The Starfall Knight (19 page)

A lumbering form loomed behind Devan.  He didn’t need to turn around to recognise the odour and footfalls of two former squadmates.

“Keep moving, Devan,” Terson hissed.  “We got one already.”

Enkel snorted in the darkness as the two of them shadowed Devan’s steps.  “If we lose them, we’ll lash you.”

“You’ll try,” Devan replied.

Wooden thuds sounded ahead and Devan’s heart leaped.  The traps had actually worked.  He surged forward, energy renewed.

At the sight of the three sprawling intruders, Terson and Enkel let out a warcry and charged.  Under the pulsing andonite glow, Terson hacked at the nearest invader.  The enemy rolled to the side with surprising speed and sprang to his feet, meeting Enkel's charge.  Sword clashed against sword and the clangor resounded through the tunnel.  The other two intruders rose, one of them engaging Terson while the woman hesitated as if contemplating retreat.

Devan pressed forward.  Enkel dodged a swing only to meet a kick to his knee.  He stumbled and his opponent hooted his derision.  Devan yelled out, distracting the counterfeit soldier.  Their weapons smashed together and Devan's arms shivered with the impact.  The intruder pressed the attack – he was strong but uncouth.  Devan gave ground, one step and another.

Enkel chopped at the enemy's leg and blood spurted out, black in the dim light.  Devan slashed the man's neck and the flesh opened, more blood pouring forth.  The man toppled, dead.

Terson had dispatched his opponent and advanced on the woman.  He clutched his ribs, tabard torn and leaking dark liquid from his mail shirt.  The woman fled.

“After her!”

Devan followed as Enkel paused to check on Terson.  “Go, you idiot!” Terson said.

The woman was fast, Devan gave her that.  But the tunnel twisted and turned far more than in the lower section.  The upper portions of the mines were the oldest and early Centarans had dug where the precious metals and gems took them, not to any plan or architecture.  In the dim glow of the pulsing andonite, the woman’s pace slowed as the tunnel’s direction became confusing.

Her silhouette twisted in front of a bright andonite node.  The light pulsed as if in response to Devan’s racing heartbeat.  The woman raised her sword.

“Hells!”  Enkel hurled his weapon and the woman ducked, the blade shearing off her helm.  Her head jerked with the force of the blow and blonde hair unfurled, covering her shoulders.

Devan rushed forward with Enkel in tow.  The woman recovered and slammed her sword into the andonite.  The mineral cracked and hissed.  The intruder turned to them.

“Alessa!” Devan blurted out.

She smashed her weapon into the andonite again, a flash of blue scoring Devan’s eyes.  Boots scampered away.

“We have to head back!”  Enkel coughed, a dry hack that Devan knew well.

“She’ll escape.”

“You know her?  Then, there will be no escape.”

The sharp tang of andonite gas filled Devan’s nostrils and his nausea rose.  He dropped to his knees in an attempt to escape the gas hissing from the cracked mineral.  “The military’s occupied.  There’s no one else to stop her.”

“And the gas?”

Devan shook his head.  They were wasting time.  He rose to his feet and continued onwards.  The gas stung his eyes and throat despite his best efforts to hold his breath.  His previous exertion and the weight of his armour soon forced his lungs open and Devan suppressed a gag.

He pushed on.

A glint of azure and Devan dove to one side, crumpling against the tunnel wall.  Alessa lifted her sword for another swing but the weapon was too heavy for her, even wielded in both hands.  Devan tackled her and they landed in a tangled heap.  He pressed his weight onto Alessa’s wrists and she released her grip on the sword.

“You nearly killed me,” Devan said.

“Almost twice, by my count.”

Devan did not answer except for the regurgitative effects of andonite poisoning.  “And now, we are even.”

Chapter Nine

Devan shifted from foot to foot but both were sore from the running and climbing through the mineshafts.  His boots felt like clamps and his underclothes were sodden with sweat.  Despite the squad of rangers in the cavern, he kept watch on Alessa and her surviving companions.  Marshal Jarrell had ordered their hands bound and mouths gagged while Benton’s squad sorted through the casualties and clean-up.

“What can I do, sir?” Devan asked Marshal Jarrell.

The Marshal shook his head.  “I thought you were relieved of duties, ranger.”

“On leave, sir, not relieved.  And with the Office of the Marshal.”

“Very well.  Help strip the bodies.  I'll not have these marauders sully our equipment any more than necessary.”

“Yes, sir.”  Devan trotted away from the central controls as a messenger page emerged from a tunnel.  Devan didn't dare try to eavesdrop on the conversation.  Even though Jarrell was not his commanding officer, his influence extended throughout the city.  And there was no reason for Devan to attract undue attention just yet.

He joined Sergeant Lora and half of his former squad in collecting the corpses while the rest of the rangers kept watch on the tunnels for further incursions.

Lei peeled the helmet off one of the archers as Rika held the corpse still.  The shortbows were part of the recently stolen cache, as were the pieces of armour.  The helm reflected the orange glow of the oil lamps like a mirror.

“Still like new,” Lei said.

Rika frowned.  “So much blood.”

“The blood will wash out just fine.”  Mikis turned to another of the bandits, gathering arrows scattered from a quiver.  “Some rough bastards here.  Look at the scars.”

As Lei dropped the corpse's head and Rika moved onto the next body, Devan caught a glimpse of ink that crept from the man's hauberk and along his neck.  “Let me help with the armour.”

“Thanks.”  Lei tugged on the mail shirt as Devan slid the arms from the sleeves, revealing a bloodied undershirt that was far too thin to provide any comfort.  These enemies had little knowledge about contemporary gear.

With a final pull, Lei removed the chain shirt and the body flopped onto the cavern floor with a wet slap.  The skull cracked against the rock and Devan winced.  As Lei hauled the helm and shirt to a nearby cart, Devan prised away the marauder's undershirt.  The tattoo snaked from the man's neck, down his back and along his arms.

“Benton!” Devan called out.  “Marshal Jarrell!”

“What is it?”

“Check the bodies for tattoos.”

Jarrell leaned over the control panel, between the array of levers.  “Tattoos, ranger?”

“Yes, Marshal.”

At the site of another clash, Benton's voice rang out.  “Tyn's balls.”

“Captain!”

Benton glanced at Devan before meeting Jarrell's gaze.  “Marshal.  They're Sirinese.”

Devan watched Alessa as Jarrell frowned.  The supposed Sister of the Moons remained expressionless.  So, Alessa had provided a masterful acting performance on Verovel.  Devan forced himself to look away lest he kill her.

The sack smelled of urine and wheat chaff.  Pins of light filtered through the gaps in the weave.  The shackles bit into Alessa's wrists, warm with the dribble of blood though she had not attempted escape; every jolt of the wagon tugged her skin against the metal.

“Is this really necessary?” Alessa asked.  “I know where the way-station is.”

A fist slammed into her stomach and Alessa curled into a ball as the waves of pain radiated through her body.  Nausea rose but she refused to let the Centarans see her capitulate further.

“Captain Marzell will be disappointed with this treatment of her prisoners,” Alessa said, her voice creaking.

“What makes you think she cares?” a familiar voice sounded next to Alessa's ear.  Marzell herself.

A chill ran through Alessa.  Knowing that the Centarans were capable of inflicting cruelty as effortlessly as the Sirinese was more disheartening.  Frightening.  Alessa almost preferred to face Leonus' knives, although she told herself to be careful what she wished for – Leonus and Brunos had been fast friends.

“I was impressed by the traps,” Alessa said.  “We did not expect such a thing in those old tunnels.”

No reply.  Alessa wriggled back, feeling for the side of the wagon.  She pushed herself upright, stomach straining in protest.  “Captain Marzell?  Have you located the roaming Sirinese teams?  The ones who held our ropes over the side of the aerock.”

Silence.  The wagon, however, slowed to a halt.

Hands pulled Alessa off the wagon bed and onto the ground.  The butt of a halberd pushed against the back of her knees and Alessa sank to the dirt.  The sack was swept from her head and the daylight blinded her.

“How many others?” Marzell asked.

“At least five teams,” Alessa said.  “Each with two or three members.”

“That's how you circumvented the way-station?  Climbing up an unsecured rope?”

“Not unsecured.  Tied to trees.”

“If they're not anchored with hook and bedrock, they may as well be unsecured.”

Alessa's eyes adjusted to the light.  They had stopped by the side of the road leading the eastern way-station, forest and grasslands stretching in either direction.  Five soldiers surrounded Alessa while another two waited on the wagon.  Dead Sirinese were piled in the back, stripped to their undergarments and reeking of dried blood and shit.

“This is why you Centarans will fall prey to the Sirinese,” Alessa said.  “Maybe not the Sirinese specifically but aerocks like them.  They will never fight on your terms.”

One of the soldiers on the wagon turned around, revealing himself as Devan.  “You’re barbarians.”  He hopped off the wagon and approached with deliberate steps.

“They are.  I’m not.”

“You disown them?”

“I have no love for them,” Alessa said.  “I owe them no loyalty.”

“Yet, when they rape and pillage and murder, you do nothing.”  Devan stepped between two of the soldiers surrounding Alessa.  He was dressed in common clothing, albiet with a dagger and sword at his belt.  Devan crossed his arms and glared at Alessa.  “More, you helped them destroy our pipes.”

“Do I look like a warrior?” Alessa asked.  “Believe me – I want to leave Sirinis but their games are still in play.”

“Explain yourself.”

“My father.”

Captain Marzell snorted.  “Of course – the pilot.”

“Regardless,” Alessa continued, “he is too intertwined with the Sirinese.  If we’d both vanished into Centara, it would’ve brought war to your city, your aerock.”

“Why should we believe you now?” Devan said.  “You are no Sister of the Moons and you lied about your aerock.”

Alessa shrugged.  “Believe me or not, as you will.  But you’ve seen what the Sirinese can do to others.  Can you imagine what they do to their own or what they are capable of when they are bored?  I was cut and punched and bruised and beaten.  And then I grew into womanhood but my father couldn’t protect me every hour of every day.

“I was raised amongst them from a young age.  I haven’t known anything else but I know there’s better out there, even if it’s not Centara.  It couldn’t be worse than Sirinis.”

The silence hung in the air.  A bird tweeted in the woodlands to the north.  Captain Marzell hunkered next to Alessa and said, “If we send you back, is it a death sentence?”

“We all die eventually, don’t we?”

“Don’t be coy,” Marzell said.  “I’m trying to make you an offer.”

Alessa’s stomach lurched but she pushed the wave of joy down.  She met Marzell’s eyes.  “Not without my father.”

“Very well.”  Marzell gestured to her soldiers.  “Let’s get moving.  Ranger Devan?”

“Yes, captain?”

“Shackle the prisoner to the wagon’s bed.”

“My pleasure, captain.”

At the way-station, the soldiers loaded the dead bodies onto the aercarriage first.  When the carriage reached Sirinis, the thrashers removed the corpses and tossed them over the side of the aerock.  Murmurs ran through the Centaran soldiers as they watched through the growing fog between the two aerocks.  Alessa had warned them of Sirinese funerals.

The aercarriage returned and the soldiers ordered Alessa and the handful of survivors inside.  She crammed herself in, fortunate to find a seat.  When they disembarked on Sirinis, the thrashers sliced the cables on their end.  The aercarriage slid along the barren dirt as the aerocks drifted apart.

The carriage toppled over the edge of Sirinis and swung back to Centara like a giant pendulum.

Devan stood up straight and smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt and trousers.  The woollen fabric was smooth to the touch and the finest that Devan owned but he still felt underdressed amongst the audience and petitioners crowding the Council Hall.  To one side stood a merchant with gold rings and a silk tunic that shimmered in the light of the chandeliers.  There, a woman from the weavers’ guild, resplendent in an ermine fur coat, and attended by a sea of pages.

“The Council is now in recess,” Councillor Arnst said.  He knocked the gavel against a block on the Council table.  His fellow Councillors and attending masters rose and withdrew into a side door.

“Ranger Devan, sir?”  A page tapped Devan on the elbow.  The girl couldn’t have been older than nine or ten; she was privileged to be apprenticed to the Council at such a young age.

“Yes?” Devan said.

“The Council has requested your presence, ranger.”

“Lead the way.”

The page bobbed and headed towards the side-door.  The last time Devan had been inside the Council Hall, it had been mostly empty but for a pair of feasting tables.  Now filled with the upper tier folk of Centara, Devan ignored the glares and frowns that questioned the validity of an invitation extended to a commoner.  Yet, the way parted for the page and Devan.

Once the door closed behind Devan, the murmurs in the Hall were silenced.  The page continued through the corridor, her shoes padding on the tiled floor.  A painted mural covered one of the walls and Devan examined it, determining that the artwork depicted Centara’s range of flora and fauna.  He peered into the corridors branching out but they led only to administrative staff scurrying about with quills and scrolls and sheafs of paper.