City in the Sky (19 page)

“Deris,” the man said in his turn. “Trade attaché to the Black Mountain embassy in North Hold. Red Dragon,” he added, more quietly.

So the man did have a viable reason for meeting Brane. It was
still
horrible tradecraft. “Where are we heading?” Brane asked as the junior Dragon gestured for him to follow.

“The embassy,” Deris replied. “Dwarven law insists that all Draconans staying in the city for more than one night have to be put up there.”

Brane had forgotten. He'd assumed he'd either find lodgings or be put up in a safe house. But… “Won't they watch our comings and goings?”

“That's the idea,” Deris confirmed. “Of course, we've made… arrangements since then.”

The Red Dragon captain relaxed slightly. “You know my mission, I presume? Do you have any agents in place to carry it out?”

Deris nodded, slightly, as they turned a corner onto a broad avenue. “I know your mission. However, I don't have any agents to lend you.”

“What do you mean?” Brane demanded, adding a touch of ice to his voice.

“I have no agents at all,” Deris replied starkly. “Our kind stick out too much among the Dwarves, and the short Fires-burnt bastards hate our guts.”

With plenty of reason, at that, Brane reflected. The Dwarves did not like the fact that the Draconans had settled into the mountains they arrogantly claimed as 'theirs', and a series of wars had been fought over it. Absolutely none of them had been even remotely decisive, other than the Dwarves burning out every settlement beyond the Citadels themselves. Draconan Dragons prevented the Dwarves taking the Citadels, but Dwarven troops and tunnels prevented the Draconans expanding.

“You have
no
agents?” Brane repeated.

“I have exactly two men,” Deris replied. “Their primary purpose is to provide an unexpected edge to the guards if we're forced to defend our embassy.”

Such a defense had been required more than once in the long, bloody history between Dwarf and Draconan.

“How, exactly, do you intend to assist me with my mission, then?” Brane asked, his voice dangerous. If he had to deal with Tarverro himself, he would, but in that case, Deris should never have risked meeting him.

“I have no
Draconan
troops,” Deris replied after a pause. “I
do
have a network of informers, and contacts with one of the local gangs, a group known as the Blood Axes, or just the Bloods. Given enough money, they'll be prepared to help you out.”

“And the money?” Brane asked.

“Including myself, I have three men,” Deris told him with something resembling a grin, “But our superiors chose to give me the same budget as any other Chapter. I can provide the money.”

The back exit of the Draconan embassy actually came out underground, in the vast expanses of city underneath the mountain. Brane was intrigued, and had to wonder just how whichever of Deris's predecessors had had this dug had managed to sneak it by the Dwarves.

However it had been done, some Dwarves clearly knew it existed. Two, dressed in coal-black leathers studded with nasty looking spikes, waited for him. Neither topped five feet, or was less than four or so across the shoulders. The leathers were an affectation, and a rather stupid one – most Dwarves regarded leather as rather pointless, preferring the easier-to-wash linens and cottons. Dust, after all, was a rather constant theme of their lives.

One Dwarf, slightly shorter and broader than the other one, stepped forward, swinging an axe whose handle was painted dark red from her – from the swelling under the thick leathers, he
presumed
it was a her – wrist by a leather thong.

“You Brane?” she demanded in a surly voice.

“I am,” Brane admitted. “Who are you?”

“Kelt,” she told him, in the same tone of voice. “Blood Axe. Come.”

That appeared to exhaust her conversational ability, and she and her companion took off into the caves. Brane, with little choice, followed them deeper into the mountain.

The path they took involved a great many turns and changes of direction, highly unusual in the usually neatly ordered and straight-lined Dwarven caverns. Given that none of the tunnels they followed were especially curved or twisted, he assumed that either they were going around something or trying to disorient him. Or both, of course.

Finally, after an interminable tour through the tunnels, the two Dwarves stopped and turned back to him. Kelt removed a strip of thick black cloth from somewhere and proffered it to Brane.

“You wear. Cover eyes,” she instructed.

“Why?” Brane demanded.

The click of the other Dwarf cocking the small arquebus that seemed to appear out of nowhere was nearly deafening. The Red Dragon's gaze met that of the gunner.

“You wear,” Kelt insisted.

“So even if you can find this place, you cannot open the door, stone-head,” the other Dwarf said, the first words he'd spoken since Brane had met the pair. His voice was low and hoarse, as if he'd taken a throat wound.

Brane took the cloth and wrapped it around his head. As he began to do so, the second Dwarf made the arquebus vanish again. Finally, the cloth was completely wrapped around his head, and the Dragon couldn't see anything.

He could hear the grating of stone on stone as something opened, and then felt a tug on his sleeve. Without a word, he followed the pull on his arm through what he assumed to be some kind of tunnel that twisted on for a several-minute walk.

Finally, they stopped. Brane reached up to remove the blindfold, but one of the Dwarves knocked his hand away.

“No touch,” Kelt ordered. “You stay. No look.”

Footsteps receded into the distance, presumably his escort leaving. He waited for what had to have been several minutes, and was about to lose his patience and remove the blindfold when it was suddenly pulled off his head.

Brane found himself looking down at a Dwarf dressed in deep-red-dyed leathers. Either he'd been in the room when the Red Dragon entered – in which case, Brane hadn't even heard him
breathe
– or he'd managed to walk in without Brane hearing him. Both were quite impressive feats.

“Welcome to the home of the Blood Axes, Draconan,” the Dwarf told him. Unlike his escort, the gang leader spoke quite smoothly. “I think it is best if you know me only as the Red, hmm?”

“Perhaps,” Brane admitted. “You'll excuse me if I do not provide my name either.”

The Red waved away the thought. “That is not important. I deal with your Captain Deris – his name I know, if you betray us. He said you would pay for a 'task'.”

Brane eyed the thug. The Red was supposed to be nothing more than a street gang leader, but he gave off the impression of something… more. The Red Dragon shrugged. He doubted it would be important.

“Indeed,” he told the Dwarf. “I need a man eliminated.”

“What do you want me for, then?” the Red asked calmly. “You are an assassin, so as well is your Captain Deris. I cannot see a single man stopping your type.”

The Dragon barely managed to suppress a snarl. “Unfortunately, the target is guarded. At least a squad of Aeradi soldiers, possibly a full platoon.”

“Aeradi?” the Red said. He turned away from Brane, and turned back with two pipes in his hands. “Smoke?” he asked.

“No thank you,” Brane said stiffly. The Dwarf grinned at him and lit his own pipe.

“A platoon of Aeradi is tough work,” he said, between puffs. “I have ways to deal, but they are expensive. How much?”

“Four thousand gold marks. Hellitian mint.”

The Red was a very good negotiator, Brane noted. His only sign of surprise was a slight pause in the movement of his pipe. “That… may be enough,” he allowed. “What has the target done?”

“How's that your business?” Brane demanded. “Is the money good, or not?”

The Red grinned around his pipe. “The money is good. I still want to know – it is good to know what one is getting into.”

“Fine. He killed one of ours. We're returning the favor,” Brane told him.

“I see. Can you identify him?” the Red asked.

Memories of the debacle at Yun in his mind, Brane nodded. “I can give a complete description, and tell you where he will be. I'd prefer if the entire platoon were wiped out, just to be sure.”

A puff on the pipe, and the Red shook his head. “Not good enough. You come with us,” he said flatly.

“What?!” Brane exclaimed.

“It is called 'work ethic', dragon-boy,” the Red told him, holding his pipe out of his mouth. “You pay me to do a job, I make certain it gets done right. Only way I see to do that is to have you around to make sure we get the man. Clear?”

The Red Dragon eyed the Dwarf, the acrid smoke from the pipe burning his eyes, and considered. It would, at least, prevent another debacle like Yun.

“Clear,” he grated out.

Erik's squad, along with the rest of First Platoon, was detailed to escort the wagons of firepowder from the mill, up on the side of the northern mountain, down to the docks. In full armor, with shields and swords, thirty Aeradi marched up the mountain.

Unlike the other two cities the Aeradi had visited, they weren't short by local standards. The Dwarves were mostly about the same height as the marines, which meant that Erik was once again comparatively tall.

Of course, there were differences between the Aeradi and the locals, and when the guards at the main wall stopped them to check their papers, Erik took advantage of the lull as Tolars dealt with their leader to study the soldiers.

A single platoon of forty men was policing the traffic into and out of the outer portion of the Hold. The Dwarven soldiers looked quite competent, and definitely dangerous. They might have only been the same height as the Aeradi soldiers, but they were far broader, and the soldiers bore their chainmail and axes with the ease of long practice.

The greater heft of the Dwarves was the major difference between them and the Aeradi, but as the Dwarven platoon commander made his way down the Aeradi platoon, checking the numbers matched the document, Erik got a good look at the man's unhelmeted face. The dwarf lacked both the slanted eyes and the high arching cheekbones that the Aeradi shared with their Draconan rivals.

Erik's inspection of the Dwarves was cut short by the officer finishing his inspection and standing back to wave them through. Erik, like the other two squad sergeants, gave the Dwarf a salute as they passed by. While the Dwarf didn't lose his stone-like expression, he nodded in return to each salute.

Even having seen the city from the air, North Hold impressed Erik and the other first-time visitors. A massive avenue, the continuation of the highway that made its way up the valley, led directly through the city, splitting in the center to head to each of the two entrances into the underground.

They didn't follow the main road for long before turning right onto a road that led them up the north side of the valley. They passed through several terraces of homes and shops, and then into a terrace that was just trees and grass, a buffer, Erik realized, between the homes and the outside factories.

Past the park terrace the Aeradi passed into a set of terraces where the air quality seemed to plummet. Massive foundries and powder mills lay out in the open air, linked through small gates to massive underground warehouses and steam lines. The quality of the air around the factories explained better than any words why the Dwarves left these factories outside – the cannon foundries and powder mills produced vast quantities of noxious fumes that, if released into the controlled air system of the underground caverns, would poison the entire population.

It left them vulnerable, but Erik also noted that the mountain just
above
the industrial terraces had the sheered flat look of Dwarven fortifications built into the stone.

“Cannon above the terraces,” he observed softly to Ennie, who nodded.

“Dozens of 'em,” the corporal told him. “T'ey may leave t'ese stinkers outside, but t'ey'll no let people attack 'em freely.”

Erik nodded his silent agreement as they wound their way deeper into the open-air industrial zone.

The Blood Axes led Brane on a route out of their home deep in the caverns that was just as complicated as the one he'd followed in. About the only thing the combination of the two routes allowed him to be certain of was that they were higher up than he had been originally.

They passed into sunshine through what appeared to be an industrial entrance, where rails allowed dozens of carts to be pulled into and out of the mountain by Dwarven fire engines.

“Is this safe?” Brane asked the Red.

“No, of course not,” the Dwarf replied with a laugh. The thug hadn't bothered to change out of his leathers, which meant he was far more neatly turned out than the scruffy majority of his gang. He was also all but unarmored, and swung a deadly-looking jagged-edged axe from his right hand by a thong.