The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 15
“Flir,” Seto called. She dashed forward, took the horses’ harness and lifted, pulling the wagon down to block the door. Notch chuckled at Sofia’s gaping mouth. It took time to grow accustomed to Flir’s strength.
“Now what?” Notch said. “How long?”
“I don’t know,” Seto said. He waved to Flir and Luik. “Go back to the front of the inn.” He turned to Notch. “We shouldn’t tarry. I have men watching the streets, but there’s no guarantee the Renovar are inside. We can only hope your arrival and the Shields have stirred things up enough.”
It was a typical Seto scheme. Bold, brilliant, unpredictable. From the first stroll Notch took in a not-too-distant square, hood pushed back, attracting the attention of passing Shields, to the moment they pulled the wagon across the door, his heart had missed every other beat. But he grinned like a fool. If everything went to plan, Seto’s stunt would flush enough rats out to really find out what was going on. Below the inn Luik had found weapons. A stockpile. Crossbows and bushels of bolts. Enough to arm a small force, enough to cause real trouble.
If the Iron Pig was the only inn being used by the Renovar. It made no sense, Renovar had never taken up arms against Anaskar. Merchants from both nations had been crossing the sea to trade for decades, bringing stability to both nations. Why would Renovar risk that?
Luik had been lucky to catch a glimpse of the stores. Even so, Notch was unable to shake off a chill. Something didn’t seem right. And it wasn’t just a leftover feeling from Vinezi, now safely behind bars.
Seto moved up the alley several steps, facing the entrance. In his hand was a small axe, the other held a long knife. “What did the innkeeper do, when you entered?”
“Took one look at me and fled through some sort of concealed doorway.”
“I want that one.”
Sofia turned back to face Notch. She too was armed, both hands held knives just like those used by Seto’s men, each in a white knuckled-fist. “What if –”
A roar filled the alley.
Heat and light bloomed and he was cast into the air, cracking his head as he bounced from the wall. Something tore into his leg and he cried out, vision swimming with black and red, orange swirling. He could barely move. His ears were clogged, the crackle of flames and collapsing stone was muffled, as if at a distance. Heat seared his lungs, stealing his breath as he clawed at the ground.
Gods, what was happening?
Sofia. Seto. Luik and Flir, were they alive? He closed his eyes, turning from the heat. His chest tightened, struggling for air. Something took his hands and he fought, but was being dragged across the cobblestones, sockets straining.
Cool air hit his skin. Released, he gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of air. “Who...” he croaked. Notch blinked through tears. A flaming inn resolved from the mess of black, red and yellow smudges. Flames leapt from the doorway, visible over the overturned cart and tumble of barrels. A pillar of smoke rose from the inn’s entrance, pouring into the afternoon sky. Just how big was the explosion? All the people in the common room... Notch reached his knees. One pant leg was no more than ribbons and blood coated his calf.
Reaching for a wall to steady himself, Notch made it to one leg and stopped. Again his vision swam and he had to cough and breathe deeply until his body could respond properly. Whoever helped him was gone. He staggered forward, shielding his eyes from the glare. The flames had died down, but still lit the alley. No dark shapes lay mute or smoking. Had Seto and Sofia escaped? They’d stood further along.
He limped back toward the opposite end, and sagged against a wall. People shouted and ran before the burning Pig. It’s windows spewed smoke and flame and the front door lay in wreckage across the street. Inside were the bodies of dozens of people, blackening as Notch stood and panted. What madman would do such a thing? It couldn’t have been a personal attack. Notch swore. He wasn’t worth that.
Someone with their head on straight had formed a line of buckets, heaving water onto the flames, but it was having little effect. They shouted to one another, urging each other on, calling for help. Notch coughed. More Shields and the Vigil would soon arrive, he’d have to leave.
Only he couldn’t. Not without the others.
Across the street a large figure stepped into view. A man stood with arms crossed, a smile on his face as he surveyed the damage. He was big enough that his shirt strained over his bulk but he moved quickly when he turned to leave.
Vinezi.
Notch stumbled forward, but the man was already gone.
“Here, get out of the way, will you?” A member of the Vigil grunted, pushing past with barely a glance. Notch ducked his head and hobbled back to the mouth of the alley.
“Notch.”
He turned, dragging his leg. Flir, her face covered in soot and her hands just as black, stood in the alley, waving him closer. He shambled forward and she caught him beneath the arm, wrapping her own arm around him and taking his weight.
“Faster,” she said as he tried to keep up.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I was watching the front, waiting for one of them to try and run, and then everything went red. When I could see again, there was fire and smoke everywhere.”
“The others?” He was breathing hard.
“Luik’s fine, but Seto isn’t. I can’t find Sofia.”
He tripped on an uneven cobblestone, injured leg snarling. “We have to find her.” He thumped his thigh for good measure. “Is Seto going to live?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are they?”
“I broke into a nearby building. It’s empty but there’s not much inside. Luik’s watching Seto. I’m going to try find the girl.”
“I’ll help.”
“I doubt that,” Flir said, taking his whole weight as they turned a corner and knocked on a wooden door. This far from the inn, the sound of the chaos was softer but the smoke still rose into an ugly column. “Luik.”
The door swung open and Luik, burns on his face and hands, pulled Notch into the building, setting him down at a table and chair. The building Flir found looked to have, at one time, been a workspace for a carpenter or other craftsman. Dusty floorboards, big windows and generous space.
“Thank you,” Notch said. “How is he?”
“Seto’ll survive, he always does,” Luik said, but his lips were tight. “Probably needs a healer though.” Stretched out on makeshift blankets, face bloodied, Seto’s chest rose and fell in an erratic rhythm. Notch shivered. Seto had never looked so vulnerable. If the old man died, the whole city would be lessened. And more. After the war, coming home hurt and disillusioned, the old devil had been the one to shelter him, to give him purpose.
“I’ll return when I find her,” Flir said. “Then I’ll drag a healer back.”
“Wait. I can help.”
She shook her head. “You’d slow me down.” Then she was gone.
“Hope you’re not attached to your other pant leg,” Luik said, even as he tore it. “Nasty cut.” He kept tearing until he’d made bandages and wrapped Notch’s leg as best he could, then returned to Seto.
“What happened, Luik?”
The big man shrugged.
Notch shifted his leg with a grimace. “Did you see anyone or anything?”
“Nothing. No-one came out. They’re all dead.”
“I saw Vinezi, the false beggar. He was watching. He enjoyed it.”
Luik turned, eyebrows drawn together. “What? Flir and I put him in prison.”
“I don’t know how he escaped, but it was him. And he was very happy.”
“He planned it.”
“How could he know when we’d be there?”
“He couldn’t.”
Notch leaned forward. “You think he didn’t plan it for us?”
He shrugged. “Could’ve been a big set up from the beginning.” Luik took a damp cloth from beside Seto and mopped the man’s forehead.
“But how? And why? He destroyed his employer’s building, possibly killing most or all of them?”
“Got an idea about how, but I don’t know how likely. Or why.”
“More than I have.”
“Well, in Renovar, there’s talk of a magic powder. I heard it off the ships, near months ago now. Supposedly it can break holes in castle walls. Only it isn’t magic. But it explodes into fire. Like tonight.”
Notch sucked in a breath. Such a powder, if they had enough, if it were real, could destroy a city. It had all been so easy, not too long ago. Capture some Renovar, get the truth out of them and clear his name, but now... “Is that what they’re up to? They want Anaskar? What would they have to gain from war?”
“No idea.”
“And does that make Vinezi a hero as well as a villain?”
“Nothing to say he didn’t get his men out, wait for us or the Shields to go in first.”
“True. And the powder?”
“No-one believed the rumours. Sounds like the magic of old, right? But if you put what just happened with the crossbows...”
“The king needs to know. Especially if we find more.”
“He’ll know soon enough.”
Footsteps approached, and Notch fumbled for a weapon. His sword was still belted on but he couldn’t draw it, instead pulling a belt knife.
“Luik.”
Luik crossed the room on quiet feet, mace in hand – and admitted Flir, who held a comatose Sofia. Notch twisted his torso to better see, but the young woman breathed evenly. Her face and hair were singed and she too, was covered in smudges of soot. Notch fell back in his seat. She was all right. They both were.
“She needs water and rest is all,” Flir said, placing Sofia next to Seto and slumping into a chair. “How’s Seto?”
“The same. What about the fire?”
“They’re getting it under control.” Flir rubbed her neck, rising. “I’ll be back with a healer then.”
“Wait, we were talking about Vinezi,” Notch said, and rushed through an explanation.
“So he trashed the Iron Pig?”
“Possibly.”
Flir narrowed her eyes. “Who did you see inside, either of you?”
“The innkeeper,” Notch said. “He disappeared the moment he saw me.”
“Just drunks. Didn’t see the Renovar,” Luik added.
Flir threw up her hands. “This will have to wait. Make sure Seto’s all right.” She left once more. Through the door, the street glowed orange and shouts clashed with the rush of feet. Notch moved over to Sofia, lowered himself to the floorboards with a grimace and placed a hand on her neck. Her pulse was steady enough. The fear and tension was gone from her face, lines between her forehead too.
He pushed her hair back from her eyes. “Do we have any water?”
“In here,” Luik said, moving to an adjoining room.
His own throat was burning but Sofia’s skin was red and raw in places, he could try soothe it when she woke. Notch tapped fingers on the floorboards. Flir was no doubt working as fast as she could, and finding a healer in the Lower Tier who made house calls was not easy. She might run into trouble out there, but there were few surprises for a woman like Flir.
The image of Vinezi, big cheeks set in a smile, mocked him.
That was a surprise.
Whatever the fake beggar was playing at, it was a ruthless game. Monstrous. The scale of his murder, Notch could only liken it to war. Deaths on the sands of the Medah deserts were larger by far, but hardly so cold. And no-one had enjoyed it like Vinezi. If the man was responsible. Was there was still a chance he was just a disgruntled lackey, enjoying the fall of his master? No. That smile had been prideful. As if he’d accomplished something. Yet where had the man been, during Notch’s dramatic entrance? Had he been broken out of prison?
And how was the powder set off, without risking the life of the user? For that was surely what the barrels contained. And was the innkeeper and all his secrets, along with the Renovar, now smouldering in a blackened heap within the inn? If Vinezi was outside at the time of the explosion, and pleased with it, didn’t that suggest that he was more important than he appeared? That Thalik and the rest of the Renovar strangers were also alive and well? The Iron Pig had been a front. A giant trap.
But if so, who was the prey? He or the Shield?
“Well, ain’t this lucky? We’ve been looking for you.”
A Mascare stood in the doorway. His red robe was singed at the hems and he held a thin dagger. His mask was wrong. Similar to the one Notch saw on the street, it had stern eyes but instead of the typical horizontal line of firmness, the mouth was set in a deep frown.
Imposters.
Notch surged to his feet, ignoring the pain and tearing his blade free. “Luik!”
The Mascare didn’t react, save for a twitch in his blade hand. Notch barely took two steps when pain exploded in his head. He crashed to the ground, sword skittering away, then grunted when a boot lodged itself in his ribs. Crumbling over the shoe, he clawed at a set of legs but they kicked free. Another blow to the head and the room began to darken. He struggled to keep his eyes open as blood trickled down the back of his neck.
The first Mascare spoke. “Where’s the other one, then?”
The second man had a faint accent, but Notch couldn’t place it. “Out to it in the other room. I would have finished him but I heard you in here.”
“Bones! Do it properly or don’t –”
“What?”
The first Mascare raised a hand. “Someone’s coming. Quick.”
From where Notch’s face was pressed against the dusty floorboards, the second speaker stood out of his line of vision. Clinging to consciousness, he breathed a curse as shadows clouded one of the Mascare, who bent over Sofia, scooped her up and turned for the door.
Chapter 18
Each Ward thrust up from the point where sand filtered into earth. Around their bases grew stringy grasses from grey dirt and sharp rock. In the morning sun, the towering Wards cast long shadows.
That in itself was impossible.
The narrow towers, stretching for miles in either direction, caught and reflected sunlight in such a blast that each appeared as standing pillars of white flame. Ain could not look at them for long, the light throbbed within his head, pushing the blood through his temples. Patches of glass on the ground caught the light, reflecting. It was a dark, murky glass, where the sand had melted and congealed beneath the might of old magical battles.
Schan chewed on the inside of his mouth. “So, we’ll be burnt alive, then?”
Ibranu grunted. “Those are our Wards, right, but I can’t say what they’ll do any more than the enemy’s ones. They’re meant to protect people.”
“By killing us?”
“By turnin’ us back.”
Ain started toward them, still some distance away, waving his companions after him. “Let’s not delay then. Water is on the other side.” A path hummed beneath his feet, the first strong one he’d felt in days. Their water was low. Enough for a day, less. But a path this strong had to lead to water.
All they need do was pass the Wards.
He slowed mere feet away, almost blind. “What happened the last time you passed?”
The Engineer grunted. “Stumbled through, barely able t’see. You know you passed when you can see clear again.”
Schan held up one of his knives. “Will your instruments and tools, or our weapons be effected? I’ve heard stories of steel warping in there.”
“Won’t happen,” the Engineer said.
The answer gave some comfort. If Ibranu’s pieces were lost, and even if the Sea Shrine was located, how could its secrets then be unlocked? Legends spoke of it as a marvel, both intricate and mysterious. Hence all the tools, cogs, keys, charts and writings in Ibranu’s pack. An Engineer’s life was given over to such things, just as a Pathfinder would always feel the passage of feet.
“I will go first,” Ain said, but did not move. He pulled back his shoulders and squinted into the empty wasteland beyond. The Ward blazed beside him, casting no heat. If he stepped inside and died, Silaj would never know. He would never hold or speak his child’s name. That last night together, they had chosen a name. Jali – the old word for ‘ocean.’ For a boy or a girl.
He would not return a coward, would not shame his child.
His first step was short, stirring dust, but he took another and another. If it killed him, what would it do? Ibranu had been vague. Perhaps it was better not to know. Or maybe Schan was correct and the moment he passed the ward it would burn him to cinders. And he’d not know a thing about it. “Sands protect me.”
He crossed the threshold.
Silent chaos reigned. The path he had followed splintered like a thousand butterflies and he was plunged into traffic to rival that of the largest gathering of the Clans. Could battle be much different? Countless shades passed, their forms grey with iridescent white outlines. All were lost. Many shouted or screamed to each other but their voices were mute. Men, women and children, even animals moved about within the ward, some in circles, some racing toward nothing. Their bright outlines had trouble keeping up, one girl’s hand trailed her as she jumped and waved for attention. No-one came to her.
Ain took a half step before ducking reflexively, as a shade with a massive axe charged across his path. A bird shot through the mess of shapes, it’s outline sizzling in the air as it swept down to catch a struggling mouse.
He tried to touch a nearby child dressed in animal skins, the like of which had not been seen in the Medah clans for centuries, but his hand passed through the shoulder.
“Can you hear me?”
The boy did not react. Ain walked deeper into the strange place. Perhaps he had already died, and this was the great Beyond. He pinched his arm and it hurt. Maybe the Sands had not forsaken him.
Another figure loomed up, greater than the others by far, a magnificent beast that walked on four legs, with the body of a desert cat. Only so much larger in scale, and with enormous fangs and claws the size of Ain’s forearm. Where it stepped, other shades skipped away from its blue outline.
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