The Starfall Knight (27 page)

Alessa raised her hands and her fellow Sirinese fell to a hush.

“You are their leader?” Marwin said.  “You came to us as a Sister of the Moons but you were never any such thing, were you?”

“No,” Alessa said.  “Nor am I their leader.”

“You are clearly lying.”

“I am not.  But I will speak for all of us now.”

Marwin sat back.  “What are we to do with you?  You are criminals without remorse.  You came to our aerocks and raped and slaughtered our people.”

“We – ”

“Silence!” Marwin ordered.

The female Councillor said, “There are some who say we should have brokered peace with Sirinis.”

“Fools, Councillor Arlena.”  Marzell tapped the table with her bloodied gauntlet.  “They are fools.  Sirinese do not seek peace with anyone.  Not even amongst themselves.”

“Yet, this Alessa has claimed the right to homeland,” Councillor Arlena said.

“Her home is gone.  An unfortunate outcome of the battle.”

“Can we imprison them?  And for how long?  If they remain loyal to Sirinis, logical dictates that they should never be released for they will wreak havoc on Centara.”

Marwin added, “Or else turn to crime.”

The woman in leather armour cleared her throat and the Centaran leaders turned to her.  She said, “Throw them over the edge and be done with it.”

“Marshal Romaine!  We cannot condone outright murder of our prisoners,” Marwin said.

“Unconscionable!” Arlena said.

Romaine shrugged.  “We are at war with them – that much, you must agree with me.  So, these Sirinese may well have fallen in battle.  Over the edge or by the blade, it is by our hands.  No need to call it murder.  Give them a trial and call it execution – for the hundred soldiers who fought with Jarrell, for the town of Masteney, for the battle we just fought.”

Alessa’s chest hurt and she struggled to breathe.  Still, she ignored her rising panic.  “Cease your cowardice, then!  Kill us and be done.”

Devan tumbled to the dirt.  His eyes were still swollen shut and every joint and muscle burned.  One of the two surviving thrashers said, “We found this one getting bashed in the Redivar sector, Imperator.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye.  No tattoos but he had all of this armour and these weapons.  A couple of the Ceres boys made off with some of it.”

“An unsworn.  But such finely made equipment.  It looks to be from our recent endeavours.”

“We thought so too.”

“Why did you bring him here?”

“Uh.  He was being suspicious-like.  Most unsworn are whores, right?”

“He doesn’t look like a man-whore.”

“No, Imperator.  Uh.  That’s what was so suspicious.”

“Very well.  Turn him over.”

Light blurred into Devan’s eyes.  He tried to lift his arms to shield his face but could not move.  Was he restrained or were his arms broken?

“You certainly beat him well.”

“Thank you, Imperator.”

“I thought it was Ceres thrashers, not you lot.”

“Oh, right.  There were.  We bashed him a bit too.”

“Very well.”

“Thank you, Imperator.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Devan said, “Who are you?”  His voice croaked and his jaw lanced with pain.

“I am Tarius.  My friend by the wall is Vantanis.  And it seems you’ve met Lerios and Ramalo.”

“I met their friends too.”

Lerios – or was it Ramalo – said, “He killed a few of the others.”

“How many?”

“Three.  Pero, Hedrus and Tolius.”

“Perhaps I should be congratulating him.”

“But, Imperator – ”

“Leave us.”

“Yes, Imperator.”  Footsteps faded.

A new voice said, “He’s not unsworn.”

“I know, Vantanis.  He’s Centaran, from what I can see that isn’t bloody and broken.”

“Kill him.”

“For revenge?  For Alessa?”

“Why not?”

“I want to know what he knows.”  Hands pored over leather.  A sword rang out against an anvil.  “These are crafted by a smith more skilled than me.  He’s a soldier.  He may know something.”

“What’s to know?” Vantanis said.  “We’ll wheel around and attack them.”

Devan’s mind whirled, memories of the Council feast rising.  “Pilot?” he said through cracked lips.  “Vantanis.”

“What did he say?”

Tarius replied, “Pilot Vantanis, I believe.”

“Ha.  The Centarans don’t have a pilot.  They don’t believe such a thing is possible.”

“And they think us uncivilised?”  Tarius snorted.  “We obtained enough andonite from Masteney?”

“We did.”

A boot nudged Devan’s arm.  “Chain him to a stake in the square.  The one near Ceres and Serpens land.  He’ll be more like to talk after a few hours in the sun.”

Vantanis called out for some help and within moments, hands lifted Devan and he was slung over a shoulder.  Pain shot through his arms and chest and he passed out.

Light crept into the cell.  Alessa lifted her head and squinted back at the eyes peering through the slot.  Keys jangled on the other side of the door and the lock turned.  Alessa clenched her teeth, knowing what would come next.

“She still alive?”

“Find out.”

The butt of a pike bumped against Alessa’s forehead.  She said, “Fuck off.”

A guard laughed.  “On your feet, oh great Sister of the Moons.”

Gauntleted hands hauled Alessa up and a guard shoved her forward.  “Walk!”  She shuffled towards the light and feeling returned to her stiff legs and arms.

Nothing had changed in the dungeon corridor since the last time.  The guards’ lamp shone over the moss on the stone blocks and reflected off the water pooling in the corners.  The same number of steps brought Alessa to the room where an iron chair had been bolted to the floor.

“Inside.  You know the drill.”

Alessa sat on the chair and the guards unlocked the manacles around her wrists.  She spread out her arms over the splayed metal and the manacles were cuffed down.  One of the guards chained her ankles to the legs of the chair while the other lit a lamp on a bench that rested against the opposite wall.  Alessa ignored the implements that lay on the bench.

The guards left without a word.

Alessa took a deep breath.  She had long since become used to her own stench.  The Centarans had taken her armour and weapons but left her armour’s underpadding that had soaked up her sweat, blood and fear.  For the umpteenth time, Alessa wondered if her predicament was truly the justice of the Moons – she had lied about her identity and brought destruction to the Centarans when all she wanted was to disappear.  Throwing in her lot and going this far with Tarius had been a mistake.  And if all of this weren’t the justice of the Moons, she was sure that Centarans were not so worried about semantics.

The familiar step, drag, click sounded outside.  Step, drag, click.  Step, drag, click.

Marshal Jarrell limped into the room while his two guards waited at the door.  Like every other occasion, he wore formal military uniform with a ceremonial sword at his belt.  His cane of polished ash tapped against the stone floor while a necklace of andonite hung over his chest, pulsing next to his ribbons of service.

“Do you have anything to say, Alessa?”

“I’ve told you all I know.”

“Not everything.”

Jarrell examined the implements on the bench.  “Where is the Starfall Knight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did the Sirinese steal the Starfall Knight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you steal the Starfall Knight?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.”

Jarrell picked up a thin blade and approached Alessa.  He crouched next to her with a scowl.  “It hurts to do much of anything now.  That’s what your people gave to me, apart from the death of a hundred good soldiers.”

“I did not kill your men.  I was on Sirinis.”

“As we have covered already.”  Jarrell’s eyes ran up and down her body, her rags.  “You know that your friends have already named you.  One was very insistent – what was her name?”

A guard spoke up.  “Elina?”

“That’s the one.”  Jarrell nodded.  “She was very helpful in our last session.  Very friendly and willing to give up all sorts of things.”

“She’s skilful at what she does,” Alessa said.  “Be wary of her.”

“Is that so?”

“Ahuh.”

“She said that you and her are leaders of the Sirinese.  That you know of the Starfall Knight.  Tell me of your plans.  Why were the raids a diversion?  Why did you take the Knight?”

“I don’t know anything about the Knight,” Alessa said.  She felt bile rise in her throat.  It was an automatic response now – all of her denials brought only pain.

Jarrell pursed his lips.  He pressed the blade against Alessa’s shoulder and sliced open the skin.  Blood welled up.  “Last chance.”

Alessa shook her head.  “I don’t know anything more.”

The Marshal stood up and retrieved a bottle of azure dust.  He popped out the cork stopper and returned to Alessa.  Jarrell tapped out a pinch of the dust onto her wound and placed the bottle back onto the bench.

“No needles under my nails?  No branding?”

“Not this time, Alessa.”  Jarrell leaned against the bench.  “Powdered andonite.  Troublesome to retrieve or produce – as you know what happens when andonite is struck with force.  But that’s the funny thing about andonite – even when the energy has been drained from a crystal or a vein, other veins can share its own energy.  Like water flowing from container to container.  Or like Sirinis stealing andonite energy from Masteney.

“But when powder is re-energised, it’s not much use.  Too small to even light tinder or oil.”

“So you’ve wasted it on me.”

“No,” Jarrell said.  “You’ll soon know the effects.”

Alessa frowned at the Marshal.  He crossed his arms.

Pain exploded in Alessa’s shoulder and a scream tore from her throat.  Lanced burned down her arm and through her bones.  As if blades had struck her nerves directly, transferring the essence of cold and heat and agony all at once.  Time slowed for Alessa.  She writhed against her manacles, each clang of metal like a tolling of a bell.  She had rung a bell before.  For death and destruction.

The torment ceased.  All that remained was torn skin around her wrist where she had struggled.  Drool hung from Alessa’s lips.  How many days had it been?

“More?” Jarrell asked.

“No more.  Please.”  Alessa’s voice crackled.  She must’ve been screaming for hours.

“Answer my questions.”

Alessa nodded.

“Good.  Few can take more than one shot of this powder.  It drives one insane, would you believe it?”

“Yes.”

Jarrell turned to the guards.  “This one will talk.  Find me paper and ink.  And you, prepare the next prisoner for the western interrogation chamber.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

The guards left.  Jarrell leaned into Alessa, his cane next to her chair.  If only she could reach, then the damnable Marshal would fall and maybe brain himself on the stone floor.

“Have you nothing else to share with me?”

“I will tell you what I know.  What else is there to say?”

Jarrell stared into her eyes, searching for something that Alessa knew she didn’t have.  “Indeed.  Perhaps you are not the one.”

Devan’s throat rasped with every breath.  He licked his lips but found only cracks and dried blood.  He couldn’t even taste the excrement that had been hurled at him that morning.  Despite the temperate conditions, the hours in the sun and lack of water left him with thoughts of nothing but hydration.  Would that it rain, he would be saved.

He hunched over and leaned against the withered tree trunk but there was little respite.  None of the vegetation on Sirinis sprouted much more than a handful of leaves.  No trees, dry dirt and fading andonite – Devan wondered how the Sirinese survived on a dead aerock.  Old memories of battle and death nagged at him.

“Is he dead?”

The four thrashers approached.  “Hope so.  Sick of guarding him.  Let the stickers have ‘im.”

Devan looked up.

“Still alive.”  A thrasher cupped Devan’s chin.  He was bald and his tattoos ran up his neck and over his cheeks and jaw.  “You smell like shit.”

“Water.”  Even the single word burned Devan’s tongue.

“If you’re ready to speak with the Imperator, you get water.”

“Yes.  Ready.”

“Bring him.”  The guards unlocked the chain from the tree and hauled Devan to his feet.  They marched him, pulling the chain when his pace slowed.

The road led to a smithy with a smoking forge.  A new mudbrick wall obscured the inner workings from the road and the guards patrolled the area as well as the cabin nearby.  Devan’s escort halted and he sank to his knees, exhausted.

Two men appeared – the first had a shaved head with broad shoulders and tattoos that crept down his arms.  He wore a smithing smock and thick boots.  Old burns mottled the skin of his forearms.  The other man was slimmer with a soft face.  He wore plain clothes of a commoner but Devan’s weapons hung at his belt.  Both were old enough to be Devan’s father but only the smaller man looked familiar.

“Leave us.”  The guards obeyed the order and Devan recognised the voice as the one who had spoken to him before.

“Who?”

“Who am I?  You shall address me as Imperator Tarius.  And this is Vantanis.”

Devan nodded, unable to spit out a smart remark about the use of the title Imperator.  Who knew that the Sirinese could be so pretentious with such an archaic word?

“So,” Tarius said, “where should Sirinis lay siege to Centara City?  What is the best approach?”

“Water.”

Tarius nodded and produced a waterskin.  He drizzled a couple drops onto Devan’s lips.  “Speak and you’ll have a good mouthful.”

Devan’s head swam with the thought of more liquid.  “North of city.  Or from above.”

“From above?  An interesting notion.”

Vantanis shook his head.  “They’ll see us from leagues away, even at night.  And moons are almost always in the sky.  We’ll go from below and attach to the north.”

“How far from the northern edge to the city?” Tarius asked.

“A thousand paces.”  Devan’s lips parted.  “More water.”