Moon's Artifice (32 page)

On the other side of the alley, Irato had been driven back against a house – still warding off his opponent’s blows but barely stopping the lightning-quick slashes. Only the presence of Kesh stopped him from being overcome ; she was not so foolish as to throw herself at the unnatural fighter, but was using her blade to distract the goshe.

The goshe feinted towards Kesh then moved to finish Irato off – bursts of cracking light racing down his arm to the tip of his long-knife. Irato threw himself aside before the man’s lunge could reach him and in the same moment Kesh jumped for the goshe’s back. Driving down with her knife she stabbed him between the shoulder-blades and the goshe staggered forward, crying out in pain.

His knees buckled, dragging the weapon from Kesh’s hand as he reached for the wall’s support. Irato didn’t give him time to do anything more, driving a blade up under his ribs while smashing a knee up into his face for good measure. The blistering light winked out and the goshe went limp, folding in a blood-spattered heap on the ground.

‘You’re getting good at that,’ Enchei said admiringly. He jerked Kesh’s knife from the goshe’s back and wiped it on the corpse before offering it over to her. ‘That’s your second elite.’

Kesh nodded as she stared down at the other dead man. His eyes were open, staring straight up, bloody abrasions from the wall covering one grey cheek. ‘They’re all to blame for Emari,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘Or others like her – they’re all guilty of something similar.’

‘Reckon you’re right there, but let’s not hang around for the rest.’

Enchei discarded his axe and waved the others forward. Kesh glanced at Irato, but if she was looking for any contribution from the man she got nothing, and with a shake of the head she fell in behind Enchei.

A doorway banged shut on their right as they ran single-file down the narrow street – Enchei caught a glimpse of small faces through a half-open shutter, frightened children hiding from the murder outside. By contrast, a teenage boy with long whitish hair sat on a dirty brick wall ahead where the street forked, dressed just in cropped trousers and an ill-fitting shirt. He seemed entirely unconcerned by the armed figures running towards him and watched them with studied indifference.

Enchei ducked low as he reached the fork, but no more goshe appeared to attack them as he’d expected. He looked left and right, trying to decide which way to go while Irato and Kesh joined him. The young woman stared up at the youth watching them. He had a spiral tattoo on his cheek that ran down his neck and underneath his shirt – not some local gang marking, Enchei guessed, but some sort of clan mark.

‘The stair this way ?’ Kesh asked him, pointing to the wider of the two forks.

The youth shook his head and nodded in the other direction.

‘Sure ?’ she asked, fishing out the last of her coin and holding up a fat copper piece called a merchant.

The youth nodded. ‘Quickest route,’ he said at last in a local drawl.

Kesh tossed the coin towards him and the youth’s hand snapped it from the air like a striking snake. Enchei ran ahead, leaving the other two to follow as the fork took them to a nearly-straight stretch of brick-walled houses. A wall of white seemed to shine at the far end and he realised it was sky at the open flank of Coldcliffs.

‘Come on !’ he called back, ‘we’re nearly there.’

The only reply was the sound of Kesh’s feet as she and Irato pursued him, but it was enough. In seconds they found themselves blinking at the sudden brightness of a massive open space between supporting pillars. Attached to the left-hand one was a shallow, curving slope that led up to the upper levels, but their attention was on what lay beyond the pillars. The great stairway down to the regular streets of Tale stood only twenty yards off, and Enchei felt a flicker of relief as he saw no black-clad assassins waiting among the scores of figures walking in all directions.

He led his companions at a brisk walk towards the stair, motioning for them to sheath their weapons. If they did look out of place, no one seemed to care as they went about their morning, ignorant of the small, bloody battles already fought across Coldcliffs that day. The wind was as strong as it always was at that height, a brisk buffeting sweeping up from the city beyond as they looked out over the view that was the only thing to distinguish this cold and ancient structure.

Dominating the vista was the Imperial Palace, its vastness only emphasised by the sight of the city’s distinct districts surrounding it, but there were many more buildings to pick out. Lord Omtoray’s squat fortress on the shore of the Crescent ; three black blocks from which two slender towers rose, while half a dozen similar thorns topped the palazzos of lesser Dragons. The abrupt cliffs on the Crescent’s eastern flank where House Eagle’s nobles perched, the green spaces of Wolf and Raven Districts and street after street of blue-tiled walls in Leviathan – all contributed to a strange mosaic that was the Empire’s heart.

Enchei looked around for pursuers one last time. ‘No sign of Narin,’ he said grimly.

‘You think they’ve caught him ?’

He waved them forward and they joined the mass of people heading down into the streets of workshops and houses of Tale. ‘Too soon to say,’ he decided. ‘Getting you two off the street is all we need to worry about right now.’

Kesh glanced back at the curved lines of Coldcliffs. Neither Narin nor any goshe had followed them out. ‘I think we’re clear.’

‘Aye – but let’s take no chances,’ Enchei said. He pointed to a side-street where long ribbons of brightly-coloured cloth fluttered in the morning breeze. ‘There’s a shrine to Lady Dancer down there. Will give me a good view of anyone following.’

‘And Narin ?’ Kesh pressed. ‘What if they’ve caught him ?’

Enchei scowled. ‘If they have, looks like I’ll be getting on my knees to pray.’

‘Pray ?’

‘Aye – our friend Lord Shield, might be time he lent a hand.’

Kesh looked startled and beside her Irato unconsciously touched his hand to his injured ribs.

‘You can contact a God ?’

The older man grinned wolfishly. ‘Course not – we’ll need a demon for that.’

Narin turned the corner and stopped. The street ended a few yards ahead at a pig sty, of all things. He looked back, breath catching as he glimpsed movement then realised it was a child darting from one house to another. He could taste blood in his mouth – somehow he’d bitten his tongue as he tripped a few streets back.

‘Where now ?’ he muttered, cautiously retracing his steps until he could find another path.

The sounds of the slum were punctuated by cries and shouts – noises he couldn’t translate into words, but he heeded their warnings nonetheless. Somewhere nearby someone was crying and calling out, a plea for help lost in the babble of pain and frantic breath of the injured. He steered clear, finding another path and hating himself as he did so.

I should be running towards those in need,
he thought distantly. His hand tightened around the grip of his stave as he left the voice behind.
I’m failing in my duty – Lord Shield, let it be for a good reason. Let them find a clear path to safety.

Narin knew he couldn’t have been far behind the others, but thus far he’d seen nothing of them, nor of the goshe pursuing. His path through the slum had been erratic, turned left and right by the formless sprawl of Coldcliffs’ tiny streets. The Investigator wiped a sheen of sweat from his face, his heart hammering away in his chest.

At last he turned one final corner and his field of vision seemed to blaze with welcome light. Then he faltered as he saw a dark figure standing in the middle of the open ground. Ragged coat dancing in the breeze and hood pulled forward to shade his face, the goshe looked like a demon of legend and Narin felt his heart go cold at the sight.

All around the goshe people edged past him – his head twitching left and right as he stared at each one’s face. He stood ready to kill, knives drawn and blood on the blade of one. Slumped against a wall to the left was a local, with a tattooed gang member bending over him and wrapping a wound to his arm. Clearly they’d challenged him, but this goshe at least seemed disinclined to kill anyone but his target.

Narin edged back around the corner. The goshe hadn’t seen him yet, but Narin couldn’t see a way past him. He closed his eyes a moment and willed the fatigue from his body, taking in long deep breaths as he thought.

Find another way ?

Just thinking back at the path he’d taken made the suggestion seem foolish. He’d taken his time crossing the district, he knew – they’d have each exit covered by now.

He looked down at his stave and straightened the leather vambraces Enchei had made him wear. They felt familiar on his body ; similar enough to the long padded gloves he wore for dachan or stave training.

‘Time to see if all that training has done any good ?’ he asked himself, feeling light-headed at the idea.

A memory of Rhe on the training ground appeared in his mind, the two of them trading blows and practising against the weapons of criminals. The goshe had a knife ; that meant Narin had the better reach, whether or not the man was unnaturally quick.

Don’t give him time to think,
Narin realised, drawing the dagger from his belt and slipping the stave behind his back as Rhe so often did.

How many times had he seen it ? That shaft of white appearing from behind Rhe’s back with blinding speed – both on the training ground and the streets they patrolled. So long as he timed it right, he could crack the man’s skull before he was in range of those knives – or at least stun him. Certainly anything more than a glancing blow would get Narin past and off down the stairs with a fighting chance of escaping.

‘Maybe the city’s right,’ Narin added with a bitter little smile, readying himself to sprint around the corner and at the goshe. ‘Maybe I am a hero – just waiting for the time to show it.’

He didn’t wait to consider the answer there, just threw himself forward and ran as fast as he could towards the exit. It took him a few steps to realise the goshe hadn’t moved, but in that moment the man saw him and tensed, blades out wide as Narin rushed towards him. The Investigator kept up his charge, knife held ready out in front so the goshe could see it.

He covered the ground quickly, a cry of fear and rage escaping his lips as he charged forward. The goshe barely moved, just twisting to have one knife forward, the other back and ready to strike. Narin didn’t slow and in seconds he was there, knife still held out before him like a novice fighter. The goshe began to move as Narin neared, one blade ready to deflect Narin’s own knife safely past, but it was nothing like far enough. Two paces away, the Investigator checked and swung his stave around with all his remaining strength.

He saw the goshe’s eyes flash wide, one arm instinctively rise, but it was too late. The stave whipped around with brutal speed, years of training and fear combining. Narin felt the crash of impact shudder up his arm and the goshe’s head snapped sideways. Blood sprang up in the sun-kissed air and Narin found himself staring at a single drop of red as it reached its zenith and began to fall. He realised the man’s ear had burst open – most likely the goshe was dead.

All around him people started to scream and flee. Narin half turned, mouth falling open, instinctively about to try and reassure them, but the words would not come. He watched the terrified faces with a strange disconnected sense. The sounds were muted in his ears, the movements slowed and dream-like. The wide stone steps lay before him, the crowd parting like dawn fog and he started forward.

The way was clear and he found a new strength in his limbs as he made for it. Safety was within reach, he could feel it like warm sunshine on his cheek. Then his vision went black and he was thrown backwards.

Pain blossomed in his face, his knife and stave fell from his hands. His head struck the edge of a step with a crack that seemed to split it open. Through blurry eyes he stared up at the clouds and clear blue sky that hung over the city. Then a dark shape moved across his view. Narin tried to roll away, but his body refused to obey. He could only lie there, jaw moving soundlessly as though calling for help.

‘There’s always more of us,’ he heard a woman’s voice say in the distance. ‘Surely you’ve learned that by now ?’

Narin’s scrambled thoughts were still deciphering her words when the woman reached a hand out towards him. Something glinted in the light from the tip of her finger, steel-bright and so sharp he barely felt it slide into his neck.

He saw her mouth move but the words were dulled whispers only. Narin felt himself sink back into the cold embrace of the rock below and the shadows lengthened until they enveloped him entirely. Then he felt nothing.

Somewhere in the dark of his memory, a hundred bells chime. There is a distant echo of pain somewhere, but his mind is far from his body and other sensations eclipse it. Slashes of pink cloud hang above the city as the bells ring out and the crowd sighs as one when a woman’s voice sings out over them, a single, glorious breath that builds and rises to envelop the entire amphitheatre. Just as the singer’s lungs must surely burst, the note is taken up by scores of choristers and the evening sky is filled with sound.

A long garden leads into the amphitheatre and from a dark pavilion there, a woman dressed in white runs. Pale-skinned with dark hair streaming behind, she sprints between the serried ranks of choristers and musicians. Three more follow, dark-skinned women with shaved scalps – all barefoot as they race across the grass and vault the principal singer effortlessly.

Coloured banners flutter in the breeze from a hundred poles around the outer edge of the amphitheatre. Greatest among them is one fifteen feet high, white and bearing the stylised image of a dancer in mid-step. More dancers stream down the walkways, some dragging onlookers with them, and the musicians strike up a frenetic pace as the voices of the choir begin their prayers.

Narin stands and watches as the scent of cooking pork wafts over him from makeshift kitchens behind. Slabs of different meats sit on two dozen hot plates and turn on spits, the scents of chilli and garlic fill the air alongside the prayers to the Ascendant Goddess, Lady Dancer. Flames cavort within great stone bowls edged in brass and ten feet across, spread around the amphitheatre to blunt the winter chill.

He pulls his jacket tighter around his body. It is not a cold evening by winter’s standards, but near to the year’s end all the same. The Festival of Dancer comes close to longest night and the priesthood long ago embraced their place in the celestial calendar. While Narin is there to preserve order, most of those attending are there to eat the warming fare, drink and dance with abandon.

With long misty nights given over to the spirits and demons of darkness, the population of the Imperial City long ago chose this one to reclaim it for the mortal realm. The music and song were said to chase away the creatures of night, just as the dancing chased away the cold fingers of winter. Some would dance until dawn, the younger priests and priestesses leading them every step of the way, while the Lawbringers watched over them all.

‘Have you come to dance with me, Master Narin ?’ he hears a honey-sweet voice say at his ear.

Narin almost jumps in surprise – so lost has he been in the hypnotic steps of the dancers. There beside him, a vision of beauty in a plain white dress, is Lady Kine, the firelight sparkling in her eyes.

‘I…’ He remembers himself and bows. ‘My Lady, I cannot, I regret …’

Lady Kine tosses her head back and turns to the dark shape beside her. ‘He refuses me as my husband abandons me,’ she gently laughs to her companion, who says nothing.

‘Siresse Myken,’ Narin says in greeting to Kine’s bodyguard.

The stern Wyvern warrior says nothing in response, she merely inclines her head to him as protocol requires. She keeps a respectful distance back from her charge, pistols holstered as ever across her belly.

‘Lord Vanden is not here ?’ Narin asks, feeling a guilty sense of relief as he says the words.

He truly likes the man and hardly knows how to accept the patronage he has offered, but in his company greater formality is required. Away from him, Lady Kine’s laughter comes more easily and Narin craves the sound like a drug.

‘My husband is no devotee of Lady Dancer,’ Lady Kine says, ‘even before his injury. And of course, frivolity is not becoming of a warrior.’ She covers her smile as she indicates her bodyguard, whose caste prohibits much and pride forbids even more.

‘His health continues ?’

Lady Kine inclines her head. ‘He remains weak, but the worst is over – as you would know if you had visited us recently.’

Narin lowers his eyes. ‘I have not wished to intrude.’

‘I wish you would come more often,’ Kine says in a quiet voice that makes his heart ache. ‘Your visits bring us both great pleasure.’

He looks up to see her lips slightly pursed, as they always are when she is being earnest, rather than the studied blank expression of polite conversation. Behind her, the female knight, Myken, watches him with unblinking eyes.

Narin has never spoken more than a dozen words to Myken, but he has come to respect her all the same. He feels sure she has seen his foolishness around Lady Kine, bears witness to every fumbled word and hopeless expression, but she has said nothing when others might have forcefully put him in his place.

‘My duties keep me busy,’ he mumbles. ‘I have little time for calling on my betters.’

He can feel Kine withdraw slightly at that. ‘Is that how you think of me ?’

‘You are noble caste,’ he says, ‘I am craftsman. I would not want to take up too much of your precious time.’

She does not speak for a while, both of them watching the fervent dancers and crowd as though stones on a stream-bed.

‘Siresse,’ Kine calls eventually, ‘I am cold. Might you fetch me some chilli squid and a cup of spiced wine ? I will be safe in the company of Investigator Narin.’

Myken bows and disappears into the throng. Narin feels suddenly shy and terribly alone, both thrilled and anxious to be there with Kine amid the uninterested masses. She is known in the area of course – this is Dragon District still – but dressed to dance with no marks of caste or position visible to attract the attention. There are dozens of Wyvern women attired almost identically, Kine is marked out only by her beauty and in the fire-light most eyes are drawn to the movement of bodies only.

Narin turns to face her but the words die in his throat. He knows he does not have long before Myken returns, but he does not know what he wants to say to break the air between them.

‘I’m sorry,’ he blurts out, ‘I did not mean to be cold towards you. Forgive me, I would never mean that.’

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she says. ‘You are here with me now.’

He looks into her eyes but cannot read her expression. Her lashes flutter then she looks away, returning her attention to the dance but easing her body a fraction closer to his in the same movement. He feels an ache to close that gap further, to feel her breath on his cheek as she speaks.

‘In my dreams, we will have danced,’ Kine says so softly he can scarcely believe he has heard her correctly. ‘Danced all night, all alone here with only the Gods to witness it.’

There is a sadness in her eyes that tears at his heart. He reaches out and touches a hand to her arm. Her fingers, clasped demurely together, unfold and close around his.

‘We will have danced,’ he repeats in a choked voice. ‘In my dreams we will always dance.’

‘It is all I could wish for, to belong with you in that dream,’ she says and slips her fingers from his hand. ‘All I will ever wish for.’

‘Kine.’

Narin woke to darkness and the jangle of pain. It took him a while to realise the faint croak had been him speaking. He tried to move and immediately regretted it, tried to blink and whimpered in pain as black stars burst before his eyes.

Against his back he felt the harsh press of metal, tight ropes binding his wrists to something solid. Bunching his fingers provoked arrows of pain, darting from from fingertips to shoulders.

There was movement ahead of him, shifting shapes in the gloom that drifted silently closer. He kicked feebly. His legs were free but his arms and shoulders were bound securely to something he couldn’t move a fraction. He took the weight off his shoulders, his legs protesting.

‘Awake, eh ?’ came a voice from the darkness.

A shape moved closer, indistinct but big – that much Narin could tell. He blinked and tried to focus, but through the fog of his mind he realised it wasn’t just lack of light. The man – and it had to be a man, given the size – was dressed all in black and hooded, or so Narin thought. As he came closer the whites of his eyes became clear, then the white of his teeth as the man smiled.

A Dragon, then,
Narin realised,
and big even for one of them.

‘Where am I ?’ he said, little more than a whisper but he saw from the man’s grin that he’d heard.

‘You really think you get to ask the questions here ?’ the Dragon asked.

Narin tried to move his head again. His neck screamed after what felt like hours of unconsciousness, but he managed some small movement left and right. The faint outline of a door was visible, the suggestion of a wall on either side. The room smelt damp and cold on top of the stink of urine Narin guessed was his own. A dungeon perhaps, but one little used and larger than a single cell.

He tried to think, to clear the mess in his mind, but everything was an effort and he soon found himself slumped down again – legs barely supporting his weight despite the increased discomfort it caused.

‘Don’t give up, not yet,’ the Dragon whispered in mocking encouragement. ‘Make a fight of it at least.’

‘What do you want ?’ Narin slurred.

‘Me ? Nothing.’

Narin forced his head up again. ‘Why … ?’ he hadn’t the strength to finish his sentence but again the Dragon understood well enough.

‘Oh, you’ll answer questions soon enough. But not from me, I don’t care what you’ve got to say.’

Narin watched helplessly as the Dragon reached down and grabbed his left ankle, hauling it up and sending fresh jolts of pain through Narin’s arms. He tried to kick forward at the man but found he could barely move and the dark-skinned man’s grip was strong enough that Narin did nothing more than haul at his bonds and cry out in pain.

‘That all you got ?’ the Dragon laughed, the grip of one meaty hand more than enough to hold Narin securely. ‘Save your strength, you’ll need it.’

The man waved his free hand in front of Narin’s face. The Investigator was slow to focus on it, but as he did so he saw white sparks jump suddenly between the Dragon’s fingers. In an instant the open hand was wreathed in crackling, darting threads of light that left tangled trails across his vision.

‘No,’ the Dragon continued. ‘No questions here – just think of me as the warm-up act.’

With that he jammed his palm against the bare sole of Narin’s foot. Narin screamed. It felt like a dozen blades had been jammed into his skin. He writhed and kicked as he shrieked, barely aware of anything but the pain that filled his entire body. His knee seemed about to explode as shooting fire lashed through him, but he couldn’t break the man’s impossibly strong grip.

In the next moment it stopped and Narin was left shuddering and trembling in the dark once more. The dark afterglow swam before his eyes as he desperately tried to breathe again, drawing in shallow, laboured breaths that hurt as much as they relieved.

‘Enjoy that ?’ the Dragon asked conversationally.

Narin flinched at the sound of the man’s voice, looking blindly around as every nerve in his body still clattered and burned. A voice from deep inside screamed for him to reply, to say anything that might stave off another burst of lightning a few moments more.

‘No,’ he whimpered, panting for breath after saying just that.

‘No ? Ah well, the next hour or so ain’t going to be much fun then,’ the Dragon said as he delivered a casual punch into Narin’s thigh with one massive fist. That evil grin shining through the darkness of his prison didn’t waver as the blow landed.

‘And after …’ Narin croaked.
Keep him talking, let him talk rather than burn me – Stars of Mercy, how long can I hold on ?

‘After that ?’ the man said, thinking it a question rather than all Narin could manage in one go. ‘After that it gets worse. She’s got questions for you and when she’s back, you’ll answer ’em. This here’s only a taste, to let you know what refusing her’ll be like.’

This time he didn’t even see the light before pain took him in its teeth. Narin convulsed and howled through a haze of agony – unaware if he was kicking or fighting it at all. The pain was everything ; even the smell of burning flesh and the fire in his lungs as he screamed were just distant things outside the pain.

Once it was over he hung limp from the bonds around his wrists and chest. If the Dragon spoke he couldn’t hear it past the crashing bells that filled his head. Slowly it began to recede once more and he felt himself breathing again, grateful even for the pain that brought.

At last he found his body again and drunkenly swung his head from side to side until he worked out how to lift it and look at his torturer.

‘After …’ Narin repeated, struggling to keep his eyes on those cold white teeth.

‘After ?’ the Dragon said. ‘Ah, sorry – did I break your concentration there ? My mistake, you weren’t finished.’

‘After,’ Narin said with a loll of the head that could have been a nod of confirmation, ‘you won’t be laughing.’

The grin widened. ‘Really ? Sure about that ? You ain’t going nowhere, friend, and you couldn’t take one of us even at your best – we’re blessed like that !’

‘Me, no.’

‘Your friends ? Irato maybe ? Friend, this place is so well warded the Gods themselves won’t find you and there’s more’n just me here.’

No Gods ?
Narin thought with a tremble of fear, but he fought it down again.
These goshe aren’t Gods,
he reminded himself,
whatever they think. They’re no match for Enchei, let alone the Gods.

‘He’ll find me.’

‘Who ?’ the Dragon asked with sudden interest. ‘Who’ll care enough to risk their neck for you ? No God, I promise you that.’

‘Old man,’ Narin said after a long moment. ‘Old man’ll find me.’

‘One old man, eh ? That’s all you got ? No Gods ? No House soldiers or Astaren strike-team ? Just an old man.’