Blood and Iron: The Book of the Black Earth (Part One) (28 page)

Jirom found a spot along the wall of the supply building where he could set down his satchel. He untied the hemp cord holding it shut and peered inside. Under several pieces of boiled leather strips with trailing thongs that appeared to be rudimentary armor, he found an iron helmet, a faded purple tunic, several bricklike packages that looked like trail rations, two stoppered bladders, a small digging spade, and a copper handpick. At the bottom was a pair of hobnailed boots.

The graduating dog-soldiers were soon herded toward the camp gates high atop the canyon wall. Now that freedom from this hellhole was close at hand, Jirom reflected back on his time here. A lot of men had died trying to get to where he stood now, but he felt no pride. This was not his army; he was just a slave forced to serve. Yet at least he was free of this place and its denizens.

Emanon came over, bringing with him a dozen rebel fighters. “Jirom, you're going to be commanding these men in the field.”

Jirom frowned. That hadn't been discussed before. “I don't need a promotion. Let Jerkul lead them.”

“He has his own squad,” Emanon said. “I'm putting them in your hands.”

Jirom squinted at the fighters. “Fine. But I run the squad my way. That means no interference.”

Emanon slapped him on the shoulder. “Of course, Jirom. They're all yours.”

Jirom ground his teeth together as the rebel captain walked away through the crowd. He didn't want this responsibility, but he had agreed to follow Emanon's orders.

“All right,” Jirom said, pitching his voice to the men in front of him. “If everyone has their gear, get into formation with the others. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves.”

As the squad started to comply, Jirom turned toward the sound of hoof beats.
Kapikul
Hazael rode up on a brown mare. The camp commander wore his usual uniform with a voluminous white cloak that flowed down past his steed's flanks. Several retainers followed him, also on horseback. The bad news was delivered by one of the officers.

“This unit will be honored by the presence of the
kapikul
, who rides with us to glory!”

Jirom's hands opened and closed as the commander rode to the forefront of the company. If he'd had a weapon, he might have tried to get close enough to use it, consequences be damned. Instead, he joined his squad and made sure the men were ready to march. He didn't know where they were going, but he could bide his time.

The boots of the Queen's Guard pounded the floor as they marched down the hallway in the direction of the slave quarters.

Alyra counted to thirty and then slipped out of the vacant storeroom where she'd been hiding. She had almost walked straight into the patrol but was fortunate that she'd heard them before they spotted her. The corridor was now clear, yet she hesitated, wondering if this was a smart decision.

Go on. This is no time to let your nerves get the better of you.

After Horace had been summoned by the queen and Alyra learned that they would be going on Her Majesty's flying barge, she had stewed for a little while, imagining all the things a woman of power and hedonistic urges like Byleth could inflict on Horace. Then she received a note from her palace contact. It said simply,
Lord Astaptah has left the palace.

Taking the coincidence as divine intervention, Alyra had shaken herself out of the pointless worrying and decided to take advantage of having the evening free at the exact time when Lord Astaptah was away. This might be her best opportunity to get inside the vizier's chambers.

She'd changed into a dove-gray tunic and covered it with a short, hooded cloak. Her only accessories were a small pouch, retrieved from under her bed, and a thin-bladed dagger she tucked into the back of her belt-sash and hoped to heaven she wouldn't have to use.

With her heart pounding in her chest, she made her way through the palace via seldom-used corridors and halls. After bypassing the kitchens, she entered into the forbidden hallways. Remembering her way from the last time she had followed Lord Astaptah, she found the dead-end corridor. Only she knew it wasn't a dead-end.

Alyra fumbled in the dark for her pouch, the contents of which had been smuggled to her through the network of agents in case she should ever get this far. She pulled out a small, thin rod and a square of rabbit fur. She rubbed the rod with the fur, praying for success. Since it could only be used once, she'd
never had the chance to try it before. She breathed a sigh as the rod began to glow. Cool white light emanated from the tip, like a miniature lamp without the oil. Holding the light aloft, she hurried down the short passage to the stone wall at the terminus. The middle of the wall was hot to the touch, just like before. With the light, she was able to make out the outlines of a wide doorway but no opening mechanism.

Alyra opened the pouch again and took out the larger object inside, a black silk bag. It was soft and pliable in her hand. When she had described the stone door to her contacts, along with her suspicion that it might be triggered by
zoana
, they had given her this. The bag had come with two warnings. First, that its contents were unstable and should be kept away from open flames, sunlight, and her skin. And second, that its effects could not be guaranteed. She undid the laces holding it shut, and a pungent smell like burning brimstone leaked out.

She bent down and poured out the contents, careful to keep her face far back. A line of fine white sand filled the crease between the floor and the front of the door. Alyra stood back, tucking the empty bag back in her carrying pouch, and wondered how long the stuff would take to work, if it was going to work at all—

She jumped as a sharp sizzle burst from the sand. White smoke rose into the air as the sand popped and crackled like a campfire. Alyra snuck a glance over her shoulder, afraid the noise would attract unwanted attention, but the sounds died down quickly. When she looked back, the wall looked entirely different. The door's frame was outlined in silver lines. Twisting shapes covered its face, as well—curling lines, interconnected geometric designs, and some kind of writing. Alyra couldn't decipher the script. It didn't even look Akeshian.

Of course. Astaptah came from the south. It makes sense his notations would be foreign, too.

Alyra was looking for a way to open the illuminated portal when the stone door swung forward. She backed out of the way as a wave of hot air washed over her. Beyond the doorway yawned a dark tunnel with stone steps leading down. Standing at the top, she suddenly wondered what Horace was doing, if
he was all right. The thought came out of nowhere, but it was accompanied by a simple and uncomfortable truth. She wished she could tell him about her true mission in Erugash.

He doesn't deserve to be lied to.

Alyra shook her head. Emotions were tools to be manipulated. The mission was the only thing that mattered. Focusing her attention, she rolled the empty pouch into a tube and used it to prop open the door behind her. Then, with the light-rod held high, she descended into the secret passage.

The steps were tall, making her descent even more jarring, but after about ten feet they stopped, and the tunnel continued downward at a steep slope. She tried not to think about the ramifications of what would happen if she was caught, but her life was meaningless compared to the oath she had sworn. She would gladly die for the chance to harm the empire. Akeshia needed to fall. Not just for Nemedia, but for the betterment of the whole world.

The passageway looked natural, its rounded walls resembling a winding tube. Every so often she passed under a glowing red symbol on the ceiling. Like the sigils on the door, she had no idea what they meant. The air was hot and dank, with a strange odor like the acrid smell after a thunderstorm. As she descended further, Alyra considered the massive weight of the temple above her head, and a twinge of anxiety stirred in her belly. After several minutes of walking, she arrived at an open archway. She approached with caution, shielding the light-rod inside her tunic as she peeked around the corner. Another passageway extended before her, its length broken by several openings. Alyra was considering whether she had time to investigate them all when a dull glimmer from straight ahead caught her attention. Orange light glowed at the end of the tunnel.

As she got closer, she heard a low rumbling noise that made her think of thunder. Slight tremors buzzed through the floor under her sandals. She slowed her pace as another sound came from ahead, a sharp hiss that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Alyra eased up to the opening but stopped as a jet of blistering air shot past her face. Holding her breath, she peered inside and blinked as her eyes adjusted. The broad aperture overlooked a large chamber that appeared to be a natural formation, at least in part. The rough-hewn walls
were craggy with whitish mineral deposits that reflected the orange glow. A series of metal catwalks connected by ramps clung to the cavern walls. Alyra couldn't see the source of the light until she edged out farther and her gaze traveled sixty paces down through a haze of smoke and wavering air. The floor far below was awash in yellow and orange flame. It was only after a moment of staring that she realized she was looking down at a pool of molten rock. Pieces of charred crust floated on the surface around a small island, upon which sat an odd framework of black metal and silver filigree. The metal construction was large, maybe three times the height of a person, and shaped somewhat like an inverted pyramid. Looking at the structure's lattice of beams, Alyra got the impression that it surrounded an empty space at its center. Was this the mysterious device Lord Astaptah and the queen had been discussing? Alyra craned her neck to see more, but she couldn't make out much from her vantage point.

You know what you need to do. You have to go down for a closer look.

Alyra put away the light-rod and wiped her damp palms on her cloak. She was inching out onto the catwalk to get a better view when a shadow leapt across the wall not far from her. She ducked back inside the cave mouth and froze, listening for any sign that she had been discovered. After a score of rapid heartbeats, she peered out again. The shadow came from higher up the cavern wall. Alyra's heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she peered up at the seven huge statues ringing the cavern ceiling. Carved from the rock walls, the dark watchers leaned over the cavern with hooded faces.

Taking a deep breath, Alyra put the imposing statues out of her mind and eyed the catwalk. There was no one else in sight, but the silence—punctuated by the hiss of the bubbling magma below—made Alyra nervous. Steeling herself, she started around the walkway. The metal platform shook a little with every step, and her footfalls sounded unusually loud to her own ears. She hoped no one was listening.

Just as she was about to step onto the ramp, a horrible scream erupted in the air. High and drawn-out, it echoed off the walls, sounding as if it came from all directions at once. Alyra wanted to turn around and run back up the tunnel, but instead she plunged down the curving ramp. The scream died off after a few seconds, but it echoed in her mind as she reached the catwalk's
second tier and made her way to the next ramp, which she started down without hesitation. She swept her gaze across the bottom of the chamber. Now the heat from the molten rock below felt like it was scorching her skin. The ends of her hair curled up into crinkled knots. Even breathing became more difficult as if her lungs were rejecting the super-heated air. Yet she now had a better view of the structure on the center island. There was a narrow bridge connecting the island to a rock ledge that ran around the chamber's perimeter. Dark archways appeared in the walls, leading to parts unknown. Set in the rock between each archway was a glowing red rune as large as a dinner platter.

Alyra was astounded. She never would have guessed that the passages beneath the palace extended so far. Halfway down the second ramp, a new sound met her ears, a faint sizzle like meat thrown into a hot griddle. Something flickered inside the metal structure on the center island, looking like a cloud of white sparks swirling in a green mist. She paused to watch, and the mist became thicker, the sparks flashed brighter, as a new sound rumbled through the chamber. It was the unmistakable roll of thunder.

Alyra gasped as she brushed against the wall at her back. The rock was searing hot to the touch. Yet her eyes remained focused on the growing mist inside the metal construction, trying to discern what it could be. She didn't see any moving parts like pulleys or clockworks. Now the flashing sparks reminded her of nothing so much as tiny bolts of lightning zipping through the mist. Like a miniature thunderstorm.

Or a chaos storm.

What was Lord Astaptah trying to do down here in the bowels of the palace? Create his own chaos storms? The idea was both absurd and chilling at the same time. No one could create a storm, but if he could…

Alyra turned around. This wasn't something she could handle alone. She needed to get this information to her contacts so they could funnel it back to their controllers in Nemedia. She started back up the ramp, but froze as the metallic patter of footsteps rang out above her. Voices descended through the smoky haze. The catwalk was made of solid metal sheets connected by thin beams, but through the cracks she glimpsed a pair of shadows walking around the top level toward the ramp. The voices sounded male.

The only other ways out of the chamber were the five archways around on the bottom level, but she had no idea where they went. For all she knew, they might delve deeper into the earth or wander endlessly beneath the palace with no exit at all.

Seeing no other choice, she hurried down the last few yards of the ramp. She stepped onto the shelf that ran around the edge of the chamber, and the heat of the stone penetrated her sandals. The magma, though several feet below, seemed frightfully close. One misstep, and she would be cooked in an instant.

Stop it and focus on the problem!

She pulled out her light-rod and moved to the nearest archway. The short tunnel ended in a stout iron door. With the footsteps above getting closer, Alyra made her choice. She ducked inside and went for the door. At the same time, she started devising explanations she might use if she were caught. That she was “lost” was too laughable to even contemplate. She could claim she'd been sent here by the queen to summon Lord Astaptah for a conference. That might get her out of immediate danger, but the queen would surely hear of it, and that would begin a line of questioning Alyra did not want to experience. Could she blame Horace? The thought stabbed her through the heart, even as she began to work out how she might make it work. She reached for the door's latch.

She yanked back her hand with a stifled yelp. The metal was as hot as a stovetop. Cradling her singed fingers, Alyra suppressed the string of vile curses that wanted to tumble off her lips. She wrapped her other hand in her cloak and tugged on the latch until the heat became uncomfortable through the barrier, but the door wouldn't budge. It was either locked or barred from the other side. Alyra ran back down the passage, hoping she had time to try another archway. Yet as she peeked out into the main chamber, the voices were descending the second ramp.

Alyra pressed against the passage wall and grimaced as the heat of the stone penetrated her sweat-dampened tunic. The voices approached, now close enough that she could make out their words, but they spoke in a tongue she didn't know. It was harsh and yet strangely lyrical, unlike anything she had ever heard before.