The Starfall Knight (2 page)

He produced the small volume which appeared to be a journal with a vellum cover.  Devan expected the stench of rotting flesh but instead detected the scent of a library, the old dusty pages and parchments and scrolls and leather.  He flicked through the journal but the script was foreign, although written in ink.

Benton pressed the other pauldron and produced several mundane objects – steel and flint, a pouch of dessicated jerky and a pair of knuckle-bones.

“No money,” Rika said.

“No.”  Devan lifted the knight’s side, revealing a half-scabbard hanging from his belt.  The force of the impact had pressed the sword’s hilt into the back of the metal cuirass and the blade, like the scabbard, was mostly missing.  “If he had been buried with dishonour, why did he keep his armour and belongings?”

“I don’t know,” Benton said.  “The Councillors and university scholars will know more.”

The aercarriage bumped as it made contact with Centara, sending a wave of relief through Devan.  He peeked around the edge of the canvas and the western grasslands of Centara met his gaze.

“Any trouble, rangers?”  One of the Centaran station keepers secured the aercarriage to the ground with a hook.  His smooth gauntlets protected his hands against rope-burn but did not hide the muscles in his arms from a lifetime of hauling rope and carriages.

“Nothing to speak of,” Benton replied.

Devan helped his brother disembark with the knight as Rika carried all of their knapsacks.  He looked back over the gap between Centara and Saruwa.  Like the others, only a short stone’s throw separated the aerocks.  Yet, Devan’s knees still felt weak at the thought of crossing without an aercarriage.

“Got some clouds comin’ in,” the old station keeper said.  “Look like some mean ones too.”

Centara hadn’t encountered severe weather for some weeks now as it drifted north – at least, that was the designation that their people had agreed upon.  Compass directions were particular to each aerock, affected by the underground veins of andonite and metals.

“You’ll make the city by dusk, if’n you run.”

Benton nodded.  “Thanks, old-timer.  We’ll get a start.”  He tossed a slate coin to the station-keeper.  The tiny andonite chip in the middle of the coin flashed in the sun’s rays.

The station-keeper caught the coin.  “Aer bless you, Captain.”

Devan heaved the stretcher as his brother took the other end.  With Rika in tow, they trotted onto the dirt road that connected to the main highway leading back to Centara city, a chill northerly beginning to sweep across the land.

The rest of the squad rejoined them after a half-hour of hiking.  Devan gratefully handed over his end of the stretcher to Olban and fell into step alongside him.  Devan took a swig from his waterskin, keeping an eye on the horizon for trouble.  Bandits weren’t really a problem – Devan liked to think that no Centaran would ever need to stoop to such lows – but even if they were, the military maintained regular patrols around Centara and its allied aerocks.

Benton set a fast pace as soon as they reached the highway and its hard-packed road.  Devan took his turn at the stretcher, thankful that the wet weather hadn’t yet arrived to turn the road into mud.  There had been plans to pave the highway with cobblestone as its importance as the backbone to the attached aerocks could not be overestimated, yet the Council could never quite justify the sheer manpower and cost.

The squad continued rotating around the stretcher.  Devan’s arms and shoulders ached with lances of fire after each of his shifts and there was no respite for his legs as the brisk pace took them into the farmlands to the south of Centara city.  Even Terson’s verbal jabs had reduced to laboured breathing like the rest of the squad.

With the city located in the northern foothills of the aerock, the sprawling boroughs and farms spread to the south in concentric crescents.  As dusk approached, Devan and his squad began passing farmers driving empty wagons in the opposite direction, the day’s produce having been sold in the city markets.  The occasional lone cow, sheep or goat followed, their fate to be determined another day.

The farms gradually gave away to the outer boroughs of Centara city.  Modest timber cottages and cabins dotted the highway and the roads branching off, slowly becoming more packed together as the proximity to the city proper was more desirable than a garden or separation from a neighbour.

The squad entered the general hubbub of the day’s end as dark clouds accentuated the pending dusk, reducing the three moons overhead to hazy glows.  The orange cast of the sky deepened into burgundy with every passing minute.  Curious glances examined the knight’s body as they headed towards the city.  The highway cut through the boroughs, leading into a town square where the stone walls and towers of Centara city were visible over the nearby buildings.

“Benton,” Devan called out.  “Could we borrow an empty cart to carry the body?”

His brother shook his head.  “It’s good exercise for your shoulders and arms.  Let’s keep moving.”

Devan suppressed his groan and took his turn at the stretcher.  Terson and a couple other veterans in the squad chuckled.

They continued onwards, reaching the outer walls of Centara City that were more fortification than demarcation.  From what Devan remembered of Centaran history, the city had been built with most precautions in mind, including war, although it had never come to Centara.  Devan furrowed his brow for a moment, remembering bitter times on Verovel.

Constructed of rock mined from the tunnels accessing the andonite veins below the city, the walls, roads and majority of the buildings had taken on a smooth sheen from the years of weather and wear.  Terraced against the jagged foothills to the north, the city was home to Devan, his brother and friends.  Commoners like himself occupied small houses on the lower levels while councillors, masters, rich merchants and the like were found on the middle and upper tiers.  Devan did not envy them, although he could freely admit that the views overlooking the entire aerock were spectacular – but they weren’t anything that couldn’t be seen from a good hike up the Iselt Ranges.

“Where to, Captain?”

“University.”

Devan gritted his teeth and adjusted his grip on the stretcher – a decent climb to the middle tier lay ahead of them.  With the tumult of the evening, however, at least their pace would be reduced to a jaunt.

As Benton led the squad onwards, sharp squalls blew in from the north.  Council pages raced between the foot traffic and livestock, lighting the street-side lamps that swayed in the wind.  Within minutes, chilling rain swept down and the Centarans scurried off the streets, leaving Devan and his squad plodding on.

The sleet soaked Devan’s ranger gear before they reached the city’s middle tier.  He handed the stretcher to Rika, all thoughts of sweaty clothes gone as his boots squelched with every step.  Devan shielded his eyes against the torrent with a frown – he’d have to clean and oil his weapons that night but at least it would be done in the comfort next to a heating duct.  The burgundy skies lit up for a moment and thunder echoed above.

Benton led the squad onto the university avenue that passed several blocks of affluent mansions that belonged to the academic staff and the wealthy citizens who sought prominence through proximity.  Like the streets on the lower tier, however, the way stood empty except for the howling wind and dagger-like rain.

A pair of shuttered lamps illuminated the university’s main gate, the reflections visible on the slick paved road.  A figure in a long coat stepped out from the gatehouse and waved them down.

“Captain?” a woman’s voice called out.

As the squad approached, they slowed their pace and sweet relief crept into Devan’s muscles.  A step ahead, Benton shielded his eyes against the rain.  “Yes?”

Romaine, the Marshal of Rangers, stepped into the light and Devan shot a brief salute alongside his brother and the squad.

“You’re late,” Romaine said.  Her short-cropped hair soon ran slick under the storm.

“We found something unexpected, Marshal,” Benton replied.

“So I hear.”  Romaine approached the stretcher and glanced at the body.  Another flash of lightning reflected off the armour.  “They’re calling it the Starfall Knight.  From nothing more than the words of a half-drunk, sleep-deprived sky-fisher.  Can you believe it?”

“Does the University still want it?” Benton asked.

“Yes, more so,” Romaine said.  “Take it to Professor Orval’s lab.  Once the storm passes, they’ll hold a public examination in the amphitheatre.”  She grunted.  “Fun for the kids, I suppose.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

“Good.  You have your orders.”

Benton gestured for the squad to continue into the university grounds.  As they passed through the iron gates, Romaine added, “And not a word to anyone about this discovery.  Not yet, anyway.”

Devan cast a quick glance at Benton but his expression remained bland.

“Yes, Marshal.”

Chapter Two

Alessa stamped the mud from her patch-work shoes and pushed open the door to the shack.  Inside, the wan glow of the single lamp revealed her father, Vantanis, coughing into a wooden bucket.

“Hello, dear.”  His face looked drawn and pasty under the dim light.

“Hello, father.”  Alessa closed the door behind her, wary of prying eyes.  “Are you all right?  What’s happened?”

Vantanis waved her away.  “I’m fine.  Probably just some bad meat.”

“Oh, father, you know you can’t trust those Redivarian skewers.”

“What are we to do?” Vantanis replied.  He slid the bucket underneath his cot.  “We can’t eat coin nor gems.  Fires of Tyn, but I wish we could eat coin.”

Alessa sat on a narrow chair next to her father.  She pulled out a book from her satchel.  “I finished
The Reflections of Blue
.  Thank you.”

Vantanis thumbed through the pages and nodded before placing it on a rickety shelf above the diminuitive kitchen table.  “What did you think?”

“I don’t think it was for me,” Alessa said.  “I could follow the philosophical underpinnings of the relationship between the three moons but the logical sequences were too dry.”

“Fair enough.”  Vantanis peered into the water jug on the table and grunted.

“Do you want me to get a cask of wine for you?” Alessa asked.

“No, it’s all right, Alessa.”  Vantanis sighed.  “Eating skewered rat and hunting for water is not the life I wanted for you.”  He met her eyes and Alessa almost flinched at the intensity.  “Is Leonus treating you well?”

Alessa nodded.

“Good.”  Vantanis snorted to himself.  “Who am I kidding?  Even if he weren’t, what could I do?”  He stood up and rested a hand on the table.  “Have you been practising your forms?”

“Yes, always,” Alessa lied.  She had sold her practice sword for food the previous week but a broom handle served just as well.

Vantanis nodded.  “Thank you for returning the book.  Help yourself to another, if you like.  I’m off to see if Tarius has any orders.”

“All right.  Take care, father.”  Alessa hugged him, the faint natural scent of his hair reminding her of childhood before the underlying the stench of unwashed clothes burst through.

Vantanis strolled out of the shack as a raucous shout arose from the Ceres quarter.  Alessa crept to one of the walls and peeked through a crack in the timber slats.  While Imperator Tarius ruled with brutal efficiency, aerock Sirinis was never peaceful even at the best of times – Alessa avoided any commotion if she could help it.  This time, however, Alessa heard conversational snatches of another aerock sighting.

Whoever the poor bastards were, Alessa thanked them – all of the gangs’ attention would turn to the impending attack.  Alessa swept up her satchel and left her father’s shack.

The muddy track sucked at Alessa’s shoes as she strode towards the inner sector of the Tarian district.  With the roughshod huts and shelters on either side – most with their dour occupants loitering outside – Alessa crinkled her nose at the constant stench of human waste mixed into the wet ground.  A short terrier darted out from a side-path and disappeared between two canvas tents.  A gaggle of half-naked children sprinted in pursuit, a couple of choice invectives thrown at Alessa for no reason.  A group of filthy men and women guffawed.

Alessa avoided eye contact but laid a hand on the slim knife in her trouser pocket – a small comfort at best.  She stared straight ahead and continued on her way.

Her father would have headed down another path, towards Tarius’ smithy.  Alessa found herself on the road to another destination nearby, that of Tarius’ son – Leonus.  Deep in the Tarian quarter, Alessa was recognised and mostly left to her own devices.  Nevertheless, her nausea rose with every step that took her closer to Leonus’ cabin.  Within a few minutes, Alessa found herself on Leonus’ road.

Like many of those within Tarius’ inner circle, the cabin had been constructed with beams of timber although it was not much larger than the majority of the shanties on Sirinis.  A handful of Tarius’ armed thugs lounged around at regular intervals along the road.  Alessa ignored their leers and whistles as she strode past.

Elevated above the muck, Alessa trotted up the stairs to the door.  Before she could knock, it opened, revealing Leonus and his toothy grin.

“Alessa.  Come in.”

She stepped inside and Leonus shut the door behind her.  With no lamps, the interior of the stark cabin appeared even more spartan by the dingy light of the waning afternoon gloom.  His collection of knives and daggers lay on the single table and chair set to one side while a narrow cot and wooden chest stood against another wall.

Leonus crept behind Alessa and she felt his hands on the small of her back.  Into her ear, he said, “I’m so glad you’ve visited.”

“Is that so?”  Alessa arched her neck in what she thought would be a most inviting manner.

“Oh, yes.”

Leonus accepted the invitation and kissed Alessa’s neck and shoulders, each one a dry brush of the lips.  Alessa closed her eyes and steeled herself as Leonus’ calloused hands moved underneath her tunic and cupped her breasts.  He pressed against her back and guided her towards the cot.