The Starfall Knight (16 page)

A clatter of hooves sounded outside the door and Benton peered through the window facing the road.  Devan continued stirring the chicken-neck stew, their soon-to-be-sumptuous lunch.  “What is it?”

“A messenger.”  Benton opened the door and a ranger with a familiar face handed over a folded parchment with a wax seal.  The ranger left without a word and Benton closed the door.  The thudding hooves faded down the road.

Benton opened the letter.  “Emergency summons.”  He tossed the letter onto the central table.  “And you must report to Romaine.”

“Me?”

“See for yourself.”  Benton marched to his room and Devan left the pot, stepping to the table.  He scooped up the letter and read the brief message.

“I don’t understand,” Devan lied.  “Do you think my leave has been cancelled?”

“Who knows?” Benton replied.  He reappeared, dressed in travelling clothes.  “I’m off to the barracks now.  See Romaine – don’t be late.  Leave or not, she’s still your Marshal.”

“All right.”

Benton gave him a tight smile and left the house.  Devan read the letter one last time but they hadn’t misinterpreted it.  He burned the parchment in the hearth and removed the pot.  When Rika returned from her sole music class, she would only need to reheat the stew.  Devan sighed – it smelled delicious but Benton was right; he didn’t dare keep Romaine waiting.

Outside, Devan hailed a carriage, sharing it with a young couple who disembarked near an open-air eatery and then a potter woman who stayed on after Devan exited at the ranger barracks.  He slunk through the courtyard, ignoring the assembly of several groups, his old squad amongst them, and reached the officer’s barracks.

Before he could knock, a page opened the door and handed him a letter that bore the seal of the Marshal of Rangers.  “Marshal Romaine left this for you, Ranger Devan.  That is all.”  The page closed the door.

Devan opened the letter.  “See Poel.  R.”

With a sigh, Devan left the barracks and headed to the mining district where the underground lift was located.  At least, Devan thought as he hailed another carriage, Romaine’s words would’ve meant nothing to prying eyes.

“You again.”  Poel grumbled and pushed away his tankard of mead.  “Tayu!  Tayu!”

Another bar patron craned his neck around and said, “Tayu’s in the market.”

“Thanks,” Devan said.  The underground community still unnerved Devan.  Most of the time, the lift ride was time enough for his eyes to adjust to the gloom but now, even with the abundant lamps in the tavern area, Devan felt blind.  It was probably nerves.  To Poel, he said, “I was told to see you specifically.”

“Yah?  And I was told to send you onto Tayu. Specifically.”

“Who told you?”

“Another of your ranger friends.  I don’t know who.  Don’t care.”  Poel reached for his tankard and ignored Devan.

“Very well.”  Devan left the foreman to his drinking and continued onto the market sector.

He found Tayu browsing a crockery merchant’s wares.  His friend’s broad shoulders were the norm in this community but Devan still recognised Tayu’s careful movements as if everything around him were made of glass.

“Tayu!”

“Devan!”  Tayu clapped him on the shoulder.  “What do you think of this?”

“It’s a bowl.”

“Fired in the kiln of a master artisan,” the merchant said.

“Even so,” Devan said, “it’s still just a bowl.”

“Two slates,” the merchant said to Tayu.

“Perhaps another time.”  Tayu returned the bowl to the counter.  “Let’s go, Devan.”

They left behind the final offer of the merchant, cutting through the dormitory sector.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Devan asked.

“Yes,” Tayu said.  “I was given a message from your Marshal.  Had to burn it in the presence of the page.  In any case, it’s better that I show you.”

“All right.”

Their boots crunched on dried bat guano as the path wended towards the outer perimeter of the community where few people tread, even the miners.  Tayu approached a smooth section of cave wall and produced a key.  He unlocked a mechanism and the wall popped open.  “This way.”

Tayu lit an oil lamp, revealing a hallway carved from the bedrock itself.  He closed the door behind them, the locks clicking back into place.

The air smelled fresh, perhaps even cleaner than the other side of the doorway.  “Tayu?”

“Not much further, Dev.”

The hallway curved to the right, leading upwards in a lazy spiral.  Devan had long since lost all sense of direction – most of the underground district lay in the northern sector of the first tier, mirroring the mining community that chose to live above ground.  But this path felt like it led outside the city walls.  Or did it lead deeper into the city?

The floor levelled out and the light from the lamp was lost in the gloom of the straight path ahead of them.  Tayu strode forwards and as Devan followed, he realised that metal doors were set into the walls at regular distances.  At the fourth pair of doors, Tayu reached for the one on the right.  He pushed it open, the hinges squeaking.

Dust billowed out.  Tayu handed the lamp to Devan.  The yellow glow fell upon the narrow room with rows of timber shelves fixed to the walls.  Scabbarded swords, daggers and spears shone back at him.  The higher shelves were empty.

“This is part of the reserve city armoury.  The other end of hallway is accessed from within Council grounds,” Tayu said.  “The entrance we used was not broken.”

“Those empty shelves,” Devan said.  “What did they hold?”

“Andonite rifles and ammunition.”

“Moons above.”

“Devan, the instructions were to show you this.  What’s going on?  Why not the city guards?”

“The city guards already know,” Devan said.  “I’ll bet you that special bowl that they’ll be down here within the hour with a complement of rangers.  They’ll um and ah about who broke in and stole the weapons but it will take them some time to work it out.”

“You already know?”

“Since aerock Dwer arrived, we’ve had more excitement than I’ve been able to recall in years.”

“I heard about the trading,” Tayu said.  “How many valuable gems do moon worshippers normally have?”

“And the dead longwings.”

Tayu frowned.  “I’d forgotten about them.”

“There are easier armouries to steal from,” Devan said.  “But the Council reserve is secure through secrecy.  And who has been the guest of the Council lately?”

“The Dwerians.  But stealing our weapons?  What for?”

“Perhaps they’re not who they say they are,” Devan said.  “Once they’ve smuggled them, who knows what their intentions would be?”

“Trade with another aerock?” Tayu said.  “They will find it strange, just as we do with their current stock of chips and gems and materials.”

“You might be right.”  Devan stepped back and closed the damaged door but it would not shut properly.  “Can you show me where they broke in?”

The forest of steel parted a stone’s throw away from the aercarriage station.  The Centaran soldiers, accompanied by the green-tabarded rangers, spread out in a semi-circle behind Alessa and Vantanis.

“Your two friends have already returned to your aerock,” Captain Marzell said.  “Your turn now.”

“I’d still like an explanation,” Vantanis said.  “What have we done to deserve this?”

“You are not citizens of Centara.  We owe you no explanation.”  Marzell nodded at her soldiers and they brought their halberds to bear.

Alessa’s skin prickled with sweat at the sight of the steel pointed at her and Vantanis.  “We shall leave in peace.”

Marzell said, “Then, go.”

Alessa rested a hand on her father’s elbow and they trudged towards the aercarriage.  To the south, the makeshift settlement had shrunk to a stark military camp.  Where their arrival had been met with unbounded curiosity, none paid any heed to their leaving.

“Father,” Alessa said, her voice low so that only Vantanis could hear, “what do we do?”

“We return,” Vantanis replied.  “It’s up to Tarius now.”

“It was his doing, wasn’t it?”

“It always is.”  Vantanis squeezed her hand and they boarded the aercarriage.

After crossing the sky, Vantanis and Alessa made their way back to Tarius’ smithy.  The paths were sparse in comparison to a food drop hour.  As they closed on the centre of the Tarian district, Alessa noted the constant stream of thrashers passing them, heading towards the smithy.

Groups of thrashers stalked in the opposite direction but they were armed with swords and decked in chainmail armour.  At least, Alessa thought, she could see the vine-like tattoos on wrists and necks that signified loyalty to Tarius.  Her father shrugged – this was news to him as well.

When they reached Tarius’ smithy, the band of thrashers became apparent; they had formed a protective cordon around Tarius’ cabin.  As Alessa and Vantanis approached, Grunos escorted them to the smithy.

“What news?” Vantanis asked.

“Good morning, Vantanis,” Tarius said.  A crate of broadswords lay open in one corner of the smithy.  In another corner was a crate of chainmail hauberks and, in the open air, another set of crates full of leather gauntlets, boots and steel helms.

“Where did all of this come from?”

“The Centarans,” Tarius said.  “They are more naïve than we imagined.  But it means we must move to our second phase before they realise what has happened.”  A group of four thrashers entered the smithy and Tarius gestured at the weapons and armour.  The thrashers nodded and armed themselves, moving outside to piece together the armour.

“What is the second phase?” Alessa asked.  She examined the thrashers and the amount of equipment.  Tarius must’ve had more men positioned on Centara to move the goods.  They were likely still there.

“I have taken possession of ten rifles,” Tarius said.  “I need more.  And more of the contraptions that they use – these andonite chips and bullets.”

“The Council will reinforce security on those stores,” Alessa said, “if they haven’t already.  My father and I have just been escorted off Centara.”

“This is why you will head back in force.  Tonight.”

Vantanis nodded.  “Using their own gear against them.”

“But the aercarriage is under their control,” Alessa said.

“You should know by now, Alessa,” Tarius said, “that we have never been limited by such things.”

The tunnel reeked of human waste.

“Breathe through your mouth,” Brunos said.

Alessa followed suit but it only allowed her to taste the stench instead of smelling it.  She pressed a leather gauntlet against her nose and pressed on.

She led a group of forty Tarians, rustling and clanking behind her as they descended further into the Serpens mines.  The precious minerals had long since been extracted and all that was left were the pulsating veins of andonite that provided an azure light along their path.  Her new boots were soon encrusted with mud – or more accurately, a mixture of garbage, urine and shit that had been dumped into the abandoned mines by the Serpens.  Alessa rolled her shoulders – although she was thankful for the padded undershirt, none of the books she had read had prepared her for how cumbersome the chainmail shirt had become.  She didn’t dare think of how heavy the full hauberks weighed, let alone plated armour.  Her sword, on the other hand, felt comfortable in her hands.  She liked the heft compared to a wooden sword.

Alessa caught a whiff of fresh air and the tunnel opened into a wide cavern.  From the looks of the disused carts and scaffolding, it looked to be an old loading area.  Yellow lamps flickered between the support beams and Alessa headed for them, the Tarian thrashers following in her wake.

“There they are.”

A group of men and women waited in the darkness with a handful of lamps.  Like her own thrashers, they were armed and armoured with only hints of their tattoos visible; skull and thorn motifs of Nasius’ gang of Ceres while Dene’s Serpens had ink of scales and forked tongues.

“Where is Tarius?” Dene said, stepping into a pool of light.

“I am here in his stead,” Alessa replied.

“He should be leading.”

“Take it up with him when we return.”

Dene snorted.  “Fine.  Whatever.”  One of her thrashers handed her a bundle of garments.  “Here ya – put these on.”

Alessa took the clothes and unravelled one of them.  Counterfeit tabards of red, like the armed forces of Centara.  She slipped one over her head and handed the rest to her thrashers.  “Smart.”

“I think so too,” Dene said.  “We will organise into teams of four – any two Tarian, Serpens or Ceres, as agreed.”

“Good.”

“Half of the teams will infiltrate the city.  The others will raid the boroughs as a distraction.”

Alessa nodded.

“All right, ya shit-dwellers,” Dene yelled.  “We’re off!”

The thrashers roared and charged further into the mines.  The thunder of boots echoed in the darkness.  Alessa marched on, letting her thrashers rush forward without her.

As the warcries and hollering faded, Dene sidled up to Alessa as they walked.  “What ya got for me?”

“Not much,” Alessa said.

“Not much?  What use are ya then?”

“I’m close to Tarius, that’s what.”  Alessa found her hand wrapped around the hilt of the broadsword at her side.  “That’s a whole lot more than what you and Nasius could ever claim.”

“Then, what?  Ya kill him?”

“If that’s what you want,” Alessa replied.  She halted, realising that they were alone.  “Tarius is not stupid.  If you strike and fail, he will seize more power.”

“We will not fail.”  Dene spat to one side.  “These men – I hope ya not fond of any of em.”

“You’re going to kill them?”

“That’s what, thirty or forty of Tarius’ thrashers?  A good number.  It might tip the balance in future.”

“Fine,” Alessa said.  “I’d better not be caught in a crossfire.”

“Trust us.”

Alessa did not reply.

Dene led the way through the tunnel, the air growing crisper with every step.  After a short distance, Alessa felt the familiar gust of an aerock edge.  The tunnel opened to the maroon of the night sky, the interminable mass of Centara looming in the darkness.