Chapter 3 #4
“It was nowhere near as exciting as the flight you and Kaia undertook, from what I heard, though apparently the true excitement happened when you returned home and found a fake husband waiting for you.” She grinned at my sharp glance. “Drakkons natter, in case you didn’t know.”
What natter? Kaia said.
It’s another word for gossip, and means light, informal conversation that’s usually about other people’s business.
Your business my business, she said . Am queen. Need share.
You don’t need to share my personal business.
Personal business interesting.
I rolled my eyes and tugged on my coat. “Technically, he’s not a fake husband. The treaty has me married to my Damon, but the church has me married to the other.”
“But they’re both Aric’s get?”
“My Damon is one of his bastards.” I pulled on my harness, then shaded my eyes against the storm of dust being blown about by the drakkons’ arrival to watch them land.
“Who he fobbed off as the real thing?” Kele said incredulously. “The Zephrine king has balls, you’ve got to give him that.”
“Apparently he’s been using his illegitimate children that way for years.” I glanced at her. “And this is a discussion best had over a large flagon of mead. Did Jarin update you on today’s mission?”
“Yep. As did Yara.”
“Then let’s get flying.”
Once the two drakkons had landed—and taken up a good percentage of the upper wall doing so—we ran under their wings and scrambled up their legs.
The second I was clipped on, Kaia rose, the force of her wing sweeps sending buckets, tools, and ladders tumbling into the courtyard below us.
Lucky it was early, and there weren’t many people about to be similarly blown away.
We soared along Esan and then out over the Eastern Slit.
The cloud cover was light, and the moon glimmered, its brightness silvering the boglands far below.
There was no tail wind this time, but we still made good time, reaching the fog barrier in a little over an hour—just in time to catch the weird green light that ran languidly across parts of the fog.
Fly past the barrier and do a circuit of the hill that lies above it. Though dawn’s flags were beginning to stain the sky, the moon should still be bright enough to glimmer off any other concealment shields that might be there. Tell Yara to hold position here while we check.
She passed on the message, then banked, beginning a long, lazy turn toward the hilltop. I retrieved my long viewer from my pack and carefully scanned the ground below but couldn’t see any sign of a watch station, concealed or not.
That didn’t mean they weren’t there, of course.
Sense no magic on ground , Kaia said. Would if close.
Is there magic under the fog?
Faint.
Meaning Túxn might well be smiling favorably on us today. We’d know for sure if our luck held and we got in and out of that barrier in one piece. Land atop the hill so Kele and I can dismount, then rise and wait for our signal to attack.
Kaia immediately swept down, landing lightly amongst the sawn stumps of what had once been a forest. I grabbed my gear, then slithered down her leg, ducking under her wings so that she could rise and allow Yara to come in.
I hunkered down then raised the long viewer and carefully checked the base of the nearest trees that ran along the fog bank’s edge.
As before, there remained the smallest gap between the fog and the ground.
Which was odd, as there’d been no gap in the barrier they’d used to protect the large tube siege engines they’d been building.
But the magic behind that one had felt Mareritten in origin; this did not.
As Yara rose and joined Kaia in the sky, Kele scampered over and hunkered down beside me. “What’s the plan?”
I tucked the long viewer away, then pointed to the large tree to our left. “You see the gap between the fog and the barrier?”
She nodded. “Tight squeeze, even for string beans like us.”
I smiled. “I’ll go through and check the situation while you keep watch from this side.”
Another flash of green rolled across the right side of the fog, and her expression became uneasy. “Is the fog dangerous?”
“Likely acidic, so draw your scarf over your nose and don’t choose the wrong moment to bob your head up.”
She snorted softly. “That I can guarantee.”
“Let’s go.”
We ran down the slope, keeping low and doing our best to be silent. We made it to the trees without raising an alarm or tripping any ground traps, but my nerves were bow-string tight, and I couldn’t escape the notion that trouble was about to unleash all over us.
I dropped onto my stomach close to the trees and peered under the fog. The slope continued on, but several thickish brambles blocked any view of what lay below. Which, while annoying, also meant it less likely anyone would spot us.
Unless, of course, they were standing three feet on the other side of the tree, beyond my line of sight.
Another flash of green.
I waited until it had faded again, then glanced at Kele. “Ready?”
She nodded and untied her sword. I tugged the scarf over my nose, flexed my fingers in a vague attempt to ease the tension, then carefully belly crawled forward.
The fog pressed across the top of my head, an unpleasant sensation that made me want to scratch, but I kept moving.
Magic skimmed my spine and my legs, then I was free from it.
The brambles continued to block everything ahead from sight, but there was nothing to the left or the right other than more tree stumps and brambles.
“Kele,” I whispered, “come through and keep watch.”
As she tucked in beside me, I pulled out the long viewer again and pressed it through the thinnest section of the brambles. Small thorns scratched at the uncovered portion of my face as I pressed my eye to the viewer, but I paid them no heed, my attention on the hive of activity below.
At the base of the hill directly below us were eight earthen domes that suggested facilities had been built underground, and each one had a rather odd slab of stone jutting out of it to form a small portico.
They were far more permanent-looking structures than what the Mareritt usually built for their war camps, but given the magic that tingled across my skin, even from this distance, these were perhaps constructed for the riders’ mages.
Maybe they didn’t like standing in the rain while they put their boots on.
I doubted they were for the riders themselves, because, aside from the fact there were no birds leashed nearby, they had to date used metal tents.
Beyond these—forming a squarish C-shape on the flatter section of ground—were the usual types of buildings found in a Mareritten camp—temporary tent shelters, a large kitchen, and a roughly constructed eating area.
To the right of these were a number of long wooden buildings that housed the bathroom and privy facilities.
To the left were the workshops for woodworkers and forges for the smiths.
Beyond were a series of wooden crates similar to ones we’d found up in the Beak’s cavern.
I suspected these might hold tubs of acid more than the weapons that fired it, because not only were there multiple mobile platforms in various stages of production, but the smiths were also crafting metal into the long tubular shapes that would eventually be mounted on them.
Then there were the mages—I could see four of them below us, but I had no doubt there’d be more down there, especially if the eight earthen shelters were theirs.
The four currently in sight were kneeling in pairs on either side of the two long, open-topped kilns that burned with foul-looking green flames.
Each had their hands pressed against the stone, their fingers glowing the same sort of green as the fire.
In the front of the nearest kiln, a Mareritten worker using a long-handled clamp to remove tubes from the kiln, the metal glowing the same vibrant green as the flames.
The worker at the other kiln was loading the tubes into the flames
“What’s happening?” Kele whispered. “What’s that weird green fire?”
“Mage fire.”
“But Mareritten magic isn’t?—”
“Not Mareritten,” I cut in. “Rider.”
“The bastards are working together.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” When the last of the tubes had been removed from the first forge, the two mages removed their hands, and the flames were snuffed out; a heartbeat later, a glittering mass of green shot upwards from the center of the kiln then rolled languidly across the base of the barrier before fading.
Inside the kiln, lying on a metal grid, were human bones. Horror rolled through me. The mages were using a sacrifice to fuel their magic, just as they had on Jakarra.
“What are they doing?” Kele asked
I swallowed heavily against the thick rise of bile. “I think they’re fortifying the tubes with their magic, and they’re using human sacrifices to do so.”
“ What? ”
“Yeah,” I replied grimly. “They tried to bring down the cavern Jakarran survivors were holed up in using blood magic. Thankfully, the earth mage there was able to stop them.”
She swore softly. “What are they using it here for, then?”
“I can’t be sure, but given I’ve blown up numerous tubes with fire, maybe they’re fortifying them against it.”
Which wouldn’t really help, given it was the acid that was so unstable, but maybe they were working on a means of protecting it, too.
“That would be right,” Kele grumbled. “Just as our drakkons gain fire and become an effective weapon, these bastards create a means of muting them.”
“Muting effectiveness against the tubes is a far cry from muting their effectiveness against flesh.”
“Yeah, but I’m thinking it might be the first step in a long-term plan.”
“Maybe.” I shifted focus. Down the very far end of the valley, well away from any of the buildings, were two semi-covered cages, each one sitting on the tray of a heavy haulage wagon.
There were at least a dozen guards around each, meaning whatever lay within had some value to either the Mareritt or the mages.
I twisted the viewer, trying to sharpen the focus.
It responded briefly, giving me a glimpse of the heavy metal bars lining each cage and the shadows that moved inside them, then went fuzzy again.
I softly cursed the unstable nature of the damn things and tried to slow down.
“Patrol coming in from our left, three feet below the brambles,” Kele whispered.
Tension rolled through me, but I resisted the urge to reach for a weapon. The brambles were high enough—wide enough—that we should be concealed from a casual glance, but the slightest movement might have the guard looking a little too closely our way.
Stone crunched lightly under booted feet, and the scent of sulfur and musk stained the air.
My nose twitched in distaste, and I switched to breathing through my mouth.
It didn’t really help. The footsteps drew ever closer, then a pair of out-of-focus boots appeared in the long viewer’s eye screen.
Thankfully, those boots didn’t stop, and the Mareritt continued on.
“Clear,” Kele said eventually, tension still evident in her body despite her even tone. “Let’s hope that’s the last one for a while.”
“Depends what sort of mood Túxn is in,” I muttered, and continued twisting the focus ring. Everything abruptly sharpened, and it was all I could do not to gasp in shock.
Because in each of those cages was a good dozen men.
Men whose coloring said they were of Arleeon origin and likely from the islands, if what remained of their clothing was anything to go by.
Something moved at the edge of the viewer’s sight.
I pulled the long viewer back a bit then refocused; two Mareritten soldiers were hurrying toward the nearest wagon.
The guards immediately turned and thrust long spears into the cage, forcing the chained men inside away from the locked door.
It was opened, a key produced to unlock one of the chains, and the man attached dragged out.
Then other men lunged forward, in what I presumed was an attempt to stop him being taken, only to be driven back by the spears.
More than one man was injured. Their captors laughed, locked the door, and dragged the man away.
Toward the mages, toward the kilns.
The tube briefly unfocused, then sharpened again.
That’s when I saw him.
Disbelief shot through me, and I briefly pulled my eye away, certain I had to be imagining things.
I wasn’t.
The man sitting near the front end of the wagon, desperately trying to staunch the blood pouring from a deep cut on his shoulder with the grimy remnants of his shirt, was none other than Garran Asli.
My missing cousin, and the true heir to Esan’s throne.