No Return (29 page)

He gestured for Pol to do likewise. “Maybe you should practice in orbit.” They sat in silence and ate. Shav’s intelligence never ceased to arouse Pol’s interest. Curious as to his strange companion’s education, he had made subtle enquiries at the academy but discovered little. Of course, Shav claimed to have done many things. He had been all over Knoori, claimed to have fought in a dozen wars, many of which were happening simultaneously. He had sailed the ocean and planted his feet on foreign soil. For many years he had kept his identity hidden, staining his skin with a semi-permanent black ink. Pol dismissed much of the history out of hand. The quarterstock was mad, a charming and startlingly keen liar. At times he had seemed almost prescient, but now Pol suspected he was merely a skilled observer. A man could appear to do miracles if he watched others closely enough.

“That is my intention, yes,” Pol finally answered. “Unfortunately, I believe I am being observed constantly now. This morning, I breakfasted with Ebn.

All scheduled solo ascensions—and thus all independent projects of study in the void—have been placed on hold. She wants the mages to maintain a constant presence above Jeroun from now on. Comprised of eighteen half-day shifts, the watch will operate as an early warning system of sorts, possibly even the first line of defense against Adrash. A ridiculous concept, of course, but Ebn is insistent.

“I have been assigned the twice-weekly task of ascending to orbit and relieving the first and fifth shifts. As you may have guessed, I will not be alone in this task.

Loas, the most senior mage next to Ebn now that Qon is gone, will accompany me. He is highly skilled in the lore and unquestionably loyal to Ebn. I must find a way of silencing him so that my target practice is not revealed.”

“Won’t it be revealed the moment you take on another partner?”

“No. Ebn’s resources are stretched too thin. It will be weeks before she can find a replacement for Loas. For a time, at least, I will be left to my own devices. Even if I am wrong, it should not be too difficult to arrange yet another accident in the void. Many of the voidsuits were damaged when Adrash attacked.”

Shav shook his head. “This is far too complicated. Why not simply replace this Loas with someone you can convince to keep your secret? Someone you can buy?”

Pol had already considered this and rejected it. “Beyond the fact that Ebn would find my request for a replacement highly suspicious, I would not attempt to bribe another mage. Only someone in a weak position would accept such an offer, and sooner or later he would realize how much more there is to gain by turning me in. No, I must convince Loas to help me lift the helmets and targets into the void. I will tell him it is a last minute request from Ebn. And then, once we have reached orbit, I will kill him.”

“Your plan hinges on one act of deception? What if he doesn’t believe you?

He will not ascend with you, but go immediately to Ebn.”

Pol ground his teeth together. “I have no other options, Shav. I have so few resources at my disposal, no friends conveniently placed in positions of...” He paused, struck dumb as the answer suddenly revealed itself. He had finally found a use for the quarterstock.

“But perhaps I have been looking in the wrong places,” he said. “It occurs to me that you may be of some assistance.”

Shav chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “You want to use my dragon as a pack animal.”

“Yes,” Pol said, impressed once more with the quarterstock’s acumen. “I want it to carry the helmets and targets so that Loas’s curiosity is not aroused and my hands are free to attack. I can manage the weight of the helmets and targets from that point on.”

“Sapes and I can only travel so high, which means you must strike your enemy well before reaching orbit. Gravity won’t be on your side, so you’ll have to act very fast. Are you sure it wouldn’t be wiser to kill him at your convenience and allow me to transport your materials later?”

“I am sure. Time is of the essence.”

“His death must look like an accident, Pol.”

Pol closed his eyes, picturing the spell he would cast. His fingers twitched on the tabletop, and his tattooed skin puckered with gooseflesh. The sigils seemed to assert themselves more and more every day, whispering possibilities, temptations. “I can do it. Can I rely on you?”

Shav stood and stretched. An erection pressed against the fabric of his pants. He wrapped his fist around Pol’s bicep.

“Of course you can. You...”

His eyes rolled up into his head and he shuddered, fingers tightening on Pol’s arm. Pol waited, mildly amused by the display.

“The elderman,” Shav said once the seizures had ceased. His voice was deeper than Pol had ever heard. Almost painfully hoarse, it quavered as though the quarterstock were in agony. “The elderman’s name is Orrus. He is my father. He has won his first battle and will soon leave for his second.

He is frightened, as he should be. He knows a wiser man would hoist sails for the outer isles, leaving the world behind. Instead, he contemplates taking from the Lord of the world his most prized possession. He is a fool.” The quarterstock knelt. His right index fingertip traced the lines of the flight sigil tattooed on Pol’s shoulder. “Before he leaves, my father tells me to contemplate death. He tells me to feel my mortality in the creak of my bones and the soreness of my muscles.
With every heartbeat, you are closer to death
, he says. He forces me to smell the stench of his underarms—the smell of the body birthing and decaying life at the same moment. He tells me to know, intimately, every sign of weakness in my body, and then reject each in turn. “He breaks my arm with one blow, kicks me as I writhe on the ground.

Remember this lesson above all others,
he says.
The body heals. It responds to 
trauma, to pain—not with fear, but with purpose. So must you. You need not 
die
,
my son, but in order to continue living—
”

Shav stared into Pol’s eyes.

“—
you must suffer
.”

THE 1
^st
TO 3
^rd
OF THE MONTH OF ROYALTY, 12499 MD
THE CITY OF YNON to GRASS TRAIL,
THE REPUBLIC OF KNOS MIN

T
he Locborder Wall extended three hundred and fifty miles along the western shore of Lake Ten, from the foothills of the Aspa Mountains in Nos Ulom to the screwcrab warrens of Toma. Begun

in the twenty-third century and finally completed in the thirtieth, its length documented Knos Min’s former glory, before Nos Ulom and Toma applied pressure west and northwards on the larger nation’s borders, reducing its area by half.

Once, an army had slept atop the wall, guarding its hundred gates and the various villages clinging like barnacles to its lakeward side, but the increasingly aggressive gestures of Nos Ulom and Toma forced Knos Min to fill many of the gates. By the midway point of the one hundred and twentyfourth century only the three largest remained: Ioa, Ynon, and Defu. The villages had been abandoned long before and were crumbling slowly into the lake.

Adrash chose this moment to send his two smallest weapons to earth. They struck the ocean to either side of Knoori, sending tidal waves to the coasts, water vapor and dust into the sky. Thus began the Cataclysm—a tragedy of such monumental proportions that, one thousand years after it occurred, few referred to it at all. When the clouds finally parted, ending the decade-long winter, the population had been reduced by fifty percent.

Nothing lived along the shores of Lake Ten, which did not thaw completely for twenty years after the Cataclysm.

As the continent grew warmer, men gradually returned to the lake, and it was not long before they discovered something extraordinary. Previously unknown species of fish had survived the great freeze, breeding in vast numbers under the thick ice. Large and oily-fleshed, the animals represented not only survival, but prosperity. Generations could grow strong on food such as that. Nations whose borders had not shifted perceptibly during the famine decade now found themselves fighting to keep their waterfront property.

The race to repopulate had begun.

Without a doubt, the nation of Knos Min came out ahead. It owned two hundred and seventy miles of Locborder and its most strategic docks. A vast infrastructure for repopulating cities, fortifying armies, and communicating over vast distances still existed. The old capitol, Danoor, the new capitol, Grass Min, and the sprawling equatorial metropolis Levas sent their best engineers, fishermen and soldiers to the three cities of the lake—Ioa, Defu, and what would come to be the most important, Ynon.

Instead of waging a war of territorial conquest, however, the administrators of the three cities simply fortified the two borders abutting the shore and concentrated on hauling everything they could from the great lake. Dried and fresh fish went to all corners of Knos Min. They traded none of their catch, no matter how high the demand grew throughout the rest of the continent. All resources went to feeding, to growing. Immigrants pored in from across the continent and Knos Min welcomed them, demanding nothing but labor and loyalty of arms.

The first thing many new citizens learned about was the history of Locborder Wall, which had grown as a symbol to encompass the hopes of an entire nation.

As a child, Vedas had learned this narrative. All Knosi children did, no matter how far they had strayed from their homeland. The residents of Golna’s affluent Tannerton had even erected a miniature replica wall alongside their tiny manmade lake, Tenia. Its placement confused the neighboring boroughs because it blocked the view of the water. Few understood how large Locborder loomed in the Knosi consciousness.

In Golna, Men of the Republic were considered arrogant by many of their neighbors, yet this was an unjust prejudice. Tomen were not proud of their deserts? Castans did not admire their own enterprising natures? Arrogance defined Knosi no more or less than the other peoples of Knoori. Anyone who sought to know them would come to the same conclusion.

At least, this is what Vedas had heard. He steered clear of his fellow expatriated Knosi instinctively, like a man avoiding estranged relatives. Abse had once encouraged him to spend more time in Tannerton and Foxridge, but he balked the moment his foot stepped into either neighborhood. The people were too uniform, too like Vedas. Their high cheekbones and wet soil complexions, their broad shoulders and straight backs—all of these things made them more alien than familiar.

An irrational reaction, surely, but Vedas could not control it. He had aligned himself with the Thirteenth Order of Black Suits, and by so doing had left his people behind.

‡

The entry guard looked him up and down, took his name, and waved him through.

As simple as that, Vedas returned home. Yet instead of passing into the city he stood alone under the immense, arcing gate, feeling its thousand tons of basalt pressing down upon him.

Stepping out of the shadows should not be such a challenge
, he reasoned. Surely, the air smelled no different in Ynon than it had in Bitsan. In the early morning light even the architecture looked the same: Two- and threestory buildings of sun-bleached sycamore planks. Every fourth or fifth one had been painted, as if the owner could not stand the regularity. Locals glanced at his suit in mild curiosity as they walked by, yet their eyes passed over his features without a second glance.

He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, affecting a casual air. His companions would see through it, but he did it just the same.

A mere ten feet away on the other side of the gate, Churls tapped her foot and gave her name, place of birth, and current residence. The guard wrote the information on his form slowly, asked each question slowly. More often than not, her responses seemed to confuse him. He asked her to repeat herself several times. Finally, he stamped a square of cloth, handed it to her, and waved her through. She smirked at Vedas, rolled her eyes.

Berun stepped up, and the process began again. The guard glanced up at the towering constructed man several times—curious, but not overly so. The reaction surprised Vedas. He had expected something more elaborate for Berun. Backup guards, a robed government mage, possibly even a hellhound or two. But his interview was identical to Churls’s, down to the symbol the guard stamped on his cloth.

“Do you think that’s odd?” Vedas asked.

Berun pressed the cloth to his chest, absorbing it into his body. “It is, and I’d be surprised if this was the end of it. Nos Ulom considers me a terrorist, as the Republic is no doubt aware. Someone will be watching my progress, and it will be very difficult to identify whom. It could be anyone.” He shrugged. “Then again, they say more constructs exist in Knos Min than anywhere else. One more with a bad attitude might make no difference to them.”

They entered the city, the streets of which were jammed tight with locals and foreigners on their way to Danoor. As the sun rose above the rooftops, ever more travelers poured from the doorways of hostels and inns and began making their way toward the western edge of the city. They waited in long lines to buy overpriced jerky and dried fruit, canteens, and sleeping packs. Vedas tried to suppress a growing sense of urgency. They would get through the city exactly as fast as everyone else.