settled themselves into a quiet corner of the city overlooking the famous Dragonbone Plaza. With funds secured from a bank of ancient and venerable name – the clerks and guards looking more than a little concerned by the battered group of mercenaries – they were free to enjoy the city in comfort while they waited. The fame of Chines’s Dragonbone Plaza was in part down to every type of food known being available there, along with every type of beer, wine and exotic spirit, so their various hungers were soon sated. The upper levels of its southern aspect enjoyed a fine reputation for narcotics and Anatin was not alone in muzzily dreaming several days away until a loud, familiar squabbling cut through the hubbub of city life.

Toil dragged herself to a balcony to watch the mercenaries greet their comrades, Deern and Himbel putting their long-smouldering arguments aside to announce their astonishment at the others surviving. She kept herself clear of the boasting and clamour that followed, taking herself off for the evening while the company drank a tavern dry in celebration. The next morning she enlisted Teshen, Reft and Lynx to rouse the rest and herd them on to a wide, three-masted ship in the harbour while the crew partly disassembled and loaded their wagons for transport.

The weather had subsided in recent days and a brief sparkle of sunshine kissed the waters as they set out across Parthain. Once Chines was well behind them, Toil went in search of the captain and instructed the man of a change in destination. It caused some token consternation, but with a cargo of hungover mercenaries he chose not to argue about being compensated for the inconvenience. They expected it to be a week’s journey across Parthain, whichever part of the far shore they headed for, and the wind remained behind them for most of the way.

Early on the sixth day they drew in to the port of Su Dregir, a city that rose in steps on the flanks of a hill and looked west across a crescent bay. Like Chines it was old and elegant; the entrance to the harbour ran beneath a great stone arch that spanned the gap between the shore and a small fortress island. One of the oldest settlements on the shore of Parthain, Su Dregir had once ruled the region and the Palace of the Elect overlooking the harbour was a testament to its past glory. The harbourside had three districts on distinct levels, each following the curve of the shore and each as notorious as the Dragonbone Plaza, while on the far side were the seven so-called daytime districts.

It was said that there were dozens of tunnels and hidden caverns cut into the hillside itself, but Toil had proved difficult to draw on the subject once the mercenaries learned their true destination. It was widely known, however, that there were three small rivers which cut through the hill, or had been built over, rather than followed channels in the uneven hillside. Few doubted that an adventurous soul might find passage through the dark, but the city’s criminals were known to discourage investigation.

On the very top of the hill was the great lighthouse that guided ships into harbour and just beneath that stood the grand pale walls of the Palace of the Elect. As they neared the city and the mercenaries all piled onto the forward deck, Toil found herself alone and staring at the great green glass lanterns that topped the wall – the tines of the city’s crown, they were often called. It was one reason why Su Dregir was often called the jewel of Parthain, a visual reminder to the other cities on Parthain’s shore of its wealth and the proud, ancient families whose great houses dotted the far slope.

There was a sharpness to the air that Toil recognised, a promise that the weather would turn nasty, and soon. She had already given Anatin the name of an inn where he could billet the company. They would not be moving on from Su Dregir before the start of spring, long enough for her to see what further use she could make of the company. None of the mercenaries noticed as she caught a trailing rope on the island-side of the great arch and lifted herself away, possessions already packed and on her back.

It was not a route just anyone could use to avoid being challenged by the dockmasters, not unless a fortified guardpost was preferable to routine questions. Toil was challenged then allowed to pass by a grey-bearded guard who had her in his sights before she’d dropped inside the island wall. From there she commandeered a small boat and rowed herself to the opposite shore, far from where the Mercenary Deck would be disembarking.

Toil walked alone and unmolested through the less distinguished parts of her home city until she reached an ancient cut-away stretch of the high district that housed a tight network of mausoleums. Taking care not to be followed, she made her way almost to the furthest of those, where the rock overhung the oldest tomb, then put her shoulder to a slab of stone. It gave way easily and Toil found herself in a tunnel of rough-hewn steps that led steadily up into the cellars of the Palace of the Elect itself.

She tugged three times on a bell pull as she entered, hearing nothing of the result, then climbed up a long flight of steps and through a hatchway to find herself in a circular chamber at the rear of the Archelect’s residence. Ten yards across, the plain room had thin windows well above head height and a pair of stone chairs facing each other in the centre.

There were no soldiers or servants. The room was barred from the outside and she heard no signs of life until the deep clunk of bolts being drawn back echoed dully through the stone wall. A masked face entered first, the gleam of a golden ceremonial faceplate illuminated in a candle’s light.

The masked one stared at her, pistol extended for a while longer than was necessary, before the bodyguard withdrew and a small man entered. He had long greying hair tied neatly back to reveal the face of a man clearly not of the local aristocracy. His heritage was somewhere further south, golden tanned skin and black eyes. A heavy coat of black overlaid fine clothes, a belt of gold and a torc set with emeralds around his neck. Just by the way he walked it was obvious he was not a fighter, had never been one, but Toil still knelt with genuine respect.

‘Sit. Speak.’

He didn’t wait for her to respond before settling into one of the stone seats, grunting slightly as he shifted for comfort and rested his chin on his fist.

‘It was as we feared, Archelect,’ Toil said. ‘The Knights-Charnel were poised to move.’

‘No longer?’

‘I killed the Princip and his powerbase in the Council of the Assayed was fragile. After so public a setback, the Knights-Charnel will be forced to withdraw. Their appetite for control doesn’t yet extend to taking an inland city by force.’

The man sighed. ‘But for how much longer? I fear we’ll not be able to rely on that assumption many more times.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose then straightened up. ‘Did you encounter difficulty? Get away clean?’

Toil’s face darkened. ‘Far from it. We were lucky to escape at all.’

‘We?’

‘The mercenaries I hired to cover my escape. We were pursued through Shadows Deep by Torquen troops, all the way to the deep rift itself.’

‘Explain.’

‘An Exalted was on us from the very first moment.’

The Archelect leaned forward. ‘Do we have an informer?’

‘Not us.’ Toil hesitated. ‘I’ve yet to work out the details, but the mercenaries managed to get tangled up with the Knights-Charnel as they approached Grasiel. I believe the Exalted was pursuing a rogue mage who’d been taken from their custody – at first anyway.’ She shrugged. ‘I think I managed to catch her attention afterwards. But if she
was
after them, they were either extraordinarily unlucky or something rather more predictable among mercenaries.’

‘One betrayed their comrades?’

‘It looks that way. I have a suspect. He’ll be taken in hand before I risk using them again.’

The man looked surprised at that. ‘You’d use them again after that?’

Toil hesitated. ‘They have some interesting talents in their ranks,’ she said after a pause, ‘and we’ve been saying for a while that some trusted unaffiliated companies could be useful.’

‘True. Very well. I defer to you on this subject.’

Toil almost laughed at that. Theirs might not be a traditional master-agent relationship, but the Archelect was not a man who deferred. She knew that wouldn’t be the end of this conversation.

‘And the traitor?’

‘Might unbalance the company if he was murdered cleanly. I believe I can find some leverage, but if not, an accident or a random act of violence would surprise no one.’

He nodded. ‘Two separate reports please; one on the Knights-Charnel, one on these mercenaries.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. And good work in Grasiel – I was sceptical at your assessment but you seem to have proved me wrong. It looks like we’ll have a busy year ahead of us. I’d advise you to make sure you enjoy the winter festivals. You will be part of a busy diplomatic effort come the spring.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Not the diplomatic part, of course. Age has not entirely addled my mind.’

‘I’ve been away for a while, sure there’s some housekeeping to be done before I’ve time for festivities.’

‘No doubt. Your pet scholar tells me the city has been somewhat energetic of late. Which reminds me – he also informs me that his friend in Jarrazair is close to a breakthrough, so close I’ve suggested one, ah, relatively trustworthy mercenary company might find profit in wintering there.’

‘
Relatively
trustworthy? Hmm, so long as you kept my name out of it. I don’t fancy being the one to explain to my mother why her favourite son is away during the winter festivals.’

‘Of course. Please do give her my regards when you see her for Ulfer’s Feast.’

‘Not Father?’ Toil asked with mock innocence.

‘Only once he’s good and riled about something.’ The Archelect laughed. ‘I’d hate you to waste the moment. My children are looking forward to their next lesson, by the way. Some foolish servant has been filling their heads with rumours of the Red Lady and, well … they have drawn conclusions. We shall soon all be burdened by their intellect. You most of all.’

‘I look forward to the challenge, Archelect.’

‘So do they, my friend, so do they.’

Lynx opened his eyes and immediately regretted it.

His eyes blurred as a stabbing ache appeared behind them, dark shapes swimming in and out of focus somewhere ahead. He tried to open his mouth and found it half-glued shut by dried saliva, his lips chapped and raw, his tongue like sandpaper.

From nowhere an involuntary shiver ran through his body. The room seemed to wrench around him as the ache filling his head pulsed hard enough to make him whimper. A shuddering breath brought a little clarity and a lot of stink – piss, sweat and mud. He was cold, his fingers numb and stiff, but he couldn’t yet summon the energy to lift his head.