The Starfall Knight (23 page)

“No, Imperator.”

“Good.  You have outgrown my son, and truth be told, I am glad.  We both know that Leonus reached his potential long ago, such that it was.”

Alessa snorted but did not laugh out loud.  She had, after all, chosen to ally herself with Leonus and ousted Elina in the process.  “Very well.  What then?”

“Once Masteney has been exhausted, I will need a deputy.”  Tarius rubbed his jaw, his scarred forearms rippling.  “I would ask your father his opinion but he is late.”

“I’m sorry,” Alessa said, “he is still recovering.”

Tarius waved away her apology.  “No matter.  I will speak with him later about his episode.”

“Please understand the strain that piloting takes.”

“Perhaps the strain would be lessened if he did not consume so much virid and mead.”

Alessa held her tongue, lest she anger Tarius.  She bowed her head in acquiescence.  “You were speaking of a deputy.”

“Yes,” Tarius said.  He stood up and paced around the smithy.  He rounded the anvil and said, “You’ve proven yourself capable, Alessa.  Your time on Centara, the deceit you played, the raids and attacks were all well done.  There is still one thorn in my side.  Two, actually.”

“Nasius and Dene?”

“Yes, how did you know?”  Tarius chuckled.  “I would have had them dead in the past but there would have always been another to take their places.  The damned Serpens and Ceres always numbered so many.”

“But not more than our people.”

“No, that is true.  And even more so now.”  Tarius rested his fists on the anvil.  “The foremost of Nasius and Dene’s thrashers were sent into the attacks on the city as well as the banditry on Centaran’s plains – what aerock was in that area?”

“Saruwa.”

“Yes, Saruwa.  The Centarans were quite obliging in killing off these bandits and invaders.  This leaves Nasius and Dene both without their most trusted people.”

“So, they’re vulnerable,” Alessa said.

“Yes.  I want them dead.”

“Order their presence,” Alessa said.  “Your thrashers will handle them.”

Tarius shrugged and rounded the anvil.  He sat on the metal surface.  “I would – but it would seem to me, at least, to be the job of my deputy, my Servius.”

Alessa rose from her seat, willing her racing heart to calm.  “Is this your order?” 

“My first orders, Servius Alessa.  Go to Masteney and find Nasius and Dene.”

“I’ll push them off the edge myself.”

Devan ran his fingers over the stone battlements and wondered if the university grounds had been originally designed as an educational facility or the second line of defense for the city.  Next to him, Rika nattered on.  “And it’s just unbelievable that Jasil was passed over for the senior lecturer position.  She might not be the finest harpist in the faculty but her knowledge of Saruwan middle-period multimode scale structure is unparallelled.  I know I’m just a part-time student but if it’s obvious to me, it must be obvious to the professors.”

“I agree.”

“You have no idea what I just said, do you?”

“Not really.”

Rika punched Devan in the shoulder.  She leaned on a merlon and sighed.  “I suppose you have bigger things to worry about.”

Devan shrugged.  It was safer to remain silent than attempt to explain his situation without compromising his position with the rangers.

“Did you hear about Marshal Jarrell?”

“No,” Devan said.  “Has his condition changed?”

“The other soldier died,” Rika said.  “That means Jarrell is the last survivor of that mission.  Imagine that – more than a hundred warriors gone.”

“Such a waste.  What were they thinking?”

Rika peered over the edge of the battlements.  Devan followed her gaze; people flowed along the streets like water in a stream while the scents of the afternoon markets and hawkers drifted on the air.  A pair of longwings rode the currents as the hot air from the rooftops shimmered upwards, a curtain of heat that mirrored the lower tier stretching out in a concentric terrace with the boroughs extending even further.

“What will you do about the knight?” Rika asked.  She turned to Devan, her blue eyes reflecting the sky.

“If only I had an idea of where to start,” Devan said.

“Well, the act is done.  There’s nothing to do for it – like trying to catch a melody in the air.  Once the notes have faded, they’re gone.”

“Perhaps I could try to find the Sirinese hiding in Centara.”

“I don’t think they’d want to be found,” Rika said.  “What would you do?  Examine every single person in the city and the villages?”

“Most of them have those monstrous tattoos.”

“True, but so do a lot of Centarans.  Maybe not the exact same but do you know enough about them to say who are Sirinese and who are not?”

“I guess not.”  Devan watched the longwings frolic in the sky.  The birds never seemed to tire and they could leave this place whenever they wished.  Devan’s responsibilities were another matter.  “If I don’t know who perpetrated the theft, at least I know who benefited.”

“The Sirinese?” Rika said.  “Can you be sure?  You’re not letting thoughts of revenge cloud your judgment, are you?”

“No, Rika.  I’m not.  The knight was stolen during the raids, which were the perfect diversion.  No one else would want a dead body.  Any Centaran could’ve viewed the remains and read the findings of the professors.”

“True.  But why would the Sirinese want it?”

Devan clenched his fists.  “I don’t know.  But the knight was Sirinese.”

“What?”  Rika gasped and frowned at Devan with accusatory eyes.  “You never said anything about that before, Devan.  That changes everything.”

“I still don’t know why they’d want an old corpse.”

“It doesn’t really matter.  Maybe it’s as simple as recovering a part of their history.”  Rika rested a hand on Devan’s arm.  “Perhaps leave things well enough alone.”

“I can’t, Rika.  I can’t.”

“Why?”

Devan stared at the battlements.  The stone block had been worn smooth by the elements but there were still imperfections in the surface, tiny bubbles where the rock, for whatever reason, had trapped air in its formation.  “It’s not about revenge.  But the Sirinese wanted the knight for a reason.  I have no way to find the Sirinese on Centara so I have only one direction to follow.  And maybe it will lead me back.”

“That’s a big maybe.”

Devan met Rika’s eyes again.  “I know.  If it doesn’t pan out, at least I’ll be on Sirinis.”

Rika took a deep breath and gave him a wan smile.  “Whatever you do, it won’t reverse Verovel’s fate.  Nor your parents’.”

Devan did not reply.  He turned back to the battlements.  Unlike the imperfections in the stone, Devan could change things for the better for Centara.

Tarius glanced over Alessa’s shoulder.  “And here’s your father.”

Alessa twisted around.  Vantanis ambled along the dirt road and approached the smithy.  His tunic and trousers were wrinkled and stained with wine but he appeared otherwise sober and healthy.  He raised a hand in greeting and leaned against the forge, warming his hands next to the glowing coke.

“Good day, Imperator,” Vantanis said.

“And to you, Vantanis.”  Tarius sat down but his eyes did not leave Vantanis.  “I will not have my pilot in a drunken stupor again.  You must understand that you and I share this aerock’s fate.”

“In turn, you must accept that I cannot pilot this aerock for such long hours,” Vantanis said.  “Would you carry this forge on your back all day?”

“No,” Tarius said.  “We have an agreement.”

“Again.”  Vantanis moved to a bench and sat.

“We seem to have this conversation every time our need is dire.”

“We do,” Vantanis said with a smile.  “And what of this Masteney?  Are we to relocate?”

“I was just speaking of this with Servius Alessa,” Tarius said.

Vantanis arched an eyebrow.  “Servius?  Is that so?”

“Yes.  But, we will not take over Masteney.  Not just yet.”

“Tarius, I have not had a chance to raise this but my disposition was not entirely due to exhaustion and indulgence.”

“What is it?”

Vantanis cast his gaze around, ensuring that no one was near the smithy.  “Sirinis is failing, Tarius.”

“You’ve said this many times before, Vantanis.”

“This time, I am sure.  It is failing.  Do you remember when we conquered this rock?”

“Aye, of course.”  Tarius nodded with a warm smile.  His eyes sparkled at his own memory.

“It was already old then.  And now?  It is dying.  Like all aerocks, the piloting has exacted its toll.”

“I hear you, Vantanis.”  Tarius flicked his gaze to Alessa and back to her father.  “But we cannot move to Masteney yet.  I have my reasons.  You will have to make do for now.”

Alessa said, “What about the tubes used by the Centarans?”

Tarius crossed his scarred arms.  “What are they?”

“They are tubes made of metal and glass,” Vantanis said.  “The Centarans string them between aerocks alongside the anchored cables.  Within the tubes, andonite flows – or rather, a form of it.”

“I overheard some talk of it while I was there,” Alessa said.  “Some sort of energy from the andonite flows through the tube, from one aerock to another.  That’s how they’ve kept the attached aerocks for so long.  Before they started this practice, they had many more fallen aerocks.”

“The Iselt was one,” Vantanis offered.  “They deliberately crashed it into Centara and it now forms the mountain range.”

Tarius nodded.  “But no longer.  Not with these tubes?”  He tapped his upper arms as if playing a lute.  “Good.  I will give this task to Alessa.  In turn, it will give her cause to visit Masteney.”

“Yes, Imperator.”  Alessa rested a hand on the hilt of her sword but pushed the faces of Dene and Nasius from her mind.  All she could see was blood running from their scalps, or perhaps their necks.

“So, we steal some of their andonite?” Vantanis said.

“Will this keep us safe?”

“Depending on how much we can steal?  For now.”

“Good.  Very good.”  Tarius stood up and gestured to the road.  “Now, leave me.  I have things to attend to.”

Devan halted his mount a bowshot away from the military formation.  The two expanded companies, led by Captains Marzell and Rayce, stood at attention next to a fallow field.  They had yet to send a rider to Devan, even though he had been shadowing them since morning.

To the east, a column of rangers approached the small army.  The green tabards and lack of metal armour made them distinctive against the dirt trail.  Devan counted the heads – thirty, or more.  Just as was expected, the Council were not going to allow Masteney to remain in the hands of the Sirinese for much longer.

The combined forces of soldiers and rangers headed off, the dust from the road rippling down the column as the march began.  Devan heeled his pony and followed.

Knowing the ride to Masteney would take most of the day, Devan bore no other armour than a leather jerkin, gauntlets and boots.  A dagger hung from his belt while his sword was strapped to his saddlebags alongside his supplies.  With three companies’ worth of armed forces ahead of Devan, what little chance of common highway banditry was reduced to nil.  He stayed wary, however, for signs of Sirinese incursions.

The soldiers marched through the southern forest, bypassing the villages that survived on exporting timber, fur and other materials to the city.  As they emerged onto the plains, the terrain undulated, rising to the foothills that edged the aerock and melded into the Iselt Ranges.  Masteney floated above the horizon, partially obscured by Centara’s hills.  Beyond Masteney, Devan recognised the flat form of Sirinis, attached to the aerock like a tick.

The companies stopped short of the foothills where the road continued winding through the pass towards the way-station.  With the sun low in the sky and majority of the soldiers on foot, Devan guessed that they would wait until first light to assault Masteney.

Devan urged his mount onwards as the soldiers dug in and prepared standard fortification procedures – rangers scouting the area, sentries patrolling the outer perimeter, diggers building dirt bulwarks and latrine ditches.  Devan presented his officer’s ring to the first sentry and the soldier waved him on.

Sharpened stakes rose from the top of the bulwark, angled outwards towards any potential enemies.  At the barricade, the sentries halted Devan.  “Identify yourself.”

“I am Ranger Devan, officer of the Marshal.”

One of the soldiers inspected Devan’s ring and nodded.  “What’s your business here, ranger?”

“I wish to speak with the Captain in charge.”

“That would be Marzell.  Or Rayce and Sturgar, if Captain Marzell is unavailable.”

“Thanks.”

The soldiers stepped aside and Devan rode through the gap in the bulwark and entered the camp.  With only an hour since the soldiers had made camp, the tents were already raised and cookfires warmed the air.  Soldiers sat on logs cleaning their gear while others hauled water or constructed further additions to the barricades.  Swirls of green interspersed with the red of the military and Devan spotted familiar faces here and there.  He walked his mount through the organised chaos, searching for the captains.

“Devan!”

A pair of captains approached, flanked by a ranger and several pages.  They were all armoured for battle – the ranger wore supple leather and a faded cloak that seemed neither green nor grey.  The army captains were encased in field plate armour with the Centaran tree and lake enscribed on the breastplate and their ranking stripes wrapped around their pauldrons.  As they drew near, Devan recognised Marzell and the ranger captain Erlend.

Devan dismounted and saluted.  “Captains.”

“Ranger Devan,” Erlend said with a nod.  “What is your business here?”

“Who is in command?”

“I am,” Marzell said.  “Good evening, ranger.  With respect, we did not expect you here.”

“I’m here on the business of the Marshal.”

“Very well.  It’s not my place to question that but this is a military operation.”

The other army captain said, “You have no place here.”