Celadonian Tales Vol: 1 Blood and Brass (2 page)

The automaton moved forward until it stood just in front of the log wall. Thorne stood now, pointing at the beams with one hand, "Destroy them!"

His voice was commanding, authoritative. The metal man pulled back one arm, then thrust it forward. A shower of splinters was followed by a thump as the wall toppled to the sand. A gaping hole showed in the wood, where the thing had punched through.

"Automaton, forward!" Thorne ordered. The gleaming automaton obeyed, moving faster now. It approached the stone wall with confidence.

"Destroy it!" Thorne's voice was a whip-crack in the still air. That gleaming arm shot forward once more. A loud CRACK filled the air and dust billowed around the automaton. When it cleared, the wall still stood, but a ragged hole showed the damage caused by the automaton.

"Forward!" Thorne ordered once more. The clockwork man moved past the shattered stone wall to stand before the mock knight in his gleaming armor. Haem wanted to hold out hope for the knight, that glinting symbol of Celadonian power. He had a bad feeling, though. "Destroy it!" Thorne's cried. The automaton did not hesitate, but hit the armor, punching through the breastplate like a finger through stale bread. Sand spilled out the hole hissing as it fell to the arena floor.

Thorne faced Haem, a smile stretching his lips. "Well, Lord Northwarden, I can only hope that my little demonstration has impressed you enough to wax eloquent before good King Rickard."

Haem stared at the gleaming metal monstrosity that stood on the floor of the amphitheater. "A lord in control of such a device would have a definite edge on the field of battle," he ventured.

"Well then, my lord, what would you say to an entire company of my metal men?" Thorne clapped his hands together twice. A low rumble filled the amphitheater, thunder in the distance. Within moments, the entrance doors of the amphitheater swung wide, giving birth to a marching band of bronze men. They marched in time with one another, their footsteps pounding out across the distance.

Haem sat in stunned silence as the automatons stomped into the arena, dust billowing in the wake of their metal feet. He quickly counted and was astonished at the number – the company numbered a full one-hundred. With such a force at Thorne’s command, what was there to stop him from rebelling? Was that Thorne’s intention? Was this demonstration a show of force, rather than an offering to his patron?

Haem's emotions must have showed on his face, for Thorne glanced at him, and quickly clapped his hands, ordering the century of automatons to return from whence they came. Did the man fear revealing too much of his plans? Haem's brow furrowed. Beside him, Suldred sat in stunned silence.

Haem spoke up then. "What makes them go?"

Pride suffused the Thorne's face as he admired his own creations. "The secret is in the runes incised into the body and the properties of the metal itself. Those two elements give it mobility, but give me control over it!"

Thorne turned to his guests. "Well, gentlemen, perhaps it is time to retire? I'm sure you have much to think on. I will see you at dinner tonight – you can give me your thoughts then?" Haem nodded; he did not trust his tongue.

Thorne called on a servant to escort Haem and Suldred to the quarters they had been given. "My lord…that metal monstrosity. It's unnatural!" Suldred exclaimed as soon as the door was closed.

"But think of what a force of such things could accomplish. Nothing could withstand Celadon; the rogues of Blackspire could be routed once and for all," Haem mused.

"Is that the man's intention though, my lord? Forgive me, but I mistrust him something fierce!"

"Aye," Haem agreed. "There’s more here than what it seems, certainly. But what? Something pricks my mind…"

Suldred said nothing, staring moodily out the window. Haem certainly shared the man's sentiment. There was something else here. Haem spent the rest of the afternoon lost in his dark thoughts. It was with some surprise that he answered a knock at the door to find a servant sent to invite them to dinner.

***

Dinner was a basic affair, though Mikael Thorne did not stint in the number of dishes served. What his board lacked in exoticness, it made up for in quantity. He was also a vociferous host. His conversation ranged as wide as the events unfolding in the White Spine Mountains to local matters, but always came back to the city of Celadon and King Rickard.

“The king will want as many automatons as possible,” Thorne said. “I will begin production of another century immediately.”

“That might be premature.” Haem glared across the table. The man’s presumption galled him. “It seems a bit hasty make plans before the king has even heard my report.”

“Phah! With such a force, Rickard could ensure peace throughout the realm. Why would he not leap at the chance?”

“Prudence would dictate waiting, Thorne,” Haem responded quietly.

"What will you tell him? Surely you must have formulated some report by now!"

"I intend to tell him that your creation is of potential benefit.” Haem kept his tone neutral.

“Potential benefit?” Thorne pounded a fist on the table, toppling a goblet of red wine. “Surely you can see the value of such a force? No one could stand against the king with my automatons in his vanguard! I offer him the mightiest armed force since the Empire crumbled to dust, and that’s all you can say?”

Haem narrowed his eyes. “No, that is not all. I intend to address the matters of your impertinence, arrogance and presumption, Mikael Thorne.”

Thorne, about to issue some rebuttal, snapped his mouth shut. His face softened, the angry expression replaced with calm.

“Well, Lord Haem, we cannot have that.”

Haem said nothing.

“Forgive my unseemliness, Lord Northwarden. It is just my own excitement overcoming me. I should not have spoken so.”

Haem stared. Was this even the same man?

Was that all it took to cow the man, Haem wondered? Perhaps Thorne was not a villain, but was simply swept away on the wings of his own accomplishments. He would hardly be the first man to succumb to pride.

“I will think on it, Thorne. I will give you my brief in the morning, before I depart,” Northwarden answered. He rose from the table, Suldred following his lead. “With that, I will bid you good night. Thank you for the hospitality of your board.”

“A good night, then, Lord Haem. My servant will show you back to your rooms.”

“There’s no need; I am confident we can find our way.”

Haem and Suldred left the dining room, following a long corridor that would eventually lead them back to their guest rooms. They emerged from the corridor onto one of the many balconies Brightwatch boasted, the better to view the sea, Haem supposed. The moon was bright, the waters of the Dorthonian Sea glittering in the distance.

“Go ahead, Suldred, I’ll be along in a moment.”

“My lord?” Suldred’s look was puzzled, wary.

“I feel the need to walk, Suldred, the need to think. Thorne may or may not have ulterior motives, but I must decide what I will tell the king. The potential here is staggering, and I cannot afford to allow personal prejudices to color my judgment. The cool night air will do the trick.”

“If you say so, my lord.” Suldred still looked confused. He saluted and walked toward their rooms.

Haem stood still for a moment, hands gripping the balustrade, gazing out across the grounds of Brightwatch Keep as they marched toward the sea.

Haem felt the urge to stroll, and let his feet carry him away from the keep. His thoughts were far away, with his family back in Northwarden, and he did not notice where his path was taking him. He returned from his reverie to find himself at the top of the stairs as they descended into the darkness of the courtyard below.

The moonlight created a stark scene below, sharp-edged shadows and pale illumination. However, a glint of gold from the darkness caught his eye. In a fit of whimsy, Haem continued down the stairs, intent on investigating the glimmer.

He was not sure what he had expected to find, but a row of metal automatons stretching away on either hand was certainly not it. Those silent figures standing motionless in the dimness were unnerving, to say the least. Now might be a good time to take a closer look at them, though. What better opportunity would he get?

Gingerly, Haem reached out one hand, his forefinger tracing a line down the cold brass breastplate, following the whorls and angles of the runes etched deep into the metal. They were strangely beautiful in their silence, these metal men.

He reached up to touch a burnished head when a sudden noise startled him. It came from within the confines of the courtyard. A small clank, as though a bit of metal had been jostled.

Haem pulled away from the automaton he had been studying, overwhelmed by the feeling of being watched. He glanced down the row of metal men, but nothing moved in the courtyard. The sound of his startled breathing was loud in his ears.

Nothing seemed out of place, but Haem was still suspicious. He walked the silent rank of metal figures, eyes attempting to pierce the shadows.

One of the figures caught his eye. The metal man stood in his allotted place, but he was askew – turned a bit to the left.

Leaning forward, Haem studied the automaton. There was a light coating of dust on the thing's arm, and scratches on the hand. Was this the one that had smashed through the stone wall at the demonstration?

Haem reached out to touch the machine, to wipe dust from the thing's face. As his hand drew near, the clockwork man flinched back.

"Please, sir. Please, don't hurt me!" The automaton's voice was high pitched, like a girl or a young boy. Haem's eyes widened and he jerked back.

"Who are you?"

"I am no one. I am lost," the small voice came again. "I… I had a name, once. But it's lost now."

A dim red glow from the breastplate distracted Haem's attention. There, four glowing red lines described a rectangle in the metal. On a hunch, he pressed a spot near the bottom of the section, where the runes were curiously absent. He was rewarded with the soft snick of a catch releasing.

Red light spilled from the automaton’s chest, pouring over Haem's face. He stared in wonder. There, inside the metal chest, floated a glowing red jewel the size of a large fist.

"What is that?"

"My heart."

Unable to restrain himself, Haem reached his hand forward, forefinger extended. As soon as he touched the smooth, glassy surface of the stone, red lightning arced, knocking him backward. The automaton went still and silent, the glow of the heart stone fading to darkness.

Haem wondered if he’d broken the clockwork man. He stood before the thing for another moment before gently closing the chest cavity. He turned on his heel, prepared to demand an explanation from Thorne.

"My name is Aelfgar."

Haem . The automaton was awake once more. It stared at him, head cocked to one side.

"What do you mean?"

"My name, sir. I'm Aelfgar. I remember you from earlier, at the arena. I woke up and saw you sitting with the bad man. There was dust everywhere, and my bones were echoing."

"Bones? You have no bones. You're a construct – a bronze man powered by magic."

"No," the automaton shook its head emphatically. "I'm a boy – I remember when the slavers took me and threw me in their boat. They stank of fish and ale." The voice wavered. "I wonder what mother is doing now. It must be harvest time… Do you think she misses me?" With that, the voice broke and great metallic sobs came from the thing.

Awkwardly, Haem put his arm around the monstrosity's shoulders. "Now, now. It's alright, Aelfgar."

The creature's sobs slowed and finally stopped.

"Who did this to you Aelfgar?"

"The man, the bad man that lives here." The metal head refused to turn toward the keep proper; Aelfgar stared hard at the stone floor of the courtyard.

"You mean Mikael Thorne, the alchemist?"

"It must be, sir. The reaver called him 'alchemist' down at the docks."

Anger surged within Haem.

"Come with me, Aelfgar."

"Where are we going, sir?"

"To find the truth."

***

Thorne was in his study, surrounded by implements of his craft. Beakers, glass pipes, copper and brass gears – the room was a jumble of arcane bric-a-brac and strange technology. Thorne looked annoyed when Haem barged through the door, but that look changed when Aelfgar entered behind him, metal shoulders just clearing the doorframe.

"What is the meaning of this?" Thorne demanded, face white.

"You dare demand answers of me?" Haem was furious now, but that fury was cold.

Aelfgar stepped forward, shouldering past Haem. "Please," he said, the small voice echoing across the room. "Please, I… I want to go home now."

Thorne looked alarmed. He raised one hand, palm out. "Now, let's talk about this. They were nobodies – the children of serfs!" He ignored Aelfgar, speaking directly to Haem.

Haem opened his mouth to issue a stinging retort, but Thorne's hand flashed, fingertips pointed at Aelfgar. A harsh, guttural word tore from his throat, and a blast of light caromed into Aelfgar's metal body, only to rebound toward the other side of the room. A bookcase and its contents burst into flame.

Haem had left his sword in his room; was there a weapon nearby? A glance showed him nothing.

Aelfgar launched himself toward Thorne. He was almost upon the alchemist when Thorne spat a string of unintelligible words. A protective ring of fire sprang into existence around the man and Aelfgar stopped at its edge. Haem could hear the alchemist's high-pitched laughter.

Aelfgar looked from Haem to the flames, and came to a decision. Without hesitating any longer, he strode into the conflagration. Thorne shrieked in fear.

"Aelfgar, wait! He's dangerous!" There was no answer to Haem's cry. He edged closer to the flames, feeling the hair on his arms singe off, and his eyebrows begin to curl.

The wall of flame guttered, but did not go out. Through the flames, Haem could see both Aelfgar and Thorne. Aelfgar had the alchemist by the throat in one golden hand, holding him above the floor. Thorne's feet kicked for purchase, and his face was purpling. Aelfgar's right arm was drawn back, ready to deliver the killing blow.