The Great Bazaar and Other Stories (2 page)

The windies took
no notice of Arlen, as he was set back against the adobe walls and had yet to
light his fire. As they solidified, they set off towards the riverbank at a
run. Their stunted legs offered little grace on land, but as they shrieked and
leapt from the edge of the bank, the cruel elegance of their design became
apparent as they spread their enormous wings with a great snap and swooped
upwards, flapping just a few powerful strokes before soaring into the gloaming
in search of prey.

Arlen had expected
to see the sand demons that haunted the dunes of the Krasian desert rise next,
but the twilight showed the mists thinning already, forming only a last few
wind demons.

Arlen perked up at
this. Though corelings would hunt and kill most anything, their true hatred was
for humanity, and they were sometimes reluctant to leave ruins once the
inhabitants were dead, in case more humans were one day drawn to the site.
Unaging, demons were nothing if not patient, and could lie in wait for decades
or more.

It was only
natural for the windies to continue to materialize here. The canyon cliffs
provided an ideal takeoff spot, and they could soar far and wide in the night
to seek out prey. But land-bound sand demons had no such luxury, and Arlen
could find no sign of them in the area. Sand demons hunted in packs known as
storms, and it seemed that some time in the last twenty years, the storm had
moved on in search of other prey.

Arlen stood and
began to pace impatiently as he watched the last of the wind demons go, looking
up at the adobe buildings, calculating. If he kept low, it was unlikely a wind
demon would spot him on the cliff walls. Even if one did, he could retreat into
the adobe buildings. The windows and doorways were too narrow to admit windies
unless they landed, and wind demons on land could be easily tripped or outrun.
There was still no sign of sand demons; their size and coloring would stand out
in the adobe village.

And One Arm
wouldn't arrive for hours. If he was quick...

Don't be
stupid. Wait for dawn!
his father's voice snapped at him, but Arlen had
seldom listened to it before. If he'd wanted to live a safe life, he would have
remained in the Free Cities, where most people went from womb to pyre without
daring to step outside a wardnet.

Arlen had been
outside in the naked night many times, specially in Fort Krasia, where he was
the only outsider ever to dance
alagai'sharak.
This time, though, there
were no
dal'Sharum
warriors at his side to help him if something
happened. He was on his own.

Nothing new
there
, Arlen thought.

He lit a
slow-burning fire at the center of his circle, so he might easily find his way
back in the darkness, and affixed a torch socket to the end of his spear. He
slung spare torches over his back in a loose pack he hoped would soon be full
of Bahavan pottery. Finally, he took up his round shield, painted with the same
defensive wards as his circle, and stepped over the barrier.

As he left the
circle, Arlen took what felt like his first full breath since sunset. He knew
it was all his imagination, but it seemed as if the air tasted better outside
the circle, cooler and sweeter. It felt good to reclaim a bit of the world
corelings took from man each night.

He made his way to
the stairs, moving the torch this way and that, carefully scanning for any sign
of demons, always ready to defend or flee.

It was a difficult
climb. The steps were irregular, with some too narrow to put his entire foot
upon, and others where it was several paces to the next step. Sometimes the
path was nearly level, and other times it was a steep slope. He imagined the
Bahavans had very strong thighs.

To make matters
worse, the
dal'Sharum
had ransacked most of the lower tiers for
materials to build their blockades. Broken pottery, furniture, clothing;
anything not built into the walls was piled on the streets to slow any
corelings on the way to Krasian ambushes that threw them over the narrow
side-wall and down into the pits below.

Arlen ducked low,
using the cover provided by that wall as he climbed and glanced warily out into
the night sky. Wind demons could drop like silent stones from a mile in the
sky, snapping their wings open at the last instant to sever a man's head,
snatch him in their hind talons, and take back off without ever touching
ground. He had no doubt one could pick him off the walls if it spotted him
before he caught sight of it.

By the fifth tier,
the blockades ended and the homes seemed intact, but Arlen continued to climb
despite the burning in his thighs. Master Dravazi's workshop was said to be on
the seventh tier, for there were seven pillars of heaven, and seven layers to
Nie's abyss.

Arlen tried to
fight back a giddy smile as he gained the seventh tier and saw the master's
name carved into the archway of a large building. He scanned the area again,
but there was still no sign of sand demons, and the wind demons seemed to have
flown far off into the night.

A ragged curtain
hung in the doorway, likely meant more lo hold back the ever-present orange
dust than for privacy or security. There was no need for such in a hamlet as
small and isolated as Baha.

Arlen eased up to
the doorway, pushing the curtain aside with the edge of his shield and
thrusting his spear into the darkness. The torch cast flickering light over a
room filled with pottery.

Arlen choked,
hardly believing his eyes. The work lay slacked, prepared for a trip to market
some twenty years ago that had never come to pass. The pottery was covered in
orange dust, making it the same color as the walls and floors of the buildings,
but it seemed intact, even after so much time. He readied out a tentative hand,
and his fingers left lines in the dust, revealing smooth lacquer and
brightly-painted designs that shone in the torchlight. One room, and it
contained more riches that he could possibly carry!

He dropped to one
knee, setting down his spear and shield to remove the backpack. He scanned the
smaller vases, lamps, and bowls, deciding what to take. He would carry a few
pieces back to his circle to examine while he waited for dawn to come, and then
return for the rest.

He was sliding a
delicate vase into the pack when he heard the rumble. Thinking he had dislodged
something and the stack of pottery was about to topple, he grabbed his spear
and brought up the torch.

But there was no
sign of teetering pottery, and the rumble sounded again, this time almost a
growl, a few guttural "r's" floating in the darkness.

Forgetting the
pottery, Arlen snatched up his shield, slowly turning towards the sound. A sand
demon must have followed him into the room, stalking as quietly as it could,
but unable to quell the animal instinct in its throat.

Arlen turned a
slow circuit, holding his torch out far and scanning the room, but there was no
sign of any demon. He gave a sudden start and glanced upwards, but there was
nothing above waiting to drop on him. He shuddered and forced himself to keep
looking.

He almost missed
it, but for another faint growl that came while his torch happened to be in the
right place. It seemed a plain adobe wall at first, but then part of the
wall... shifted.

There was a demon
there. Even staring right at it, the coreling was almost invisible. Its armor
was the exact orange of the clay, and had the same rough texture. It was small,
no bigger than a medium-sized dog, but it was compact in a way that spoke of
powerful bunched muscle, and its claws left deep grooves in the adobe walls.
Arlen had never seen the like.

The coreling
wriggled slightly, tamping, and then gave a great roar as it uncoiled and
launched itself at him.

"Night!"
Arlen screamed as he put up his shield, wondering if the wards would even hold
against this new breed of coreling. Wards were picky like that, each made to
block a specific type of demon. There was some overlap, but nothing to gamble
one's life upon.

Magic flared as
the demon struck his shield, knocking Arlen over, but even as the wards
activated, Arlen knew they would not hold forever. No demon should have been
able to touch his shield at all, but this one held on tenaciously against the
force of the magic trying to repel it.

The demon was heavier
than it looked, but Arlen got his weight under the shield and lifted, driving
hard into the adobe wall. The coreling's claws lost purchase with the impact,
and the magic, still pushing hard against the prone demon, flung Arlen
backwards instead. He landed in the pile of pottery, smashing much of the
priceless artwork.

"Corespawn
it!" he cursed, but there was no time to lament, for the demon hurled
itself into the pile, scattering clay shards everywhere. Arlen was jabbed and
cut from all sides by the jagged clay bits as he tried to put his feet under
him.

He managed to get
his shield up as the clay demon leapt at him again, but the demon dug its claws
in deep and pulled so hard that the leather straps around Aden's forearm
snapped, and the shield was pulled from his grasp. He stumbled frantically
backwards, trying to get away from the creature before it could untangle itself
and come at him again. It would be a long run back to his portable circles
without his shield, and from what he had just seen, there was no guarantee his
circles would even hold the creature back.

The demon leapt
again, but Arlen had his spear up, stabbing the creature right in the center of
its chest. It was a powerful blow from a fine weapon, but even the weakest
coreling had armor enough to turn a speartip. The point failed to pierce, but
the demon took the torch in its face, knocking it from its socket. Arlen shoved
hard, throwing the demon back, and in the flickering light, he saw it stumble
awkwardly, momentarily blinded by the light.

"Come on,
then!" Arlen shouted, goading the demon as he edged towards the door. It
leapt at him one last time, still dazzled, but Arlen was ready for it.
Snatching the door curtain, he caught the clay demon up in its crusted and
dusty folds, gripping the ends tightly as the coreling struggled. The curtain
tore from the rod as Arlen pushed out the door and to the stair ledge, throwing
the demon over. Still tangled in the curtain, its roars were muffled as it fell
to the courtyard far below.

Arlen rushed back
to snatch up the torch. He left his pack where it lay, along with his broken
shield and spear, and hurried back out to the stairs. He was about to head down
when a scrabbling sound vibrated in the air. He looked at the adobe walls going
up the cliff face, and felt his stomach churn as they came alive with clay
demons.

Gonna
get'cherself killed one of these days
, Arlen heard his father say, but at
that moment, he had neither time nor inclination to disagree. He turned and ran
down the steps as fast .is his legs could carry him.

Moving faster than
he could see his footing in the flickering torchlight, Arlen took steps several
at a time, but it wasn't enough. There were demons ahead of him as well as
behind. He must have climbed right past them on the way up, oblivions. As he
came towards a landing, a pair of clay demons bounded around the corner from
the tier below, talons tamping down as their muscles tense to spring.

Arlen had no way
to arrest his downward motion when they appeared, so he did the only thing he
could think of and rolled right over the edge of the wall.

The drop was a
good ten feet, and he landed heavily on his side on the steps of the next tier.
The demons gave chase, but Arlen shoved his pain aside, bounced to his feet,
and ran on.

The demons were
fast, but Arlen's legs were longer, and desperation gave him blinding speed. As
much from memory as from sight, he dodged around the Krasian blockades,
suddenly thankful that the
dal'Sharum
had torn apart the lower levels
for fodder.

A demon dropped
onto him from above, talons digging deep into his back as its teeth sank into
his shoulder, but Arlen hardly slowed. He shoved the torch in the demon's face
and threw himself backwards into the cliff wall, blasting the breath from the
creature and breaking its hold. He grabbed the coreling and threw it at another
pair hurtling down the steps at him.

Using the bright
torch to drive demons back, Arlen ran on. He fell twice, twisting his ankle
badly once, but both times he was back up and running before the pain
registered. Behind him, it seemed as if the entire cliff face had become a
swarm of roaring demons.

He leapt over
another wall to avoid the last infested landing and sprinted for his campfire,
only to find the clay demon he had thrown over the cliff trapped in the middle
of his circle. The height and cloth wrapping must have protected it from the
wards on the way in, but the creature now clawed madly at the wardnet in its
desperation to escape, sending spiderwebs of white magic through the air.

Unable to use his
own circle, Arlen ran on to Dawn Runner's. A clay demon blocked his path, but
as it leapt at him, Arlen dropped his torch and grabbed it in both hands. The
demon's sharp scales cut his hands and he caught a blast of its rank breath in
his face, but he pivoted sharply, using its own energy to hurl the creature
into one of the demon pits in the courtyard.

There was a shriek
as Arlen dove into the horse's portable circle, and the wards flared brightly
as a wind demon struck the net. The coreling was hurled back and would have
gone into the same pit as the clay demon had it not spread its wings in time to
catch itself. It shrieked at him again, revealing rows of teeth in the light of
the wards.

But Arlen wasn't
safe yet. The clay demons surged at him in a wave, dozens of them charging the
circle. The wards flared as the demons tried to cross the line, stopping them
short, but the clay demons were not hurled back as they should be. Magic
shocked through their snub bodies and they howled in pain, but still they dug
their claws into the clay and inched forward against the press. Arlen moved
around the circle, kicking them back from the net, but it was an impossible
task to maintain for long, and it was still early in the night. Sooner or
later, the clay demons would get through. Dawn Runner knew it too, the beast
struggling hard against the ropes.