The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3) (15 page)

One fluted spout ran jet black with debris as the large chunks of stone and wood it devoured were shredded in its belly and torn into shrapnel. Occasionally, large lengths of wall and unidentifiable structures were thrown clear; returned to the grip of gravity and falling upon the city, spawning pandemonium underneath.

As the Farstride closed upon the defensive walls, the roar of the twisters was beginning to be heard.

‘Leopold, can you see it?’ the magician Samuel said beside him, his voice filled with awe. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘It’s hideous,’ Leopold replied.

‘But you are only looking with your eyes,’ the magician said, not taking his gaze from the scene. ‘To me, such power is breathtaking. Such carnage is the music of existence. I see the birth of the universe playing out before me.’ He looked lost in his thoughts, then blinked and looked to those beside him as if returning to his senses. ‘Now. Let me see how much she appreciates the gift I have returned to her. Watch! There is more.’

The tendrils receded, climbing and coiling back into the cloud. Leopold thought the worst was over, but the onslaught was not finished. A single boom sounded from above, as if some mountainous cogs had thundered into play, and the centre of the cloud descended, twisting like a giant corkscrew made of tarnished cotton, the puckering foot of a great sky bound limpet reaching down to latch upon the earth.

From this far away, the settling pillar of grey was turning, laboriously slow, but the size was deceiving. It was one mighty weapon of air, and it fell upon the city, fitting neatly inside the perimeter of the walls and grinding down, mashing buildings to rubble. Clouds of dust and destruction billowed. Beyond that, everything was a mystery.

It lasted a few minutes, then another great clatter sounded from the heavens and the cloud lost its intensity. The grey column fell into the city, a curtain of rain snipped from above.

‘Ah,’ Samuel said. ‘It took her some time, but she finally figured out the best way to end this nonsense.’

Without the storm cell at its work, the scene had fallen uncomfortably quiet. Only the wind and the sounds of the ship in the water now carried in the air. Men hesitated to speak, awestruck with the destruction they had witnessed.

As the gloom above the city cleared, Leopold was surprised to see that the palace and its towers remained standing. Plumes of smoke rose from everywhere within the walls of Cintar, snaking into the agitated air.

No ships were left to face them as they closed upon the missing docks, and the fleet readied their longboats and other landing craft to take the army to shore. Soldiers packed the deck shoulder to shoulder in wait; primed for battle, silent, anticipant. Some of them had casks of red and black strapped tightly upon their backs, looking understandably more nervous than the others.

The command was given and the craft were hastily lowered. Soldiers swarmed over the sides, descending the netting and packing into the boats. When each was filled, they started off in droves, navigating the sea of bodies and broken wood to get ashore.

Above, the thunderhead now departed, wandering down the coast as it collapsed into a string of thinning rain clouds.

‘Will you take down the wall?’ Leopold asked of the magician, but the man shook his head, still distracted by things unseen.

‘I have other things to deal with. Captain Orrell,’ Lord Samuel said and the wily captain awaited further address. ‘Breach the port gate, but save as many barrels of black powder as you can for the High Tower.’

‘Samuel, but why?’ the man said, perplexed. ‘This is not what we discussed. You said to save what remained for General Ruardin.’

‘I have not changed my mind. Just do as I say. If you want your victory, the tower must fall.’

‘How are we to make it all the way into the palace?’ the captain said in protest.

‘You will have to make do as best you can. I will be busy, but I will lend my aid if I can.’

‘But can we not parley with General Ruardin?’ Riggadardian asked expectantly. ‘You’ve said he has become a monster, but I cannot believe he could have changed so much. I’ve known him my whole life, and there was never a more steadfast Turian alive. He would die before giving an inch to that traitorous witch that now commands him.’

‘His loyalty was his downfall, Commander,’ Samuel replied. ‘Rei trapped the good general with his own dedication to the Empire. Believe me, you would not recognise the man. What you knew of the good general is lost, buried within a hardened shell of regret and denial.’

The commander nodded thoughtfully, relaying instructions to his subordinates—always within arm’s length in case they were needed.

‘Commander,’ the magician then called, summoning Riggadardian to his side. ‘I cannot take young Leopold with me, but it is most important that he be guarded closely. I feel the witch nearby, but I am not sure where. She clouds her presence, and it worries me. I am hesitant to leave him, but I must face her alone.’

‘Of course,’ Riggadardian replied. ‘You men, take him below. Guard him with your lives. Daneel, do what you must.’

‘Yes, Commander!’ the nearby soldiers replied in chorus and Daneel nodded solemnly.

Leopold was herded back to his room as the battle looked set to begin. He had no choice and followed the men glumly. Daneel trailed behind, his hand firmly on the blade handle at his hip. His eye was busy searching every man they passed, looking for anything out of place.

****

Salu was sitting on his bed, looking at his bare toes and idly tapping the floor with his stick. Toby had pushed a chair beneath one of the windows and was squeezing his head out to see the view. He made erratic noises of excitement and whooped, but Leopold had no idea over what—another gull perhaps; possibly even a tern.

Leopold wandered the room impatiently and aimlessly picked up his father’s sword, reaffixing its scabbard to his belt. He strode up and down a few times, discontent with how it slapped his thigh, adjusting it accordingly. Riggadardian had also left him a short dagger in a leather pouch, which he attached beside the larger blade.

He had tried sticking his head out the window to see what was happening, but could see nothing of interest from this vantage point.

Riggadardian’s men waited in the doorway behind him, more huddled in the hall. They were protecting him with enthusiasm, as if standing in that passageway was of supreme importance, and they looked at him expectantly any time he glanced their way. He wanted them to go away. He had told them numerous times already. It was pointless. With a sigh, Leopold resigned himself to the fact he would spend the duration of the battle in his cabin, idling away the time.

Some resounding booms issued from far away and Leopold wondered if it was the magician at work or if it was the sound of the black powder in use. He was standing at the window once more, when he realised Salu was at his side, pressed up against him. The man had moved quickly and quietly, Leopold not even noticing him in transit.

Before Leopold could speak, Salu raised one hand and latched onto his shoulder tightly, crushing the joint. He kept his other hand firmly on his stick, bent over as he was, but the weight on Leopold’s shoulder was crippling.

‘Ow!’ Leopold complained and he was about to twist out of the old man’s grip when Salu said something that made him listen.

‘Hold still, boy!’ the old man hissed. ‘She comes!’

‘What was that?’ Leopold asked, for he was not sure if he heard correctly. What madness was the old man spouting?

Salu cocked his head slightly to one side, eyes still shut, listening intently. ‘She comes for you, son of Thann. You have fallen into her trap.’

‘What do you mean?’ he said, for they were the first real words he had heard the old man utter since leaving his island, but still, it sounded like nonsense.

Salu straightened his back and lifted his chin, and he opened his eyes wide, revealing pale, colourless pupils. He was keen and alert, and he flicked his attention left and right, cautiously scanning the room.

Recognition crept over his face, but before Leopold saw what had caught his attention, a snarl erupted from the old man’s throat. He threw Leopold down upon his cot, making the newfound Emperor cry out with surprise. At the same time, Salu struck out with the stick in his hand with surprising speed, followed by a blinding flash of light.

When Leopold’s vision cleared, he found Salu standing to his full height, holding his stick by his hip, as if it were a sheathed sword, his feet set apart in stout readiness. He was again scouring the air with his gaze, feverishly trying to locate something hidden within the room, yet now he laboured with his efforts.

A splatter of red near the door caught Leopold’s attention and he was horrified to see the guards lying dead in the doorway, blood splashed across the walls behind them. They lay atop of each other, arms and legs overlapping, bodies piled.

Toby was on his chair at the window, looking into the room, clapping his hands and whooping joyously.

‘What have you done, you crazy old fool!’ Leopold cried out, but Salu remained static, panting deeply, and with his muscles clenched tight, struggling to remain upright from exhaustion.

A soft voice—a woman’s voice—permeated through the room, issuing from the air itself. ‘Welcome home, young Emperor,’ the voice announced, honey smooth. ‘I have been waiting so long to see you again, son of Thann. I see you have grown. How delightful. The wait has truly been worthwhile.’

A woman appeared beside his cot and she looked at Leopold with a satisfied smile. She had flaxen hair and she wore shimmering, translucent material that suggested the outline of her figure beneath. She was the most beautiful thing Leopold had ever seen; the thoughts of where she came from and who she was withered before her presence. She made a striking impression and Leopold wanted to speak with her, to be with her ... to do anything she wished.

Salu broke free of whatever force had been holding him, and he moved without bothering to look at the woman, striking at the sound of her voice, snapping out with his stick once again. It bounced back far from nearing her and hit him on his skull. The blow made him stagger and shake his head. The old fellow grunted and muttered angrily, but Leopold barely noticed, such was his rapture with the woman.

‘Calm, old man. I witnessed the demise of your brother and your time has passed, too,’ the woman said, keeping her eyes locked upon Leopold. With that, Salu dropped his stick and slumped onto his bed. ‘I have prepared long in case you should come. Return to your slumber. My world has no place for the old and decrepit.’

Toby again laughed and clapped. The sight drew a momentary look of confusion and disgust from the woman, before she refocussed upon Leopold and her glorious smile returned.

‘Now,’ she said. ‘We will not be interrupted. Come with me, Leopold, my sweet.’

She offered her hand to Leopold and he took it without question. She helped him to his feet. Her skin was warm and soft, and as she released his hand, she let her fingers slide across his. He wanted to grasp her palm again to feel that skin once more, but he resisted the impulse. Such foolishness might offend her, and he would not want that at all.

‘You are the queen of Cintar?’ uttered Leopold unexpectedly.

‘I am,’ she returned, ‘and I will show you my glorious city. Come.’ She led him to the wall, as if to stride right through it. She paused to move Toby out of the way. ‘Shoo, Shoo! You dreadful child!’ she told him and the boy leapt for safety as she kicked his stool aside.

He did not mind and climbed up onto his bunk with joy.

She drew a tiny circle in the air with her finger and the wall of the cabin fell out, taking Toby’s window with it, leaving a perfect circle of gaping sky and ocean to face them.

Leopold was unsure what happened after that, but he felt a sensation of moving, and he remembered seeing ships and seawater whizzing past below him, then rooftops and streets whipping past. It was strangely calming, and he was unable to resist falling fast asleep, even as the wind rushed through his hair and roared in his ears.

The Seat of the Empire

OPENING HIS EYES, Leopold made a sudden transition from sleeping to awareness. There was no usual rolling about and wishing for a few more hours rest. He simply awoke, knowing he was in an unfamiliar place. Slowly, scanning his surrounds, his eyes leapt from feature to feature, taking in the details, searching for familiarity to cling to. Thoughts struggled, mired in coils of tar. He had no idea where he was or, more troubling, how he came to be there.

His fingers moved beside him, feeling cold satin sheets beneath his body.

It was a circular room, and he was lying upon a circular bed. The chamber was full of cushions, rugs and hanging lengths of cloth, obscuring the painted white walls. The sun shone brightly outside, pouring in through the windows and the wide, veiled doorway opposite. Another door, wooden and varnished, arch shaped, marked the far wall, no hint as to where it led.

He was thinking it a good idea to stand and look out that open doorway, to see what lay outside, when the queen of Cintar stepped in through the translucent white curtains and smiled at him demurely.

‘You are awake, young Emperor,’ she noted, standing beside him, looking down with the love of a mother watching her child awaken from fevered dreams.

Leopold thought he should reply, but had trouble forming his thoughts into words. His intentions refused to solidify, twirling about inside his head like scattered leaves in a tempest—and it was unsettling. Thin, whimpering sounds escaped his mouth.

As the Queen leaned over him, tendrils of smoke were curling about her, as if she had stepped out of a fire and had dragged some of the vapours in after her. She ran her finger gently across his brow and his confusion dissipated; dust blown away with the wind.

‘Why—why I am here?’ he asked.

‘You are my guest, Leopold. I will take care of you now,’ she replied.