The Starfall Knight (7 page)

“Most of them had tattoos similar to the drawings you saw in the journal.  Simplified, of course.  I remember seeing our father and mother getting cut down by a huge thug with an old, copper mace.  That one had a tattoo of a snake down both of his arms.  As we killed more of them, we noticed other tattoos.  Vines with stylised leaves, ink-filled for the most part.  Skulls and skeleton motifs.  Other animals too.”

“Moons above,” Devan murmured.  His throat constricted with old memories of his parents lost in the raid.  A pool of cold bloomed in his chest, threatening to push tears from his eyes.  “It was my fault.”

Benton’s strong hands gripped Devan’s forearms.  “No more of that, Dev.  No more.  There were five other look-outs on duty that morning.  You will not blame yourself – do you understand?”

Devan nodded as his eyes watered.  “Yes.”

“This aerock, this Sirinis – what happened?” Rika asked.  She wrapped an arm around Devan’s shoulders as he took deep, calming breaths.

“Running battles for the next two days,” Benton said.  “We eventually cut through to the grapples.  They had also connected an andonite pipe, stealing from Verovel.  Afterwards, we realised that they had simply raided us for food, water and prisoners.  Killing was just their idea of fun.”

“And Verovel’s andonite failed because of their pipe?”

“Yes,” Benton said.  “When we encountered Centara, we had little choice in joining the alliance.  Thank the moons that it has turned out for the best.”

“Jarrell, Marshal of Arms, is from Verovel as well, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Devan and Benton replied at the same time.  Benton added, “He was part of the Verovel militia.”

Rika hugged Devan and reached out to Benton’s hands.  “I’m so sorry about your parents.  I didn’t mean to bring up those old wounds.”

“It’s all right,” Devan said.  He wiped away tears.  “It’s in the past.”

Rika stood up and tended to the kettle as it began to rattle with boiling water.  “Could it simply be coincidence?” she asked.  “I mean, animals and skeletons – they’re common things.”

“Perhaps so,” Devan said.  “But not all together like that.  Not in the style that the journal had.”

“The Starfall Knight,” Benton said, “is Sirinese.”

Chapter Five

Tayu waved at Devan and Rika as the pair emerged into the amphitheatre’s main aisle that cut through the terraced rows to the stage below.  Devan led Rika through the press of citizens finding seats for the public examination of the knight.  Tayu had managed to save a section near the bottom, closest to the stage – normally used for public lectures and theatre, the amphitheatre often filled to capacity.

Devan and Rika joined Tayu at their simple seating – little more than wooden benches set on the foot-rests of the preceding row.  On the stage, a bedsheet covered a metal table on wheels while a group of university faculty members conversed with councillors and masters, including Romaine, Jarrell and others whom Devan recognised as the heads of various crafts and guilds. 

The group of leaders sat on the front row while Professor Orval stepped onto the stage.  The elderly man wore black robes of a university professor, the smooth cloth swishing with every step.

“Welcome, one and all!” Orval called out.  The crowd fell into a hush.  “My name is Orval.  I am professor of anatomy and health at the university and also Master of Physickers in our fine city.”

Devan joined the polite applause.

“Today, we will be examining the body known as the Starfall Knight.  I will be assisted by my team of physickers as well as Professor Amara of the university’s natural studies department and Professor Conrick of the history department.”  He gestured to a group of white-apronned physickers who hopped onto the stage with leather tool-bags.  “Let us begin!”

Devan leaned forward as the physickers unpacked their surgery implements and gear – scalpels and saws, tweezers and clamps, hand-drills and needles.  A couple of the assistants removed the sheet from the table, revealing the knight and his armour.  A gasp shot through the crowd and the inevitable murmurs began.

“One can see that the body is encased in a metallic armour, likely iron,” Conrick said as Orval and his physickers prepared their gloves and aprons.  “The armour is reminscient of plate but rust and corrosion has rendered many details non-existent.  Several pieces of the armour contain latches and serve as small compartments.  We hypothesise that these compartments were filled with some sort of materials in battle, thereby absorbing the force of strikes against the knight.”

“We shall now remove the armour from the knight,” Orval said.

The physickers gently raised the knight’s head and slid off the visored helm.  A titter ran through the crowd as the withered head appeared.  Wisps of white hair fluttered in the breeze.  The grey, mottled skin appeared dry with the lips peeled back from blackened gums and cracked ivory teeth.  Eyeless sockets stared at the clear sky.  The nose had rotted away, exposing the two gaping sinus cavities of the skull.

“As we can see,” Orval said, “the body is somewhat decomposed but has been mummified through an unknown process.”

The assistants unbuckled the breast-plate and pauldrons.  Decayed cloth half-stuck to the knight’s body, with shreds adhering to the underside of the armour.

“This is to be expected,” Amara said to the audience.  “Cloth decays much faster than metal.  It appears to be the underpadding, which prevents chafing and injuries when donning metal armour.”  Professor Amara peered at the body as the assistants moved the torso armour out of the way.  “There’s another strip of cloth around the knight’s chest.”  Amara chuckled to herself.

“What is it, Amara?” Conrick asked.

“I believe our colleague has made a deduction in the identity of the knight,” Orval said.

Amara nodded.  “That extra strip around the chest.  It’s a bra.”

“The knight is a woman?”  Conrick’s voice lilted unexpectedly.

“It would seem so,” Orval said.

Conrick cleared his throat.  “It’s not unknown for women to engage in combat roles, as our own city knows, but historically it is rare.”

An assistant peeled back the armour padding, revealing more mottled skin.  The underlay stuck against the knight’s stomach and another assistant held down the torso.  The knight’s body deflated and blue fog shot out of her mouth.

Tayu jumped to his feet.  “Andon gas!  Clear out!”

Training kicked in and Devan sprawled onto the brickwork of the amphitheatre, pulling his shirt over his head, covering his mouth and nose.  Judging by the thumps, Rika and Tayu had followed suit.  Between the audience members scurrying for the exits, the professors stumbled away from the body, gagging and spluttering.  Only a fistful of gaseous andonite had escaped from the knight and it plumed into an azure cloud that soon filled the stage and first couple rows.  The distinctive sharp odour of andonite filled Devan’s nostrils and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Boots and shoes drummed against the structure of the amphitheatre, drilling into Devan’s jaw and cheek as he huddled with his friends.  Tayu had taught them what to do in an andonite emergency – while exposure to the gaseous form of the mineral was uncommon, even amongst the miners, the effects were not to be dismissed as they included nausea to the point of death by dehydration.  Most citizens did not know that gaseous andonite tended upwards.  With the exits at the top of the terraced seating, the safest place in the amphitheatre was right next to the source of the gas.

A finger tapped Devan’s shoulder and he twisted around.

“It’s cleared,” Tayu said.

“Are you sure?”

“Near the stage, at least,” Tayu replied.  “You can stay here if you like.  Rika and I are checking out the knight since most everyone has left.”

Devan removed the cloth from his face, sniffed the air and spluttered as he caught a whiff of the sharp tang of andonite.  He coughed, almost heaved.

“Easy.”  Tayu patted Devan’s shoulder.  “There’s still some floating around.  Shallow breaths.”

Devan nodded and placed his shirt over his nose and mouth again.  Rika and Tayu hopped onto the stage, Devan trailing behind.

“Take a look at that!”  Tayu picked up a scalpel and prodded the knight’s shoulder with the handle.

“Don’t do that,” Rika said.

“She’s dead.”

“You might ruin it for the professors.”

Tayu sighed.  “All right.”  He returned the scalpel to the tray of instruments.  “What do you think, Dev?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Devan replied.  He picked up the breastplate, tracing the worn edges of the armour and the compartments that mirrored the ones in the pauldrons.

“Rika mentioned the journal,” Tayu said.  “That you and Benton recognised it.”

“Sirinese markings,” Devan said.

“Aye.  I didn’t want to say.”  Tayu rested his hands against the edge of the examination table.  “Didn’t want to raise bad memories for you.”

“Thanks, Tayu.  It’s been over ten years.  It’s all right.”  Devan pressed against a latch and a compartment on the breastplate snapped open, a rusty odour escaping.

“They say it was filled with material for extra protection,” Tayu said.  “Perhaps some kind of malleable metal to absorb impacts.  It’d be heavy though.  Maybe that’s what training is for.”

“I suppose so,” Devan said.  Ranger physical training concentrated on endurance and marching and Devan didn’t think the military would be much different.  Even empty, however, the breastplate weighed a good couple of stones.

“You have doubts?” a new voice asked.

Devan started.  Professor Orval approached the table.  Behind him, Romaine and Jarrell meandered between the ill team of physickers, professors and Councillors, offering water.  A young physicker turned to one side and vomited a mess of half-digested bread, cheese and milk.

“A nasty business, this andonite gas.”

“You don’t seem bothered by it,” Devan said.

“My first physicker residency was in the andonite mines,” Orval said.  “Second east quadrant, as it was known back then.”

“Merchantry tunnels, now,” Tayu said.

“Ah, yes.  The new nonclemature.”  Orval gestured to the armour.  “Ranger Devan, you don’t think this was filled with metal?”

“I’m not saying so either way,” Devan said.  He placed the breastplate on the stage, resting it against the leg of the examination table.  “Moons above, I’m not the strongest of men.  A pikeman in such heavy armour would certainly be a force to acknowledge.”

“Not hard to imagine,” Orval said.  “I’m no historian – and the closest one is currently regurgitating his breakfast – but I couldn’t imagine that such a soldier would be viable.  Even for a large aerock such as ours, the resources and training required would be exorbitant.”

“What if it were from a war-faring aerock?” Devan asked.

“I’ve never seen such a one.”  Orval shook his head.  “Even if an aerock like that existed, it would not last long.  People naturally tend towards community and social responsibility.  We’re not meant to kill each other.”

“Elina!  I’ll kill you, bitch!”  Alessa slipped in a patch of refuse and slid to her knees.  Wet slop covered her legs and her hands.  She grabbed a rickety fence-post and set off again.

Ahead, Elina cut through a narrow gap between two shacks.  Alessa swore to herself.  She had missed too many opportunities to get rid of Elina after supplanting her as Leonus’ favourite but Alessa had always prided herself in being different to the rest of the Sirinese.  As she puffed, pumping her legs in a race she had always dreaded, Alessa fought down her own confusion – she bought her protection with Leonus and that made her more alike to the rest of the Sirinese than she would admit aloud.

No, she thought, I’m nothing like them.  But she could not let Elina escape.

A gale shot a loose branch into Alessa’s face.  She yelped as the wood snapped past her cheek and continued down the trail.  The wind howled.  Alessa rubbed her face – not a lasting injury – and took shelter in a rough lean-to.  A noisome heap of clothes rolled over and grunted, revealing a hairy old man.

“Wharryou?”

“Hush, old man,” Alessa said.  “We’ve hit a storm.”

“Bah.  I broken worse wind’n this.”

Alessa grunted and the man rolled back over, pulling his patchy blanket over his head.  With the next gust of wind, sleet pelted down and the mushy ground turned to brown swamp.  Alessa’s fellow Sirinese fled to the safety of shelter while the strong-arms and thrashers were last to retreat under the onslaught.

The sleet drummed on the roof of the shacks and water slowly seeped along the ground, dampening the old man’s crusty boots.  He would soon be flooded out of the lean-to.  Alessa sighed, knowing that she would need to leave sooner.  With every passing second, Elina edged further away.  There was only one place she would go.

Lightning cracked through the grey clouds overhead, the resultant thunder rippling in every direction.  Alessa stepped out of the shelter and water soaked her clothes.  With careful steps in the ankle-deep mud, she continued on her way to Tarius’ smithy.

A hood closed over Alessa’s head and an arm like corded steel clamped down on her neck.  The faint pin-pricks of light filtering through the hessian bag faded from view.

Alessa woke with a start.  Before she could rise from the wooden chair, a notched cutlass met her neck.

“Stay.”

She obeyed the male voice.  Several figures lounged at the edge of the room – no, a cavern.  A single lamp shone at her feet.  Alessa realised that no rope held her and apart from a sore neck, she had no other injuries.

“We mean no harm.  Quite the opposite.”

“Who are you?”

“I speak for Nasius.”

“And I for Dene,” said a younger female voice.

Alessa peered at the figures.  If she knew anything about Sirinese factions, Nasius still led the Ceres as did Dene for the Serpens.  Rumour held that the Serpens occupied much of the depleted mines of Sirinis.

“What do you want?” Alessa asked.

“Tarius’ time has come to an end,” the woman said.  “But for as long as he controls the food and the weapons, no one can challenge him.”