Dangerous Games (18 page)

Since he’d skidded coming up, Sunbright pulled off his boots, tied the laces together, and slung them around his neck to descend the cracked slope. Noise of a slip would bring the guards running. Farther on, before a five way intersection called Blackwater Bog, Knucklebones bade him urinate on the passage floor. She then stepped in it barefoot and padded up a tunnel leading away from the stronghold. Sunbright waited, and moments later she returned, having washed her feet in a puddle. Now she crab walked half up the sloping tunnel wall, grabbing at cracks for support. Signaling he should crouch, Knucklebones squatted and vaulted across the intersection, into his arms. Catching her by torso and thighs, he found parts very soft indeed. But she immediately pushed away and tripped down the tunnel for home.

Farther on, she paused to listen and think, muttering, “This is very bad. Sniffers are one thing; they breed fast and cost nothing, but some top-notch mage worked hard to bring that golem to life. I’ve seen them used as pickets by doors, to slam axes on thieves, but I’ve never seen one act on its own, even with a possum thinking for it. The guards want us badly. We may have to abandon the homestead.”

Her whispered tones laid the blame squarely on Sunbright, but he refused to take the bait and protest. He only waited until she shrugged and said, “Can’t be helped. Let’s lay an ambush.”

She skittered off down the tunnel—and blundered into another crab-clawed golem.

The thing immediately whirled on Knucklebones, stone legs churning, claws clicking. The thief piped in surprise, but recovered instantly. Doing the last thing it would expect, she leapt in the air above the claws and landed nimbly on its broad back, strong toes latching on.

Sunbright saw two claws snap for him. Reminded they were stone, he flipped Harvester and slashed with the back of the blade, for a cubit-long edge below the hook was unsharpened and double thick for strength. He couldn’t swing outright, for he was stooped in the tunnel, but the tempered steel clipped off one clawed arm at the joint like a lobster’s leg. The other claw was batted down, and when the golem snapped again, he swiped sideways and broke that off too.

“Brace yourself!” he rasped, and squatted so he could swing overhead. The next leg in line was anchored to the ground, so his blow wasn’t diminished, and it broke off clean. The golem lurched wildly on one corner leg.

Knucklebones, in the meantime, had struck at the beast’s brain. Reaching along the monster’s stone head, she slid her long, thin knife into the eye of the elven mask. The trapped possum shrilled and died, then the shell of stone flopped on its side. The stone legs stopped twitching. Blood oozing from the black eyehole made Sunbright turn away.

“Not so tough,” panted Knucklebones. She hopped over the thing’s back, staying clear of the severed claws lest they snap shut.

“Why shaped like an elf?” he asked. Sunbright’s curiosity extended to all things. “Why not a spider or a—”

“Who knows? Tradition? Some old story? Probably the necromancer’s recipe showed an elf on the page. Now, what to do?”

The carcass needed disposal, since it was a clear sign they’d been here. Knucklebones rubbed her nose.

“See if you can heft it,” she said, “If so, we’ll pitch it down the mile hole.”

“Mile hole?”

Sheathing Harvester, Sunbright bent, and hoisted the thing on his back. It was heavy, a couple hundred pounds, but he could walk hunched over if he was careful.

Knucklebones swabbed up a trickle of the possum’s blood from the cave floor, even bent to lick up the last traces, then scuffed the spot with her foot. Sunbright marveled at her diligence, the incredible lengths she took to protect the trail to her homestead.

“The drop through the sky,” she whispered.

Sunbright recalled the ancient, inverted bear cave, and his first real glimpse of the earth, where he truly belonged.

Knucklebones mused in a whisper. “Worse news yet. Two golems to hunt us? We’ve never been this great a nuisance before …” She turned to glance at Sunbright.

Staggering under his burden and irritated by the thinly veiled accusation, he snapped, “What?”

She padded on, more alert since being surprised.

“Our lives were quiet and orderly until you came along.”

“And shaky,” Sunbright growled. “But you’ve guessed my secret. Shar Nightsinger, goddess of perverse winds and ill luck and petty revenge, bid me make your life a seething hell.”

Did she chuckle, or did he just imagine it? “In that case, I’ll burn a beggar in her honor. What—”

With a gasp, she put down her head and ran. Sunbright heard nothing, for his ears were less sharp than a part-elf’s, but her urgency made him drop the golem carcass and pelt after her.

The iron door to the homestead lay flat on the tunnel floor. From within came shrieks and shouts and curses. Knucklebones sailed over the door, and Sunbright stomped on it to follow.

Inside the rookery, half a dozen spider golems harried Knucklebones’ thieves while city guards killed with glowing clubs.

Candlemas included, every mage and apprentice had to drop their experiments and turn to a new task: the exploration of super heavy magic. Yet, as many expected, exactly what was required was unclear. Projects were thrown into motion while Karsus ran from one to another, hollering orders, then dashing off in mid sentence only to return moments later with countermands. The only consistency was his ranting about “war machines.”

Soldiers arrived with sledges stacked high with bizarre tools of mass destruction. These contraptions had lain dormant in warehouses, or under barracks, and a few were dragged from caves under Karsus’s own mansions. Why Karsus wanted to resurrect war machines when there was no immediate threat to the empire was not explained.

Candlemas was present at the first official test of a modified war machine, and it frightened him.

A ballista, a giant crossbow shooting spears twice as tall as a man, had been hauled by soldiers and oxen onto an outside balcony. Normally its great arrows were just sharpened logs. But Karsus had coppersmiths and armorers fashion an arrowhead of copper sheets that measured three feet across. And was hollow. The mad mage himself oversaw the fitting of the great arrowhead to the log and, from a dozen blueware crocks, poured into the hollow point a startling quantity of super heavy magic tinged a fiery red. He explained that, previously, heavy magic would dissipate if catapulted through the air, but this heavier stuff should cling together. Hammering down the lid, Karsus daubed a brush and, chanting and giggling, painted an elaborate rune on the red-gold metal. Karsus then ordered the ancient sergeant manning the ballista to aim for Emperor’s Park, which from this balcony was just visible past tiered houses and trees. Stone-faced, the grizzled veteran tolled off orders and a warning to stand clear. An axe fell, and the restraining rope parted.

With a BRONG and WHOOSH! the giant arrow split the sky, rocketing across the heights. Its tail chased its head until it began to spin end over end. It disappeared behind the trees and—

Everyone grunted as a massive explosion rent the air and made the balcony tremble. A geyser of dirt, grass, and rocks cascaded upward in a fan, then rattled back down. Candlemas thought he saw a body, arms and legs flailing, among the debris, but wasn’t sure.

Laughing, Karsus took center stage. “See? It works! I can increase the power of exploding runes a thousandfold, blow a huge crater where my enemies are hiding, then another and another until they’re flinders! Oh, and think! There’s more! Invisible arrows that couldn’t be shielded. We could create tornadoes—that would fix ‘em! Once they’re spinning, shift heavy magic into them and increase their power, until they can split a mountain! Or better, power sinks to draw off my foes’ magic and turn it against them. Yes, we must work on that—”

Karsus and his usual hangers-on—toadies all—sailed back into the workshops. Soldiers wrapped the slack ropes of the ballista and departed. Candlemas went in the opposite direction from Karsus.

Yet war madness was catching. Mages talked openly about punishing “Karsus’s enemies,” though no one had a clue who these enemies were. Everyone plotted new methods of destruction, egging each other on to greater hopes for devastation. Bubbleheads argued that improved war machines would dishearten the enemy, causing rivals to capitulate without a fight, so the empire might stretch her borders and grow even greater. Yet at the same time, they acknowledged that pockets in the north were exhausted of magic, thinned so badly that floating cities couldn’t drift near for fear of plummeting. To the former steward of the former Castle Delia, it seemed folly to plan more magic mischief when their own city’s existence was precarious already. But like children, Karsus’s cronies were addicted to their dangerous games and couldn’t quit. Until someone, or all of them, were hurt or killed.

Later that day, even working alone, Candlemas was almost killed by someone else’s stupidity.

He was working down the hall from the star chamber. No one wanted to work in that cursed space lest corrupted magic queer their experiments. Candlemas puttered. He hoped to fashion a magictight compartment of star-metal to contain super heavy magic. At least that way, they could safely store the stuff and keep fools from tampering with it.

A scream rang out and Candlemas ran. A brilliant flare lit the hallway, pouring from the door of one workshop, and Candlemas squinted at a fierce blaze consuming the floor.

One mage had been burned to death, shriveled to charred meat. Another crawled aimlessly, shrieking as his robe flared out of control. Candlemas ran back to his workshop and grabbed a thick rug. Others had gathered in the hall to gape, and he bulled them aside to wrap the rug around the burning man and snuff the flames.

The rug immediately caught fire. Shocked, Candlemas ripped it loose and hurled it away, but his sleeve ignited. While others stared stupidly, Candlemas tore his sleeve free by main strength. Singed skin made him gasp.

The burning mage had died. The stink of charring wood and scorched flesh, and his own brush with disaster made Candlemas queasy. He blundered out the door. At least, he soothed himself, the fire had dropped through the table to the stone floor, and would now extinguish.

But someone shouted, pointing, “There goes the stone!”

Candlemas gaped. The fire was burning through the flagstones. And still going. Creeping mages jostled to peer into the hole and the fools burned their feet on molten stone. Craning, Candlemas saw the fire burning on the next floor down. Later he learned it had just kept going, until it burned through the cellars to create a pit where it cooked for three days before sputtering out. Reconstructing the experiment, Candlemas and others learned that the two dead mages had infused a flaming sphere with super heavy magic, creating an unquenchable fire. They’d bragged beforehand that Karsus would be pleased, and reward them for their discovery. Karsus was indeed delighted with the news, but never asked the names of the dead.

Candlemas wondered if he weren’t the only sane mage in the castle. Or if, by remaining, his own sanity was in question. …

Sunbright had the fight of his life, and mostly in the dark. He only prayed he was shearing enemies and not friends.

It was a question of which was more dangerous, the sniffer-driven golems or the raging guards. The possums had the instincts of animals, which was to flee a battle if possible. But they were trapped in the rookery and panicked. Their scrabbling, tearing claws were like threshing knives amidst wheat. Sunbright saw a nest of bedding shredded to rags and kicked against a wall. He hoped no one was in it. It was almost impossible to see with only one light, “Knucklebones’s night-light,” a mere stripe on the rock wall. The guards brought their own light, enchanted batons that glowed in the dark. Sunbright judged that a foolish tactic, for he had only to chop six inches below the glowing wand to lop off a hand—when he guessed correctly which end to strike at. Still, the guards’ other hands clutched short swords, and soon they tossed the wands away.

Rampaging guards attacked sleepers in niches while Sunbright dodged blows from all around. Twice he tripped and tumbled over a black golem. He’d shorn one man’s hand, leaving, he guessed, five guards still fighting.

And somewhere were Knucklebones’s gang. He heard a chain clink and ching, knew Rolon swung the weighted end, and for once a guard shouted. Oddly, the most competent person was Ox, who, blind, knew the rookery better than anyone. He’d batted a guard with his staff, hoicked the man off his feet, and probably burst his guts, but Ox blundered into a golem that clamped his ankles and tangled his feet. Another guard’s baton thudded onto the blind giant’s skull. Whether or not he was stabbed to death after that Sunbright didn’t know.

Occasionally he glimpsed Knucklebones, bounding like an alley cat, stabbing and twisting with her black, elven blade. But he heard too a shriek and burble, and guessed some woman’s lungs had been pierced.

They had to finish this dustup quickly, for more guards might spill through the door at any time. Currently he stood between two guards who took turns jabbing at him from the dark. He flung his sword to his right, but had to whip it back quickly to guard his left. And he was stuck. He’d blundered into a hole and tangled his feet in wicker food baskets. Trying to jump free only banged his knees. He wasn’t even sure if the guards were stuck in the same hole, or crouched alongside it. He considered drawing Dorlas’s hammer and flinging it, then crawling over a guard if he toppled. But how would he know?

He felt a kiss alongside his ear, the cold breath of steel and a near miss, and let go Harvester’s pommel to grab. His hand closed on a sleeve and he jerked the man off his feet and hurled him into his partner. Sunbright was rewarded by double grunts, but when he stabbed in that direction, he struck nothing. Cursing, he slapped his palms flat and kicked to jump free of the hole. His boot touched another foot. Groping, he clunked a wagging helmet, realized what it meant, then slammed the heel of his hand under the helmet to keep the guard flat. Guessing, he used his free hand to ram Harvester into a solid body. Whether he killed another guard underneath, or that man was gone, he couldn’t tell.