The Starfall Knight (32 page)

The Sirinese advanced on Devan, bodies arrayed from almost building to building.  He reloaded and fired into the crowd.  A thrasher dropped, a hole torn through his leg.  Devan reloaded and fired again and again.  Sirinese fell one by one but they did not halt nor flee.  Reloaded, fired, reloaded, fired.

Devan trotted down the stairs and pulled the trigger.  Click.  “Shit.”  He reached the garden and plunged a fist into a planter box filled with white rose bushes.  He could feel nothing except for the faint chill of the dirt through his gauntlet.  Devan pulled out his fist and tore off his gauntlet, returning his bare hand to the dirt.

Nothing.

A laugh rattled Devan’s ears.  He turned and Tarius smiled at him.  The Imperator waved at the contingent of thrashers and said, “All is well, my friends.  Continue your fun.  This one isn’t going anywhere.”

The Sirinese dispersed, most returning to the strung up captives, others lounging around the gardens while pages brought out platters of food and jugs of wine.

Devan urged his senses out of his hand but he couldn’t reconnect with the strange power below.  He suppressed a frown and snarled, “Stay back, Tarius.  I’ll destroy you where you stand.”

“I doubt that very much,” Tarius said.  He sat on a stone bench and leaned back.  “You see, these grounds were built on top of the mountain.  The Centarans dug out the cellars first, then laid down the foundations.  Rock, metal, timber and concrete.”  He gestured in the air as he spoke.  “They built it layer by layer until they reached the level of the central avenue – Avenue of Tiers, isn’t it?  They filled in the gardens with some earth and then installed the boxes and planted the trees and grass and pretty flowers.”

“Your point?”

“It’s basic theory of Rhialu, Devan,” Tarius said.  “You must have contact or a route through to both andonite and the element of affinity.  You’re a child of Vaere, like Vantanis.  On the other hand, I was born with Tyn dominant.”  Tarius chuckled and shook his head to himself.  “You know, I thought it was strange that Vantanis would retreat to his cave when he needed to pilot Sirinis.  For concentration, he said – but now I know that it was for privacy.  To hide the need for andonite and earth.

“The layers of crushed rock, timber, metal and concrete is unnatural.  It’s not simple dirt or stone.  It is said that a powerful or skilled Vaerean would be able to navigate through the complexities of even mixed concrete but a Vaerean’s true affinity is with plain stone and earth.  Loam.  It is life.”

“How do you know this?” Devan said.  “What is Vaerean?”

“Just some of the things that your mummified Knight wrote about.  I do wonder how much I should tell you.”

As Tarius spoke, Devan’s hand strayed towards his hilt.  A series of clicks emanated from Tarius’ vambraces and a flame danced around his palm.  “Ah-ah,” Tarius scolded.  “It’s rude to reach for your weapon when we’re being so civil.”

The Imperator stood up and stepped towards Devan’s dropped rifle.  “I used to pine after these weapons for such a long time.”

Jets of flame shot from Tarius’ palm and Devan shielded his face from the waves of heat.  Only a couple seconds passed and the fire died out.  The stone had melted and nothing was left of the rifle except a puddle of slag.

Tarius said, “I have no need for these rifles now.”  He returned to the bench and Devan thought the Imperator seemed hesitant or spasming beneath his armour.  Tarius let out a single cough.

Devan leaped forward, sword out of his sheath with a metallic ring.  Tarius twisted around and pushed into Devan before he could swing.  The Imperator gripped Devan’s sword arm as the other blocked a punch.  Devan strained against Tarius but the old smith possessed strength far greater than Devan.  Tarius’ palm lit up again and Devan snarled against the heat licking at his jaw.  The Sirinese leader pressed forward, his sheer bulk pushing Devan to his knees.

“Stand down or I will take off your head,” Tarius said.  “You’ll end up worse than your rifle.”

Devan glanced at the flames growing in Tarius’ palm.  At the edge of his vision, the remains of his rifle still smoldered.  He dropped his sword.

“Good.”  Tarius kicked the blade away and shoved Devan back.  “Jarrell wished for as few deaths as possible.”

“I did.”  Marshal Jarrell appeared from the shade of the Council Hall.  He still wore the armour of a Centaran Marshal and walked with the aid of a cane.  “Hello, ranger.”

“Traitor.”  Devan spat.

“Careful,” Jarrell said.  “You’re not that important.  But I recommended to Tarius that we should offer mercy to the Centarans.  It would make the ones who stay more compliant, rather than entertaining thoughts of revenge.”

“The ones who stay?”

Jarrell nodded and shared a smile with Tarius.  “Yes.  The rest will be granted clemency.  On Sirinis.”

“Jarrell,” Tarius said, “any reports on the rebels in the boroughs?”

“Yes, Imperator,” Jarrell replied.  “Our attack was successful.  The survivors are being taken to the north as we speak.”

“Good.”  Tarius gestured at Devan.  “Bring this one and cut down the others from the tree.”  He flashed a wide smile.  “Time for farewells.”

Longwings circled above them as the thrashers escorted Alessa and the other prisoners north.  The last time she had seen the land on this side of the city, she had been happy – in the middle of deception but thankful for the clean air, the open space and living flora all around.  She glanced ahead at Devan as he stumbled over a clod of dirt and wished for simpler times.

The Marshal of the Rangers, Romaine, marched at the head of the column but the Sirinese were content to let her lead the way.  There was little chance of escape with the number of guards around them, all familiar faces.  Hermos, who had once shared a cut of dried beef when Alessa hadn’t eaten for two days because Leonus had traded all of his food for virid.  Ramalo had once sparred against Alessa when she was younger and let her win.  Pelio, for all his faults had never been truly unkind to Alessa.  And Leonus, whom Alessa would rather forget despite his gifts.

The Councillors and masters of Centara followed the Marshal – at least, those who had not sworn loyalty to the new Imperator.  Soldiers, rangers and city-guards were next.  Some were wounded and helped along by their comrades.  Alessa saw familiar faces – Marzell and Devan’s brother.  The circumstances that forced them to march with Alessa and her father were preferable to death, she supposed.

Vantanis sighed as they passed the first of the Sirinese tents and campfires of the initial invasion.

“What is it, father?”

“It’s as it has always been, Aly,” Vantanis said.  His hands were covered in layers of cloth and hessian and knee-high boots were on his feet.  Jarrell himself had overseen the peculiar clothing that would make it obvious if Vantanis attempted to pilot Centara; what little good it would do for them now, but Tarius took no chances.  “Though the Sirinese live in the city, their things are discarded along the way.  Garbage that sullies the land.  When the city becomes unliveable, they’ll move into the boroughs and then into the rest of the aerock until everything is consumed.  Like Sirinis.”

Alessa nodded.  Even weeds were rare on Sirinis, growing where rare gaps between the packed shanties allowed.  “Should we have stayed?”

“If Tarius took our oaths, we’d be back where we started.”

“But you said that Sirinis is failing.”

“It is.”

“So,” Alessa said, “we go to our deaths.”

Vantanis did not answer.  He knew, as did Alessa, that the depths of the sky below were unknown.

The terrain lifted towards the plateau that housed the Ledge, the wide concrete slab embedded into the northern edge of the aerock.  Sirinis had lodged itself around the block, into Centara.  The headwind pushed Alessa’s hair back and brought the faint stench of Sirinis.

Ahead, Marshal Romaine halted at the edge of the aerocks and stared at the surface of Sirinis as it rose some ten feet above the ground of Centara.

“There.”  Jarrell pointed to the west where the two aerocks drew level.  “You can cross there.”

Romaine’s gaze rested on Jarrell for a moment but she said nothing, only turned her lidded eyes to the overlapping aerocks.  Alessa trudged along with the other Centarans and her father.

The Marshal ushered the exiled Centarans across to Sirinis.  “Move in,” she called out.  “A hundred paces.”  The soldiers herded their compatriots towards the shanties and disappeared over the lip of aerock.

Alessa reached the crossing.  The lifeless brown of Sirinis crumbled onto the Ledge.  As her father crossed over, Alessa looked back over the verdant lands of Centara.  Romaine touched her elbow.  “Come along, lass.  It’s time.”

Jarrell and the guard of Sirinese advanced, spears and swords out.  Alessa stepped onto Sirinis and spat at them.

“Live as you die,” Jarrell said.  “Admirable.  Where’s your father?”

“I am here,” Vantanis said, stepping next to Alessa.

“You’re to push off, Vantanis.  Unwrap your hands, or feet if you will, and push off.”

Vantanis tore the cloth from his fists with his teeth.  Alessa helped with his other arm as Romaine used a small knife on the string.  The fabric dropped to the ground and Vantanis knelt, planting his bare hands on Sirinis.

The aerock shivered and retreated from Centara.  The sky opened up between the two masses and Alessa stepped back from the edge.  No longer supported by Centara, Sirinis slipped away and began to fall.

Chapter Thirteen

High above, Centara and the allied aerocks vanished behind a wisp of cloud.  Alessa shielded her eyes against the glare and spied a pair of longwings spiralling through the sky.  She couldn’t remember the last time that Sirinis had been home to the great birds.

“Vantanis!”  Devan dashed out of the crowd of Centarans.  “Quick!  You must show me how to do this!”  He stripped off his gauntlets and slapped his palms onto the bare dirt.

The aerock lurched and Alessa stumbled into Romaine.

“No!”  Vantanis barrelled into Devan.

“What is the meaning of this?”  Romaine released Alessa and grabbed Vantanis.  Soldiers and rangers approached – Benton stepped forward and pulled Devan to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Devan said to Vantanis.  “We can go back!  Bring Sirinis around to the south and strike down Tarius.  Destroy those damned bracers of his.”

“No,” Vantanis said.  “That is the last thing we must do.”

“But you have the power.  We both do.”

Vantanis shook his head, a tight smile crossing his lips.  “So, you are Vaerean.”

“That’s the name that Tarius called me.”

“Did he now?  Did he also tell you of the consequence?”

“No.”

“It is why Sirinis is failing,” Vantanis said.  “I did not know it for certain until recently but piloting destroys andonite, depletes it.  To pilot an aerock is to send it to its doom.”

“But some remains in Sirinis, doesn’t it?”

“A little,” Vantanis said.  “We’d otherwise be freefalling rather than sinking.”

Romaine rested a hand on both Devan and Vantanis.  “I think both of you have some explaining to do.”

“I am a pilot,” Vantanis said.

“I remember,” Romaine replied.  “You said so at the Council feast.  When you were a Brother of the Moons, if I recall correctly.”

Vantanis had the grace to wince.  He cast a quick glance at Alessa and she shrugged in return.  “Yes,” Vantanis said, “but we were not lying about the skill of piloting.  It is real.  It is how Sirinis preyed on other aerocks.”

“You mean, you preyed.”

“We all did things in order to survive,” Alessa interjected.  “Not all of us lived on such lush aerocks.”

“Fine,” Romaine said.  “What of Devan?  What does he have to do with Vaere?”

“He is a pilot,” Vantanis said.  “That’s what we’ve always called them.  But after Tarius stole the Starfall Knight’s journal, I found that things are far more extensive that I ever thought possible.”

“You read it?”

“Yes – though not with Tarius’ permission.  He was protective of it.  Rightly so.”

“Why?” Romaine asked.  The Centarans crowded closer, some of the master guildsmen and women pushing through.

“It was not just a journal of the Knight’s life, it was a record of techniques and processes of the power of the four moons of Rhialu.”  Vantanis counted on his fingers.  “Tyn – the red moon.  Fire, vengeance and war.  Vaere – the dark moon of earth, rock and hope.  Dwer – the blue moon of –”

“There is no Dwer,” Benton said.  “It is Aer, the blue moon of life and healing.”

“No,” Vantanis replied.  “It is called Dwer, the blue moon of water, life and healing.”

“What you called Sirinis in your deception,” Romaine said.

“Yes.”

“And the fourth?” Alessa asked.

“Aer,” Vantanis said.  He opened his palms upwards.  “We always referred to the moons in the sky as representatives of the elements that we hold dear, the gods over our lives – earth, fire and air.  But we were wrong.  The blue moon was not representative of air, it was representative of water.  The moon of air, of Aer, is here.  We live on it.”

“We have been wrong all this time?” Benton asked.

Vantanis nodded.  “Yes.”

“Would that Professor Conrick or Amara were here,” Romaine said.  “So our natural studies text books will need updating – how does this help us now?”

“Devan was born when the moons were in alignment, Vaere dominant.”

“How did you know that?” Devan said.

“You must have been,” Vantanis said.  “That is how a Rhialite is made.  He must have also been exposed to raw andonite.”

“Plenty of times,” Devan said.

Romaine crossed her arms.  “But you said yourself that using such power will destroy the andonite that keeps Sirinis from completely falling.”

“True.  But if we both worked together, we might be more powerful in concert.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“No.  I have never met another pilot before.”

“We should take a vote,” Alessa said.

“Not necessary,” Romaine replied.  “If we do not try, we will fall anyway.”  She turned back to Vantanis.  “What do you need?”