The Seven Markets (28 page)

“If you do not, they will all be dead before nightfall.”

Cutter felt the Prince shift against his chest. Vanity or no, in his current state, the whelp would not survive without his help. If the Prince went through the portal alone, he would likely be killed on sight. It had been too long since the royals had been seen in the many traveled lands. Few there were, if any, who would recognize the King’s son in his true form.

“You do not understand. I have no choice. If you would follow me at all then you will follow me now. We must go.”

The fight went from the boy’s face. “I will follow, sir. But I wish you would reconsider. It is a foolish thing to flee a battle that can be won.”

“No battle is ever won.”

Cutter turned to leave, the portal building tantalizingly close. He was unsure of how to open the portal, but suspected the Prince might provide some instruction. Could they control where they arrived, drive straight for the shrouded lands and the King? It had been many years since Cutter had stood in his august presence. His heart swelled at the possibility.

A hand gripped his shoulder, halting him where he stood, snapping him back to himself.

“You are the Cutter, no?”

It was a Shivari warrior. Several more stood flanking him. And other creatures, besides.

“You are the Cutter,” he said, repeating the words with slow precision. Cutter understood the Shivari was a new arrival, perhaps added only for this venture to the human lands. New travelers always spoke the same way as they became familiar with the Market’s trick for melding strange tongues together.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about. Let us pass, please.”

“He is the Cutter,” the Shivari said, raising a hand to the assembled creatures, demanding, if not their stillness, then their attention. “You guard the Prince. Where has he gone? Why does he not protect his Market?”

Felwyn injected himself between Cutter and the Shivari. “He said he doesn’t know.”

Another voice broke the silence. “I know him! That is Cutter, the Prince’s bodyguard!”

“You are the Cutter, then.”

“If I am?”

“You guard the Prince. You know where he is.”

“And if I’m not? If I don’t?”

“You do. He must protect us. It is the compact.”

Another voice spoke. “He knows where the Prince is! He must protect us from the humans!”

Cutter shot a brief look at Felwyn;
and this is the army you wanted me to lead?

The boy jumped onto a chunk of stone and shouted for their attention. “People of the Market, travelers, we go in search of the Prince that he might save you this day. Please, let us pass!”

The crowd parted with some reluctance. The Shivari warrior who’d grabbed Cutter’s shoulder refused to budge. His eyes burned with accusation, laying the blame for all the fallen at the Prince’s feet, and by extension, Cutter’s feet as well. “Stories I hear of the Cutter,” he said. “All lies. The Cutter fights, not runs.” He spat a great bloody gob onto the ground by Cutter’s feet and turned away in disgust.

Felwyn hopped down from his stage and caught up with Cutter, who was already a dozen steps up the street and moving fast.

“Do you think that was wise?”

“Sir? It worked, didn’t it?”

“And when we do not return? When the humans swarm over them to pick their bones clean, what then?”

The boy shrugged. “If that should happen, there will be no one to blame you, sir. And your Prince will be safe.”

Cutter stopped. “I do not like lies.”

“Then do not tell them, sir. Come, if you mean to flee, now is the time.”

But Cutter did not move. Felwyn took several tentative steps, then turned. “Perhaps you are reconsidering?”

“No. My duty is clear.”

“Why do you linger, then?”

He could not move. In his bones, Cutter felt the humans regrouping, massing their forces for the next attack. He knew it the way he knew the weight of a blade in his hand.

“They will all be killed. What if our staying could prevent that?”

“What of your duty?”

“My King speaks in my heart. He says son is above all others. He must be protected. That is my duty, but it has never felt so hollow.”

“Then stay. Protect the Prince by driving out the humans.”

“Is it so simple, then?”

“Of course. We are warriors. For a warrior, the choice is always simple.”

Cutter couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, to be young again.” He looked back at the travelers tending their wounded, mourning their fallen. Ahead, the white portal called, promising a swift end to this day’s trials. Could the Prince guide them to the shrouded lands, to the safety of his King’s throne?

“We will go, but we will make truth out of your lie. We will return with an army to split the heavens and let these foul humans weep at the power of my King. Let them know what it is to face his glory!”

He felt his King’s approval, his gladness, fill his entire being. This was right. This was the way of things. They would enter the portal and—

“Sir?”

The ground shook. Dust and debris rained down from the ruined shells of buildings on either side of them. The street buckled and split, a jagged crack racing toward them with odd, predatory grace.

“Go! Go!”

The portal building was not far. If they could reach it in time, he could force the Prince out of his hiding and make him work the portal. Could he do it without his glamour? What cruel irony that, in returning to his true form, the Prince might have lost the ability to harness the power of his blood.

The tremors continued, growing in strength. They had only to run to the end of the street, not far at all. But the steady rocking caused them to stumble and fall, and the portal building pulled back, receding into the far distance, its wide doorway distorting into a fool’s gaping mouth alight with vicious laughter. A moment later it was gone, along with the glow of the three suns hanging overhead.

Felwyn yanked on Cutter’s cloak, pulling him out of the way an instant before an enormous metallic foot, too wide around to grasp, crashed down to flatten him. The peg-shaped foot drove into the street, extending spiny shafts that burrowed in all directions, anchoring itself anew with each step.

“Big,” the boy said, staring up.

The beast crouched on all fours, its skin gleaming with the same shifting internal light as the humans’ armor. Whatever hands had crafted those weapons were behind this monstrosity as well. Its shell was translucent, but they could see no moving parts inside, only swirling, living light and occasional flashes of a human form somewhere within.

“This is no beast,” Cutter said. “It’s just another type of armor.”

“A bigger type of armor, sir.”

“A bigger target. Come on, it’s slow. We can get ahead of it.”

They dashed out, Cutter in the lead, racing to where the Market’s fighters gaped in awed horror. Murmurs of fear ran through the crowd. Cutter called out for attention, stamped his foot, bashed his mace against his shield. Nobody paid him any attention.

The mechanical beasts stopped. A low whine permeated the air as their feet drilled into the street, solidifying their position. Cutter counted a dozen of them surrounding the Market’s defenders in a rough semicircle. At each beast’s feet massed a horde of armored humans waiting for the order to strike.

Someone cried out that they should hide, run, flee for their lives. Cutter wanted to ask where they thought they could go. He wished he could apologize for his earlier cowardice.

A voice boomed through the air, soft in spite of its terrible volume. It spoke only a single word: “Fire.”

As one, the dozen beasts directed cannons mounted on either side of their heads down at the travelers. They discharged their weapons in short, controlled bursts, aimed just shy of the travelers’ position. A great amount of rubble and dust flew into the air, but so far as Cutter could tell, not a soul was so much as scratched.

“Cease fire. Hold positions. On my mark. Mark.”

He tried to place the voice but could not. It nagged at him, dug into his mind the way these great mechanical beasts dug into the street.

“I will tell you,” the voice said. “I do not mind harming you in the least. However, you have something I want. Your Prince and his guardian, my murderer. Give them to me at once and . . .” The voice’s owner chuckled, leaving the connection open for all to hear. “Well, that would be a lie now, wouldn’t it? A cliché older than me, really. Very well, give them to me at once and your pain will be
minimized
. Make no mistake, not a one of you is leaving this street alive.”

More murmurs of dissent. Someone shouted, “Here he is! We’ve got him here—push him forward!”

Cutter felt a hand on his back. He braced himself to be shoved out into the ring of still-smoking craters but was instead pulled back. It was the Shivari warrior who’d spat at him. “You Cutter?”

“I am.”

“You fight?”

“It’s what I’m made for, big boy. You fight?”

“Oh yes.” The Shivari clapped his upper right hand to his chest and smiled hungrily.

He turned to Felwyn, who’d overheard the exchange. “Well, he’s in at least. What d’you think?”

“He wants us to fight, sir, no question. He doesn’t think he can lose.”

“We’re going to prove him wrong. Here.”

Cutter explained his plan. It was simple out of necessity. The Shivari, who did not share many of the Market visitors’ aversion to iron, spread the word throughout their ranks. Felwyn made quick business of speaking with the ranged fighters and then collecting the fey among them who would be stuck fighting on the ground.

“I can count down from ten,” the voice said, thundering overhead. “Doesn’t that seem banal to you? Where are they, your Prince and my killer? Give them to me at once.” He paused a moment, as if in thought, before adding, “Once more, for punctuation, fire.”

The beasts had adjusted their aim; this time their cannons devoured the buildings behind Cutter’s makeshift army. A fresh rain of broken glass, stone and wood showered down over the group.

“Aaaand hold fire. Any further thoughts? Anyone feeling like appealing to my better nature? I’ll warn you, this is about the most fun I’ve had in a century. It would almost be a crime if you gave up without a fight.” He sighed. The sound carried all through the Market. Cutter realized the mechanical beasts were acting as amplifiers for his voice. “Very well, take them.”

The beasts opened fire as the armored soldiers surged forward. Cutter flew into the air as a giant scooped him up in its hand, away from the first of the humans’ attacks. Atop its shoulders he found a dozen Shivari warriors. They’d retired their blades and axes in favor of smashing weapons.

“Hang on,” one of the warriors said, a mad smile splitting his face.

The beasts aimed their cannons first at the fighters on the ground, however, it wasn’t long before one of them realized what the giants intended to do and they redirected their fire. First they picked targets by proximity, each beast blasting away at the giant trundling directly at it. When that proved ineffective—Cutter realized with great pleasure that their weapons were ineffective against large targets—they concentrated all their fire on a single giant. It took ten or twelve seconds of sustained fire, long enough for the others to reach their targets, but when the smoke cleared nothing was recognizable except one of the giant’s hands and a twitching foot.

“Go! Down!”

Cutter led his Shivari warriors off their giant’s shoulders and down to the beast’s back. The iron skin seared his feet, even through his good boots, but he ignored the pain, and focused all his energy on bashing through the armor to the beast’s driver. He felt the Prince quaking against his chest and realized he’d forgotten the whelp was still there.

“You’re mad,” the Prince said, his voice small and inaudible to all but Cutter.

“Aye. No choice but to fight, sire. Keep your head down, will you?”

They smashed the beast’s back again and again, digging a deep furrow into its skin. With every blow they came that much closer to the pilot within. The beast’s cannons remained trained on the street. Whether that was by design or by choice, a weakness or a stratagem, Cutter didn’t care to consider.

A sudden flare of agony erupted along his arm. Reflex alone made him crouch and raise his shield, ceasing the pain’s march but not its smoldering remains. Where had the shots come from? Not the beast’s cannons. He spun in time to see a fresh group of armored humans firing on them from the rear of the beast. Either they’d climbed up or they’d been hiding within its body the entire time.

A pair of Shivari shot off after the soldiers, their six legs enabling them to move much faster over the beast’s skin than Cutter could. He told himself this was war and he needed to trust his soldiers, so he redirected his attention to widening the break they’d dug through the beast’s thick armor. Another blow and the hole was large enough to wedge his mace into. He signaled his warriors to stop lest they strike him. In the moment’s pause, the armor’s skin glowed white and the wound sealed as if it had never been.

Cutter swore aloud, mind racing. The only hope was to bash and bash their way through the skin, never stopping, never letting up for an instant. He raised his mace and began assaulting it anew. His warriors wasted no time in following his example.

As Cutter fell into a steady rhythm, he spared a look back to see how his guard was doing. What he saw almost made him laugh aloud; the Shivari seemed to have tried fighting the human soldiers. Two lay dead on the beast’s back as testimony to this effort. But one of the warriors must have struck upon an idea magnificent in its simplicity. Now, instead of fighting to the death, the Shivari simply used their greater reach and greater strength to push the humans off the beast’s back. Cutter feared this might offer undue reinforcements to the fighters below, but he soon saw the soldiers climbing back up, ready for another go. It only took two of the Shivari to manage this cycle while allowing Cutter and his warriors time to dig. Looking out, he saw fighters astride the other beasts following suit.

“Here! We’re through!”