The Starfall Knight (30 page)

“She will be missed,” Vantanis said.

“Indeed.”  Tarius gestured to Nasius.  “What of the battle in the lower tier?  Have the city gates been secured?”

“The battle goes well,” Nasius said.  Neither he nor Dene acknowledged Alessa.  “The resistance fades as the ring-leaders fall.  We have another thousand of our thrashers in reserve.”

“Good.”

“But perhaps a show of force from you, Imperator, will put an end to the fighting more quickly.”

Tarius shook his head.  “We have thrashers who need to be blooded.  Faithful Ceres and Serpens.”

Alessa said, “Where is the Centaran army?  They are bound to reorganise and counterattack.”

“No, they won’t.”  An armoured man stepped out from the thrashers guarding the Councillors.  Marshal Jarrell looked a different man in battle gear, although he still walked with the aid of his cane.

“You,” Alessa hissed.  “You killed Elina.”

Jarrell shrugged as he halted next to Leonus.  “I thought there’d be no love lost there.”

“No.  But she told me what you did.”  Alessa met her father’s gaze before glaring at Jarrell.  “You and Tarius killed my mother.”

Vantanis frowned, his eyes sliding over to the throne.  Jarrell sucked on his teeth for a moment and said, “Tarius?  What do we make of this accusation?”

“Naught,” Tarius said.  “After all, it is essentially true.”

Vantanis roared and lunged at Tarius.  Leonus tackled Alessa’s father and they tumbled off the dais.  Alessa launched herself at Leonus’ back.  He threw her off, knives appearing in his hands. 

“Enough, Leonus.”  Tarius waved at him.  “We shall allow Vantanis a measure of understanding.”

Alessa helped her father to his feet.  Vantanis said, “Is it true or do you and the traitor mock me?”

Jarrell visibly stiffened at the insult but said nothing.  Tarius said, “It was political, Vantanis.  You should know by now that I have done everything for the survival of the Sirinese.  I hope you understand.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You’ll likely reconsider.”  Tarius gestured to his thrashers and one grabbed Vantanis and another restrained Alessa.  “Please, stay and witness.”  He nodded at Ramalos.

The Tarian thrashers swarmed over Nasius, Dene and the Serpens and Ceres men and women.  Screams echoed through the hall.  Metal glinted in the air and blood sprayed as the Tarians slaughtered their counterparts.  The tiles ran red.

Ramalos and another thrasher, Lerios, marched Nasius and Dene in front of the throne.  Alessa averted her eyes from the piles of bodies and hacked limbs.  Dene’s long hair dripped with blood and her chain shirt had been pierced in three places.  Nasius could barely stand.  His left arm hung at the elbow from a shred of skin.

“This is how you’d end it?” Dene said to Tarius.  “Couldna even do it yaself?”

“So you say,” Tarius said.  He stood up.  “Nasius?  Anything to add?”

The man clutched his detached forearm.  “Moons take you.”

“They already have.”

Tarius raised his palms and his vambraces clicked repeatedly like a wheel of chance spinning over a peg.  Alessa gasped.  No, it was like a series of hammers against a gemstone.  Against andonite.

Fire exploded from Tarius’ hands in a jet.  Dene’s scream cut off as the flames seared away her hair, her skin, her bones.  Alessa turned away from the heat as Nasius melted into a puddle of smoked flesh, ash and molten armour.  The fire ceased and Tarius returned to his throne.

He coughed up phlegm and spat on the remains of the two faction leaders.  Alessa thought that Tarius had suppressed another cough, perhaps a dry retch.

Tarius cleared his throat and the sound echoed throughout the Hall.

“As you won the city, so your rule begins,” Vantanis said.

“What of it?” Tarius said.  “Besides, I haven’t yet begun my rule.”

The remains of Nasius and Dene smoldered on the tiles.  “How?” Alessa said.  “Such things only happen in stories.”

“I am as well-read as you, Alessa,” Tarius said.  “But I got my hands on a volume that you haven’t encountered, and never will.”  He flexed his fingers and flicked imaginary dirt off one of the bracers.  “Your father isn’t the only one who was born under the right moons.  And aerock isn’t the only element that can be moved by force of will.”

“The Knight’s journal?” Alessa replied.  “It told you of this?”

“You were a spy as well?  For whom?”  Tarius grunted.  “No matter.  Yes, the Knight’s journal was most informative.  It is gone now, as is the Knight.  All that remains of it is in here.”  He tapped his temple.

“Father,” Leonus said, “you said you hadn’t begun your rule?”

“Indeed, Leonus.  Not yet.”  To Ramalos, Tarius said, “Bring the Councillors.  And find some scribes.  I will have my position ratified and the Council dissolved.  And I believe Marshal Jarrell has some land he is about to acquire for exemplary service to the Imperator of Centara.”

“The people will never accept you,” Alessa said.

“Good.  They can move to Sirinis if they so choose.  I won’t waste my time ruling over malcontents.”  Tarius smiled.  “I will grant the Centarans that one mercy.  This aerock is now mine.”

Devan emerged into the underground mining community, near the dormitory.  A multitude of lanterns filled the underground settlement and for the first time, Devan could see the cavern ceiling and the bats that rested above.  People slept on the paths between the bungalows while the market area bustled with livestock and refugees.

“You!  Scrawny!”

A finger poked Devan’s shoulder and he turned to find Poel the foreman scowling at him.  “Good day, Poel.  What is happening here?”

“City dwellers come, that’s what.”  Poel snorted.  “Tayu’s at the lift shaft.”

“Thanks.  You’re nice, for once.”

“You’s a ranger of Centara.  City’s full of Sirinese.”  Poel grinned, showing off his mealy teeth.  “Kill ‘em all!”

Devan nodded.  He stepped over a pair of sleeping children and wended between families huddled around tiny meals of bread and fungus.  He reached the loading area in front of the main shaft where Tayu and his fellow miners had gathered.

“Tayu!”

His Saruwan friend grinned and grasped his hand.  “Devan, you’re safe!”  He examined Devan up and down.  “You look like hell.  Where’s your gear?”

“I’ll tell you another time,” Devan said.  “I need to get to the surface.”

“We mean to as well,” Tayu said, “but it seems that the Sirinese don’t know of the lift nor the mines, just yet.  If we show ourselves, we could end up bringing the battle down here.”

“And what if we do?” another miner said.  “We all had ranger training in our youths.  Let’s show these Sirinese shits who we are.”

“I like the sentiment but it might be wiser to see what’s happening above before we expose ourselves,” Devan said.

“You mean to go alone?” Tayu asked.

“A single person attracts less attention than a group.”

“Fair enough.”  Tayu rapped his knuckles on the lift’s frame.  “This thing is noisy.  If you’re going alone, you might be better off climbing the shaft on the maintainence ladders.”

“That’s fine.”

Tayu nodded and said to one of his miners, “Bryall, can you fetch some gear from the armoury for Ranger Devan?”

“Aye.”  The miner jogged to a nearby building that housed the underground city guards.

“If you see Rika and Benton, send them my best,” Tayu said.

“I will.”

“And moons above, take better care of yourself, old friend.”

Devan nodded.  Bryall returned with a sword and dagger, a shield, leather armour and a satchel with water and dried rations.  “Thanks,” Devan said.  He donned the equipment, wincing at every roll of his joints, stretch of muscle.  The weapons were standard issue and a pleasure to wield after losing the iron stake.

The miners unlocked the gates to the lift and Devan climbed over the railings and onto the metal rungs that had been driven into the shaft.  He raised a hand in farewell and began his ascent.

The shaft angled diagonally towards the surface and the ladder felt more like desolate stairs.  Devan dared not look behind him and kept his eyes on the sliver of light above.  As he neared the top of the shaft, the echoes of battle rippled through the air.  Devan reached the top and peeked through the gap in the gates.

Dead bodies littered the square, both Sirinese and Centaran army and city-guards.  Nothing stirred in the surrounding streets and the buildings were silent.  The clashes of battle still rang out through the city but Devan guessed that they originated from the boroughs.

He hauled the gate’s chain and the pulleys groaned with the weight.  Daylight spilled into the shaft and Devan slid underneath the gate, allowing it to shut behind him.  He got to his feet and scampered behind a smashed vegetable stall.  The cabbages crunched under his boots.  Devan drank some water and ate half of his cured meat rations and dried pears.  The food was bland but still tasted like ambrosia.

Now that he was outside, Devan was certain that the battle had moved from the district but it would not do to be caught again.  If he could reach the ranger or army barracks, there might be a core of resistance.  If not, Devan hoped he could join the fighting in the outer boroughs.  He slipped into an alleyway and headed south.

A cry of glee stopped Devan and he peeked around the next corner.  A Sirinese patrol wandered on the street, all four of them more concerned with looting merchant stalls than searching for enemies.  One of them produced a pouch full of coins and ran the slate and quartz through his fingers.  Devan tapped at the hilt of his sword and watched the Sirinese thrashers rummage through another stall.  He didn’t have much of a chance against four.

A thin thrasher with hollow cheeks shouted.  He pulled a young girl from behind a broken wall.  “Look what I found!”

“Let her go,” the leader said.  “Plenty of willing holes back up there.”

“But this one’s fresh.”  Thin-thrasher leered at the girl.  She was a youngster, barely a teenager, wearing the tunic of a seamstress novice.  “Won’t take long.”

“I’m sure.”  The leader shrugged.  “Go into that alley.  Five minutes and we’re moving on.”

Devan shifted back as Thin-thrasher dragged the girl towards him.  If he killed this one, Devan might have a chance against three, even if he were still weak from captivity on Sirinis.

Muffled yelps approached.  The thrasher’s footsteps slowed.  Damn it, Devan thought, he was still in sight of the others.

Devan drew his dagger and dashed around the corner.  Thin-thrasher had one hand around the girl’s neck and the other untying his breeches.  His mouth gaped in surprise as Devan shoved the dagger into his gaunt cheeks, neck and chest.

Blood splattered Devan and the girl.  The thrasher crumpled.  “Run!”

The girl nodded and scurried away.  Devan sheathed his dagger and drew his sword.  He sprinted out of the alley as he unhooked his shield and sprang on the closest thrasher.

The man raised an arm and Devan hacked through the limb and crunched the edge of his shield into the thrasher’s nose.  The leader yelled and charged alongside the remaining patrolman.  Devan bulled into the leader shield-first, shoving him into the shambles of the street-side stalls.

Devan sprang aside, knowing that the other thrasher would be upon him in moments.  Just as he guessed, the second enemy charged at Devan, quarterstaff whirling in the air.  He bore the brunt of the attacks with his shield, the shocks reverberating along his arm and past his shoulders.

A pause as the thrasher wound back for another series of strikes.  Devan leaped forward and battered the thrasher with his shield.  He stabbed the man’s exposed ribs and the blade slid into the body like a sheath.  The thrasher gurgled.

Devan kicked away the dead thrasher as the leader circled around, sword wavering in front of him.  Devan held his shield in a defensive stance, careful with his steps as he matched the leader.

The thrasher turned and fled.  Devan sprinted a few steps but halted – if the Sirinese had taken the city, he would simply end up running into larger groups.  The thrasher disappeared around the bend.

Devan cleaned his blades and caught his breath.  He shivered with adrenaline and his gear weighed on his shoulders.  Another clash or two might’ve ended him.  Devan returned to the alley and moved on.

The Sirinese milled around the city gates.  Shards of timber and twisted metal beams were all that remained of the massive portal.  Devan hunched behind the stables of the Silareo Witty Inn and Tavern and slunk around the corner.  He had lost count at sixty Sirinese and there were more on the walls.  Judging from the smoke and fires in the boroughs, the resistance continued beyond the city.

A shout rose and boots thundered against the cobblestones.  Devan crept back to the stables and peered over a haybale.

“We’re under attack!” a thrasher screamed.  An arrow took him in the chest.

Centaran soldiers charged from the east, emerging from a charred terraced house.  Captain Marzell led the assault, her plated armour dented and stained with blood both wet and dry.  Twenty warriors followed her as another complement of archers and riflemen took up the rear and began shooting the Sirinese on the wall.

As the air filled with cracks of andonite ammunition, Captain Erlend led a band of rangers and city guards from outside the gates.  The Sirinese split in half to meet the two-pronged attack.

“Centara!  Centara!”

Devan unhooked his shield and drew his sword.  With the Sirinese engaged to the east and south, he could sow some havoc from the west and pass through the gates in the confusion of battle.

The Centaran soldiers slammed into the Sirinese with meaty thuds.  Marzell shoved enemies aside with her armour, cutting away body parts if any drew too close.  Her swordsmen covered her flanks, driving into the heart of the Sirinese like an axe splitting a log.  The halberdiers followed, boxing in the Sirinese while protecting the Centaran archers and riflemen beyond the fray.

Devan lost sight of the rangers and city guards as he charged into the square.  He crashed into the nearest Sirinese, his shield shivering with the force of the collision.  Devan followed up with a quick stab, feeling the blade pierce skin and flesh.  It had to be enough; he kicked at the enemy and slashed to the side, taking another Sirinese in the ribs.  Blood burst past his weapon.