The Starfall Knight (3 page)

“You’re all mine,” he cooed.  “You know that?”

“I know.”

Alessa shivered as Leonus reached out and picked up a serrated dagger with a hilt and guard carved in the shape of creeping vines, the sigil that he shared with his father, Tarius.  The iron blade was cold against the nape of her neck.  Leonus slid the flat of the dagger against her shoulders, playing it along the edge of her tunic’s neck.

A shout rose up from the street, a call for armed men.  Alessa craned her neck in a vague hope but Leonus sniffed and said, “Hush, don’t worry about that.  It’s just you and me.  No Serpens, no Ceres, no Tarians.  Just me.”

He sniffed a lock of her dirty blonde hair.  “Just me.”

Leonus pressed the dagger against her tunic and Alessa winced at the familiar tear of cloth.

“Please don’t – it’s all I have,” she said.

Leonus snorted.  “Fine.”

He yanked the tunic over her head and her skin prickled at the chill air.  Leonus pushed Alessa forward onto the cot, grabbing at her trousers.  Her hands dug into the soft mattress and the clean linens which she washed every other day.  She closed her eyes and turned her mind to all the things she could do with knives.

Leonus grappled Alessa’s hips and pushed himself into her with a grunt.

Alessa lay on her side, watching the sun grow wan with the passing of the afternoon.  As dusk neared, the play of shadows against the cloth curtains rose as passersby ambled past the single lamp on the road outside.  Leonus snored with an arm draped over her shoulder.  She reached down for her clothes and Leonus stirred.

“Are you going?”

“Yes,” Alessa said.

“See my father.  I want to know what that ruckus was about.”  Leonus cleared his throat and rolled over to his other side, exposing the black tattoo of stylised vines across his shoulders and back.

“I will.”  Alessa slipped her clothes on, sparing a glance for the collection of knives on the table.  No, she had been seen entering the cabin alone.  And even after slitting Leonus' throat, where would she go?  Who else could protect her?

Leonus said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t worry about Elina.”

“Ahuh.”  If Leonus mistook her musings for fear of that bitch, then Alessa would not correct him.

“She’s just jealous,” Leonus said.  “She’ll find another bed to warm.”

“Good.”  Alessa dipped a rag in a wooden cup of stale wine.  “I’ll be back soon.”

Alessa left the cabin and stepped into the shadows between the next building.  She ensured no one watched her as pulled out the goat bladder from between her legs.  Alessa scrubbed herself with the wine-soaked rag and tossed it away.  The bladder could be re-used for the time being but she would have to find a new one soon.

Feeling somewhat cleaner, Alessa strode onto the muddy road and headed towards Tarius' smithy.

Like the other gangs on Sirinis, Tarius’ followers built their shelters around their leader – although the lines between the territories were ever-shifting, the core areas remained the same.  Ever since Alessa could remember, Tarius had been the defacto ruler of Sirinis, the Imperator.  His gang was the strongest, the best equipped and thanks to Tarius’ cunning, always taking the upper hand in dealings with the Serpens and Ceres – the other two main factions on Sirinis.

Although Alessa’s father was a main-stay in Tarius’ inner circle, her relation to Vantanis had never guaranteed her safety or food supply.  And if Vantanis had defected to a rival group, Alessa knew that they would have found themselves over the edge, eventually.

As Alessa neared Tarius’ smithy, the press of loyal followers grew thick and his strong-arms waded through the crowd, wielding rough clubs and keeping everyone from barging into the shacks along the side of the thoroughfare.  Pungent body odours filled the air as the Tarians jostled one another for position.

A young man, perhaps no older than Alessa, scurried against the flow with half a loaf of bread and a raw pheasant in his arms.  Alessa’s mouth watered and she continued pushing through the crowd.

“Watch your step, lass!”  A pudgy, bald man half-scowled at Alessa but as he raised a fist, his face paled.  “Oh, miss, many apologies.  Many apologies.”  He bowed his head and backed away, stepping on a girl’s foot.

At the bald man’s obsequiousness, others in the crowd turned their attention to Alessa and a murmur grew.  One of the strong-arms shoved his way to Alessa’s side and said, “Come with me, Alessa.”

He led the way through the crowd and Alessa ignored the smattering of the words referring to her.  She was used to them by now.  Leonus’ whore.  Bitch.

The area in front of the smithy lay strewn with crates of food and casks of drink – wine, judging by the stains on the side.  The bounty dwarfed the smithy, a small enterprise that belied its own importance.  A larger cabin had been built next to the workspace but the smithy itself had never been reconstructed, remaining as nothing more than an array of tools against one wall, an anvil against another and a furnace in the open air.

Grunos, the nominal leader of the thrashers, watched Alessa approach with her escort.  “Where’s Leonus?”

“Asleep,” Alessa replied.  “Where is Imperator Tarius?”

The towering thug rubbed his shaved head, muscles bristling through his leather jerkin.  “He’s busy.”  He gestured to one of the men distributing bread to the gang members.  “Pelio.”

“Aye.”  Pelio was an unassuming man except for the fact that he was one of Leonus’ friends.

“Take this crate to Leonus’ cabin,” Grunos said.  “Take my brother and make sure it gets there in one piece.  I know exactly what’s in it.  Anything missing and it’s your head.”

Pelio nodded and called out.  “Brunos!  Let’s go!”

A thin man split from crowd-control duty and nodded at Pelio.  Brunos looked nothing like his older brother Grunos, apart from the same wide jaw.  He and Pelio hefted the crate of food and shouldered past Alessa.  She held her tongue even as she caught her balance against a stack of casks.

“What of my share?” Alessa asked Grunos.

He snorted.  “You get what you earn, girl.”  Grunos turned away to direct his other men.

“Where is the Imperator?” Alessa asked.  “Where is my father?”

Grunos waved vaguely at the smithy, or was it at the attached cabin?  Alessa scowled to herself and marched past the supplies of food, doing her best to ignore the bounty.  With the forge cold, she headed to Tarius’ cabin and the thrashers ignored her, continuing to dole out the food.

The front door to the cabin stood ajar and Alessa halted at the sound of voices – her father and Tarius.  Alessa leaned against the outside wall and concentrated on the conversation amidst the bustle of the food distribution.

“I don’t particularly care for the excuses you’ve wrought,” Tarius said.

“That’s not a healthy attitude to take,” Vantanis responded.

“You know I don’t like threats, Vantanis.  The last man to make threats –“

“Yes, yes.  I know all about it.  You cut off his tongue and crushed his body into a stew.”

Tarius snorted.  A jug shifted and liquid trickled into a goblet.  “Is it about Teia?”

At the mention of Alessa’s mother, her heart thumped.  Ten years was not long enough to dim the memory of her death.

After a pause, Vantanis said, “No.”  Alessa could imagine her father grasp his wedding ring that he kept on a necklace – its twin had been lost with Teia.

“I sympathise, I most surely do,” Tarius said.  “But we forge ahead.”  A chair creaked.  “Take today, for example.  A most successful raid, wouldn’t you think so?  It would not be possible without you.  You should be proud.  Take your share of the spoils, the food, the gems, the flesh.”

Another silence as drink was consumed.  “You don’t approve?”

Vantanis said, “I’ll take the food and the gems but the rest is none of my business.”

“So, you can judge the rest of us.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Good,” Tarius said.  “I don’t care a whit that it’s cloudy.  I don’t care about what you
feel
about Sirinis.  If we don’t hit another aerock in the next few days, we will run out of food.  Do you understand, Vantanis?  And if we run out of food, I can no longer guarantee our safety.  Your safety, my safety, or the safety of your daughter.  Do you understand?”

A goblet thudded onto a wooden surface with deliberation.  “You pull out that speech every so often.  I remember the first time.  I almost believed it back then.”

“Ha!”  More drink poured.  “Very well, Vantanis, but you know that the sentiment is no less true.  Even with food, the good Sirinese of this aerock need entertainment – there’s only so much whoring, sparring and dog-fighting to go around.  They need some real blood soon.”

“Fine,” Vantanis said.  “When the clouds have cleared up, we’ll head towards more promising skies.”

Tarius grunted.  “You trust in the stars and moons too much.”

“They don’t change, Imperator.”

Chairs squeaked against the floorboards as the two men rose to their feet.  “Tarius, I speak what I know regarding Sirinis.  It’s not an idle warning.  Something is weakening.”

“And what would you have us do?  What can we do?  I know fire and steel, Vantanis.  Hammers and anvils.  Show me what to do and I’ll fix it.  Until then, it’s all the more reason to find us fresh meat.”

“All right.”

The door opened and the two men stepped out.  Alessa straightened her posture as they noticed her loitering against the wall.

“Alessa.”  Tarius nodded briefly at her.  He crossed his thick arms and gazed over the food and the crowd.  Burns and scars riddled Tarius’ arms and hands, earned from a lifetime of working as a blacksmith, forging the weapons that granted his men superiority over the other factions.  Like many of his crew, Tarius sported a shaved head and the tips of the stylised vine tattoo poked out from beneath his jerkin’s sleeves and neck.

Vantanis gestured to Alessa and she followed him from the cabin.  “What are you doing here?”

“Leonus sent me.”

“You won’t need him,” Vantanis said.  “Tarius has granted me some of the spoils.”

“How long will that last?” Alessa asked.

Her father pursed his lips but did not reply.  They continued tramping down the muddy road.

Chapter Three

The platform shuddered to a halt at the bottom of the mine-shaft and Devan clutched at the non-existent railing.  His escort, a grizzled miner showing more dirt than clean skin, chuckled.  He swung open the gate and ushered Devan into the cavern.

“Your man’s over there.”

“Thanks,” Devan said.

The vast cavern lay underneath Centara city and served as the main base of operations for andonite mining and pipe systems maintenance.  Lamps marked the edges of the subterranean community, roughly the same size as a small lower tier block of housing.  Workers lounged outside makeshift taverns while a modest market sold fresh fruit and meat.  Unlike the rangers and soldiers, the miners were not required to live on-site but some chose to, becoming more accustomed to the gloom and stone ceilings than the outside.

Although precious material was produced by these mines, they were not the primary purpose.  As more andonite veins were uncovered, the miners installed pipes and the harvesting systems that manipulated the andonite and heated air and water for the city above.  Devan didn’t quite understand it but it involved hammering the andonite to produce a reaction in the mineral.  Andonite rifles used the same principle in projecting bullets.

Devan approached another soot-encrusted miner sitting on the edge of a cot and jotting notes in a leather-bound book.  “Evening,” Devan said.

“You’re in me light.”

“Sorry.”  Devan sidestepped although he noticed that his shadow had been lying in another direction.  “Are you Poel?”

“Who’re you?”

“I’m Devan.  Ranger.”

“Ranger?”  Poel looked up, nose crinkling as he squinted at Devan.  “Youse too scrawny to be a ranger.”

“That may be so,” Devan said.  “Romaine has asked me to check on the status of our systems, pipes and whatnot.”

“What?”

“The Marshal of Rangers has asked me – ”

“A’heard you the first time,” Poel said.  He set down the journal.  “Wha’ you come down for?  Read my reports, that’s all you need.”

“I suppose it has something to do with the storm.”

“What storm?”  Poel stood up and much to Devan’s surprise, the miner stood a few fingers taller.  He stank of virid and the foul moonshine that was brewed in the mining camps.  “How’d I know you ain’t a spy?”

At this a few heads turned towards Devan.  The fiddler at the tavern continued playing.

Devan puffed his chest out and rested his fists on his hips.  “How do I know you’re Poel the foreman?”

“Everybody knows who I am, runt.  Nobody knows you!”

A figure strode out from the tavern.  “Hey, Poel.”

The miner craned his neck around.  “What?”

“Leave off.  I know him.”

Devan relaxed as Tayu approached.  The rest of the miners in the vicinity turned back to their own affairs.

“Who know ‘im?”

“Yes, he’s Devan,” Tayu said.  “Captain Benton’s brother.”

“Benton, eh?”  Poel looked Devan up and down, nose scrunched up again.  “Too scrawny.”

Tayu guided Devan away from Poel.  “Aye, too scrawny.”

Out of earshot from Poel, Devan said, “Is he always like that?”

“Poel?  Yes.”  Tayu shrugged.  “Part of his job.”

As they meandered between the modest stalls, Tayu crackled the tendons in his neck.  Working in the mines had its own physical challenges which Devan did not envy.

“Romaine asked me to check on everything down here,” Devan said.  “We’re heading through a big lightning storm.”

Tayu nodded.  “Everything’s fine.  Usual maintenance is going ahead.  Haven’t heard anything out of the ordinary.  Crawlers are settled.”

“That’s good,” Devan said.  Terepids – better known as crawlers – appeared like gangly grasshoppers with spindly legs and thrived on any exposed andonite veins.  Their interactions with andonite were fabled to be the inspiration for the transfer systems that the city employed throughout the mines.