The Fifth Vertex (The Sigilord Chronicles) (33 page)

This will do nicely
, Urus thought, a grin spreading across his face.

There were no other exits from the room, so the only way to go was back toward the entrance.

"Well, let's go then," Urus said aloud, waving the soldiers on. Somehow they seemed to understand, nodded, and followed him out of the hall.

He rushed down the lobby's main stairwell to see Murin standing on the other side of the entrance, staring up into the ocean. It still felt odd to be looking up into water rather than sky.

He slipped through the opening and stood next to him.

"Why didn't you answer me?" Urus said aloud.

Murin turned. "I discovered a few chambers that were shielded from arbiters and that must have blocked your thoughts. Did you have any trouble?"

"No, not really," Urus said with a smirk. At that, a steady stream of animated suits of armor poured out of the museum entrance to take up defensive positions around Urus. "Wait, why would there be rooms shielded against arbiters? And you need to explain what an arbiter is."

"Simulacra? How did you manage that?" Murin asked, changing the subject.

"Is that what they're called?"

"Did they ask you if you were friend or foe?"
 

Urus blinked, his thoughts returning to the confrontation. He remembered the odd pause before the knight attacked. Had it been talking to him?

"It didn't occur to me that they might have been talking to me."

Murin nodded and appraised the squad. "Impressive. Those will come in handy."

Urus gazed up in the direction Murin had been looking.
What did you see?

Pulsing colors, each followed by a popping noise. I fear the dome has been breached.

Urus met Murin's somber gaze, "Breached?"

"The Order is here."

24

Goodwyn winced as the healer stretched the bandages tight around his bruised ribs. In truth, he was bruised pretty much everywhere, but he felt good. He felt alive. The smells around him seemed deeper, the colors more vibrant, and, unfortunately, the suffering of the people around him more palpable.

He turned to the torchlit courtyard, giving the healer access to more wounds so the man could work more slimy concoctions into his skin under fresh bandages. Fires burned at the top of nearly every tower; thatch roofs that hadn't disintegrated entirely burned slowly to ash. All around, stone spires and towers that weren't hewn from the mountainside had been toppled. Rubble littered the courtyard and virtually every street in Waldron from the sky gate to the warrens.

The briene war birds had decimated the city, even though the Waldrenes had won the engagement on the road before the sky gate. It would be dawn soon, and with it would come another wave of briene. He and Corliss harbored no illusions about what was coming next—it would be quick, brutal, and contain everything the briene could deploy.

Corliss approached and grunted as he sat down on the flat piece of a smashed gargoyle that used to overlook the parapets on the north wall. He carried a tray filled with bits of meat, bread, and fruit.

"Eat," Corliss said. "We haven't much time to regain our strengths."

"My jaw hurts," Goodwyn replied.

"Shall I have one of the duke's kitchen staff pound it into a paste for you?" He chuckled.

Goodwyn grabbed a roll from the platter, tore it into pieces, and started to pick at it. He knew he needed the strength but he wasn't hungry. His mind was elsewhere, wondering what had become of Kest, whether Therren still lived, and if Urus had survived and accomplished his task.
 

There was so much at stake. This wasn't like the war drills they taught in Kest that were more like fun camping adventures than real war. They trained to survive sieges and plan tactics in waves and prepare for long battles, but there was no training that could have prepared him for actually being in battle and, worse yet, knowing that men had died fighting alongside him, knowing that he had killed so many.

"There you are, master Corliss," a man said as he approached the courtyard, looking as tattered and weary as everyone else in the city. His brightly colored tunic and loose pants were stained with dirt and blood, his beard coated with stone dust. His bright blue eyes stood out against the rest of his smothered appearance.

"Noah," Corliss said without looking up from his platter. "I'm too tired to let you kill me right now."

"Knight Marshall, you flatter me," Noah replied, taking a seat on the cobblestones nearby, but not too close. "I have news from the warrens."

Now Corliss and Goodwyn both looked up.

"I took a group of my men and we led a group of your soldiers down into the warrens to look for the boy and the grey man."

"And?" Corliss asked.

"There was no sign of the boy or his freakish friend. We did, however, run into a horde of briene down there. They were chiseling and hammering and working all kinds of tools into the stone. They collapsed half the mountain in on the lower caves. Would have taken the whole city had we not stopped them."

"No sign of bodies or blood?" Goodwyn asked, standing up, exasperating the healer still working on his back.

"We found a few bodies, but they weren't briene or your friends. One corpse wore a suit filled with little blood pouches," he turned to Corliss. "The little buggers put up more of a fight than we expected, but we finally routed them. You can thank me when all of this is over."

"Huh," Corliss said, but looked pleased. "This is good news, Goodwyn. Your friends may have found what they were looking for."

Goodwyn nodded. "I hope so."

The next few hours felt like days as the soldiers tried to get as much rest as possible, many sleeping wherever they were standing when they ran out of energy—against walls, on tables at the inns—but most of them near their posts and ready to return to battle a moment's notice.

Goodwyn made his way to the gate to stand beside Corliss outside the city and await the coming dawn and next wave of briene attack. He wasn't going to hide, nor was he going to do battle in one of those flying cloaks. No, his place was right on the front line.

"You fought bravely yesterday, with honor and more skill than I have ever seen," said Corliss. "No matter what happens, I consider it an honor to have fought beside you."

"The honor was mine, Knight Marshall." Goodwyn gave the customary response. In truth, Corliss hadn't behaved honorably at all. He had disrespected his enemy, something no Kestian would ever consider.

"No, it wasn't. I was going to slaughter those briene fetching their dead. You were willing to die for their rights, to die for the rights of your
enemy
. I learned something about myself yesterday that I cannot easily forgive."

"It is all sand on the wind now," Goodwyn said.
 

Together with four hundred soldiers outside the gate, they waited.

Dawn brought with it thick clouds covering the road leading to the sky gate. As the clouds encroached upon the feet of the waiting soldiers, the first of the dark silhouettes appeared below. Then another, and another, until the clouds darkened with the shapes of small armed men, marching steadily upward.

Behind them, as their forms solidified and they emerged from the clouds, materialized the looming shapes of great machines.
 

"Hold fast, men!" shouted Corliss, drawing his weapon. Goodwyn readied the suzur and put some distance between himself and the others, lest they become accidental casualties of his long strike.

The marching army appeared downhill only a few hundred meters away and then stopped. Two figures stepped forward out of the crowd, both with their arms spread wide.

"What kind of trick is this?" Goodwyn asked.

"Be ready for anything," Corliss said, just loud enough for Goodwyn to hear. "I don't like the looks of this."

Once the two figures were out of the clouds, Goodwyn recognized one of them immediately. The taller of the two wore a dark green suit of leather armor, which stood out against the pure black clothing of all the other briene. He also wielded a much bigger, specialized sword. Goodwyn recognized the sword as well. It was the briene he had dueled with for several hours the day before.

"The briene wish to speak with the
fein duras
," shouted the shorter of the two, who looked just like any of the other briene, except that he seemed to be wearing rugged clothes rather than battle-ready armor.

Corliss took a step forward, his sword still at the ready. "I am Knight Marshall Corliss Tudell and I am charged with the safety of Waldron and all its people. If you wish to speak, you can do so with me."

"The foreman and the blade will only speak with the
fein duras,
though you may accompany him if you wish," replied the shorter briene.

"I do not know this fein duras you speak of," Corliss replied, his stance relaxing a little. The shorter briene had no weapons and the green-suited one's sword remained sheathed on his back, their goggles pulled back so Goodwyn could see their eyes for the first time. They had brilliant, almost glowing, golden eyes.

The green-suited one pointed at Goodwyn. "That is the fein duras, the champion who fights for Waldron's honor. The blade and the foreman would speak with him."

"Where is this blade and foreman, then?" Corliss asked.

"This is the foreman," replied the shorter one, pointing to himself. "And this is the blade." He indicated the one in the green suit.

"These people get stranger every time we encounter them," Goodwyn murmured.

He took a few steps toward them, and they formed a group of four in the middle of the road.

"Fein duras." The foreman bowed. "The foreman has heard that the fein duras and his people fight with great honor."

"Thank you." Goodwyn bowed slightly. "As do yours. I apologize for what happened with the litter-bearers. We did not know we were betrayed until too late."

"This is why we have come to discuss matters with you. The briene are a peaceful people—" Corliss interrupted him with a stifled snort. "—unless provoked."

"The briene were struggling to survive, dying out," continued the blade. "Until the blood witches came."

"Blood witches? You mean the Order?" Goodwyn asked.

Both men nodded. "They came and offered the briene knowledge. They showed the briene ways to improve how to harness steam, ways to build better, to manufacture things to trade with other cities to get food and other things the briene lacked. That knowledge saved the briene."

"What does this have to do with Waldron?" Corliss asked.

"The blood witches told the briene that the Waldrenes were ruthless savages who would take briene resources, destroy briene cave homes, and run briene out of the kingdom. They said that the Waldrenes were without honor, and the briene believed them. The briene had to believe them; the blood witches saved the briene."

"So you waged war upon us based on the word of forked-tongued devils like the blood mages?" Corliss snapped.

Goodwyn held out a hand, trying to calm the Knight Marshall. "Corliss, remember that your own duke heeded the counsel of a blood mage too. And we don't need to mention what happened with Rhygant."

"The blood witches can be very persuasive, and they gave the briene many gifts—gifts that saved the lives of thousands of the foreman's people," the foreman said, his eyes wet with tears held in check. "The foreman discovered that the blood witches had killed hundreds of briene and used their blood for something terrible."

"The foreman and the blade think the blood witches may have used briene blood to make the stars fall yesterday," the blade added.

"They have persuaded other armies to do their bidding as well," Goodwyn said. "Four armies attacked my home before I fled, no doubt promised mountains of gold or other gifts in return for laying waste to my city."

"Yes, we heard this same story," said the foreman.

Heard the same story? How, from who?
Goodwyn thought, his mind racing.

"What is it you want then, foreman?" Corliss asked.

"Forgiveness," he replied.
 

"Forgiveness? That's it?" Corliss asked, sheathing his sword finally.

"No," replied the foreman. "We also want revenge."

Hooves clopping on the road echoed up from below the cloud layer, interrupting the conversation.

"I didn't know the briene had cavalry," Goodwyn said.

"The briene do not. Horses are giant, smelly animals, get lost in caves. The friends of the fein duras are arriving," said the foreman, revealing the tiniest hint of a smile for the first time.

"My friends?" Goodwyn asked, peering into the mist.

A moment later shadows of men on horses pushed aside the clouds—shadows of tall men, not briene. More horses galloped into view until there were twenty in all. Goodwyn's heart skipped a beat as they trotted to a halt on the road and he could see them clearly.

Each of the dark-skinned riders wore a red tabard emblazoned with a white fist. Beneath that they wore the light-colored, finely stitched and riveted leather armor that could only be made by the finest Kestian craftsmen. It was the First Fist of Kest, and on the lead horse rode none other than Aegaz Noellor, their commander.