Entromancy (8 page)

A shadow appeared behind him, and my heart fell into my gut.

“Tribe, don’t!” I called uselessly.

The assassin turned as Tribe sprung from his hiding place, dagger exposed and ready to strike.  The Destroyer caught him by the throat with one hand, squeezing and tossing him across the foyer.  The thief landed with a groan and a sickening crunch at the feet of two hulking enforcers.

“Take him!” the entromancer yelled at them, turning back towards me.

Our eyes met, and I sheathed my pistol, knowing it to be useless.  I gripped my nightblade in two hands, advancing towards him slowly.

He didn’t give me the opportunity.  The auric took two steps and then lunged, driving his spear down towards me like a pioneer striking a flag into the heart of the earth.  I parried it desperately with my sword, letting him move in closer.  I struck out with my elbow, hitting his exposed face with a satisfying crack.

He took the blow, changing his grip on the ceridium-laced spear to clock me under the chin with the butt end.  My head exploded in pain but I danced backwards, grabbing the weapon and pulling him off balance.  I spun in place, turning my hips to swing the nightblade under his guard.  He moved, but not quickly enough, and I tore a slice through his coat and under his outstretched arms.  He accepted the wound with a grunt, and fired off a string of commands in an unintelligible language.

Two heavy wooden logs materialized in the air before me, swinging in my direction.  I managed to parry one of them with my sword, but the other caught me in the solar plexus, driving the wind out of me and sending me to the floor.  The back of my head hit the ground with the impact, and I could feel the nightblade clatter out of my hands.

My vision blurred, and time slowed to a crawl.  As if in slow motion, I could see Tribe to my right struggling against his captors, calling my name.  Across from me, I saw Vasshka standing over Gloric’s lifeless form, roaring in anger and firing at the attackers two at a time.  Above me, the entromancer hovered, the ebony and sapphire spear raised threateningly.

Some conscious part of me took a small amount of pride in seeing his bloody face and chest, knowing that he could indeed be hurt.  Behind him, I could see Buster racing towards us, but I knew he would be too late.

The entromancer spat a tooth on the ground, then drove his spear at me.  I saw a streak of blue, and then nothing.

EIGHT

It is a drug.  It is not an antidote; it is not a medication.  It is not a solution to our condition, for we have no condition that needs solving.  It is a narcotic, nothing more.

-Thog’run II, King of Aurichome

T
he blackness was a soothing comfort that wrapped around me like a thick blanket.  I was at the bottom of a well, a pit deep within the earth, a time capsule in the deepest reaches of space.  My world stood unmoving, blessedly quiet, incomparably dark.

Every once in a while, a painful light would shine in the darkness, setting the world to spinning and making me aware of my existence, a floating nothingness in the vacuum.  I collected the shadows around me, trying to settle back in the tranquility.

The darkness would no longer respond to my touch.  The light became more insistent, a throbbing ache that replaced my comforting blanket and rocketed me through space, ever upwards.  I shot out of my unconscious state like a bat out of hell, gasping for air like a drowner unwillingly being pulled out of water.

Everything hurt.  My head swam, my ribs were on fire, and the rest of my body felt like it had been devoured by a dragon and spit back up.  I tried to blink the bleariness out of my eyes, to no effect, and settled for looking through a blurry white haze for a few minutes.

I relied on my other senses to ascertain my surroundings.  The air was warm on my skin, with a light breeze, and smelled of mulch and metal.  I could feel grass and dirt beneath me, and hear a slight ringing and whirring in the background.  By the foul taste on my tongue, it seemed as if something had crawled in my mouth and died there.

I was outside, the sun mercilessly bathing my surroundings in brightness and sending needles through my sensitive vision.  I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my head whirled again.  I turned to the side and retched, hoping that I wasn’t lying on someone’s fine outdoor furniture.

I rolled over to lay on my back, content to just breathe and let the sun warm me.  Slowly, I began to regain consciousness, first remembering who I was, then recalling the fight that had knocked me out.  Everything else was a blank.

With a herculean effort, I ventured another try at sitting up.  My head ached and my chest burned, but I was able to push myself into a half-lying, half-sitting position and stay there.  I blinked some more, allowing the world to come into focus.

I was back in the Sigil’s sanctuary, shirtless and surrounded in a sort of room formed by automated washer-dryers.  Drones flitted in a halo overhead, intermittently blocking the sun.  Across from me sat Gloric, his shirt torn and an ugly bruise staining his portly dark midsection.  The rounded cross at his throat looked heavy against his chest.

“Good morning,” he said as I moved.  “Or should I say, good afternoon.”

I grunted, my tongue thick.  I rubbed my eyes with my fingers and rolled inelegantly into a full sit, leaning against a washing machine.

“You look terrible,” the gnome added, coughing weakly.

“You’re one to talk,” I retorted, feeling gently at the back of my head.  It had been bandaged, but was still tender.  “Alina fix you up?”

“Yes, praise God.  She’s resting; it took a lot out of her.”

“I’m not surprised.”  I wasn’t.  Gloric’s was a mortal wound, and it would have exhausted Alina’s deepest reserves of energy - and most likely, her ceridium - to heal it.

“She’s hardly left your side, until about a half an hour ago.”

I grunted again, checking my ribs.  They were bandaged as well, my shirt and long coat carefully folded on the ground where my head had been resting.  My chest hurt immensely, but my ribs felt bruised and not broken.

I let out a sigh, resting.  Some unknown amount of time passed, and I must have slept, for when I woke up, the sun had moved and Doubleshot had joined Gloric across from me.  They chatted in low tones, the dwarf sitting amicably with her booted feet crossed in front of her.  She had donned her hat again, pulling down her kerchief so that she could lazily smoke a cigar.

“Well, look who decided to wake up,” she teased as she saw me move.  Gloric chuckled, then coughed.

“What time is it?” I asked irritably, not having the strength to look for my digitab or initialize my lenses.

“Quarter five,” the dwarf drawled.

An elusive memory nagged at me.  I opened one eye to look at Vasshka.  “Same day?”

She nodded. 

I let out another sigh of relief.  I had been out for less than twenty-four hours, which was important because of some reason that I couldn’t remember.  We had to go somewhere to do something, and time was of the essence.  None of it seemed as important as a hot meal and a shower at the moment.

As if in response to my train of thought, my stomach growled loudly.  I clutched at it, starving.

“Hungry?” Gloric asked.

I nodded.  “Like never before.”

Vasshka helped Gloric slowly get to his feet, and they left the little area, still chatting.  I made a weak effort at rummaging through my clothes for the Oxadrenalthaline, but couldn’t find it.  A short time later, Buster padded carefully into the makeshift room, walking up to me to lick my face.  I dug a hand into his coat, scratching him.

The sight and feel of him jolted my memory, and I remembered everything.  The wolf running, too late, to my rescue as the entromancer stood above me, ready to deliver the killing blow.  Vasshka fending off attackers while protecting a prone Gloric.  Tribe being dragged from the casino, pleadingly calling my name in anguish.  Alina’s sphere smashing into the side of the assassin’s face, spoiling his strike.

Tribe.  We had to get to Tribe before they did any more damage.

I used the wolf’s strong frame to support me as I pushed myself to my feet.  Gingerly, I gathered my belongings and slipped back into my shirt and overcoat.  It hurt, but felt good to move.

I wandered from the little infirmary towards the center of the arena, smelling food.  The others had ransacked the casino’s non-perishable supplies, preparing a substantial meal of canned goods and flash-frozen food.  The Scribe stood behind a portable induction stove, stirring a pot with one hand while using his finger to scribble on his digitab.  The rest of the group sat in the grass oval, eating.

Alina looked up as we approached, Buster running over to put his face in a bowl of scraps.  The Pitcher handed me a plate filled with food, and made room next to her for me to sit down.

“Thanks,” I said gratefully, gently lowering myself to the floor.  I put my hand on her arm as she passed me the food.

“And thanks,” I added.  She caught my eye and my meaning, smiling slightly.

“Don’t mention it.”

I set to inhale my food, taking large bites and washing it down with a cup of water.  It was tepid, but felt soothing on my parched throat.

I noticed something missing.  “Where’s the Sigil?” I asked around a mouthful of beans.

The Scribe piped up, not looking way from his stirring or digitab.  “Even His Grace tires of company,” he said meaningfully.

We finished our meals in silence, and a bit more quickly, thinking that we had already overstayed our welcome.  I stretched a little, feeling strength slowly returning to my body.

“So,” I said at last, “what happened after I went out?”

“
She
happened,” Alina said, pointing at Doubleshot with a piece of bread.  “Demon with legs, that one.”

If Vasshka was impressed or embarrassed by the compliment, she didn’t show it.  “They kept coming, but we held them off.  We pulled you guys into the sanctuary and Alina looked after your wounds.”

“The assassin?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Had half of his face almost cave in, courtesy of our Pitcher here,” Gloric said proudly, his tiny hands resting comfortably on his belly.  “Cast a spell and disappeared.  The rest of the rabble routed after him.”

“Wait, how do you know?” I objected, confused.  “Weren’t you dead?”

“I have cameras throughout this city, and others, Eskander Aradowsi,” the Sigil buzzed, rolling into view from a nearby pathway between the machines.  “My captain now has access to most of them.”

I stuck out a lip, impressed.  Setting down my plate, I cleared my throat, asking the question on everyone’s mind.

“What about Tribe?”

Only Doubleshot would meet my gaze.  “They got him,” she said.

I had suspected as much, but my heart sank nonetheless.  I knew what they would do, and it would break him.

“We have to move,” I declared, starting to get up.  “If we leave now, we can be back in the city by nightfall-”

“To do what?” Alina interrupted me, looking up at me defiantly.

“Get back to the NIGHT headquarters,” I sputtered defensively.  “They’ll have taken Tribe to the VPen, so we can grab him and then the data drive-”

“And how do you propose we do that?” she said, rising to her feet.  “You’re injured, we’re all exhausted, and Glory’s out of commission.”

“Well, I-” the gnome began to protest.

“Even if we were at our full strength,” Alina raged, “I don’t see how we’d manage to break into a fortified island of government superagents, fight our way to the VPen, locate the data drive, and escape with our lives.”

“I have a friend on the inside,” I said, “she could help us to-”

“You don’t get it, Nightpath!  Some of us gave up fighting because we stopped believing in what we were fighting for.  You’ve dragged us into your mess, and want us to help you clean it up.”

I opened my mouth to respond, and shut it.  I didn’t have much to say to that.  I looked to the others for support, but didn’t receive any.

“Listen,” I said placatingly, “I realize that I’ve made a lot of assumptions, starting with coming to you for help.  And I understand that because of your involvement with me, you’re now all targets - with the exception of Doubleshot, who was already a wanted fugitive.”

Vasshka tipped her hat in acknowledgement.

“But there’s only one way out of this, and it’s through the top,” I continued.  “If we want to save Tribe from certain torture, clear our names, and avoid a war, we have to get into Alcatraz.”

“The world doesn’t need a savior, Nightpath,” Alina said quietly, relenting a little.

“I’m not looking to be one.”

“Can I say something here?” Gloric chimed in.  Seeing no protests, he continued.  “Getting into the NIGHT base won’t be
that
much trouble.  I can access most of the security protocols fairly easily, if the Nightpath’s associate can do the rest.  We’d only need a distraction to draw the NIGHTs’ attention from our entry.”

“That may not be necessary, Gloric Vunderfel,” the Sigil said.  “Your team’s actions have spurred the Inquisitor General and auric king to action, earlier than planned.  Their machinations are already coming to fruition.”

That gave us pause.  If Karthax and Thog’run had set their plans into motion, the city could be under siege, even overrun, within a matter of days.  The NIGHTs were formidable, and could enlist the aid of the military and local enforcement if necessary, but the Inquisitor General hadn’t gotten to his position of power without making certain connections along the way.  If he wanted the city to be turned over to the underraces under the pretense of battle, it would happen.

“How long do we have?” I asked the Sigil.

“My eyes show revolutionary movement underground, and increased NIGHT activity,” the vacuum beeped.  “Estimated time before impact is three hours.”

I quickly initiated my lens display and pulled out my digitab to sync it with the network, trusting in Gloric’s protective subnetwork and knowing the assassin knew where to find me, in any case.  Several messages from Madge and Striker popped up, along with quite a few other alerts.  I ignored them and pulled up a display, looking at the news.

A number of articles appeared, detailing the dispensary bombing, the loss of a NIGHT operative to revolutionaries who sacrificed their own in the blast, and the brief ensuing military preparations.  Karthax was depicted making an onscreen speech to Congress, alongside a picture of me in uniform and another of the auric king looking menacing.  They had made a martyr out of me, and had been well-primed for war after decades of human-underrace tension.  My reported death was the camel’s straw.

I put away the digitab and addressed the group.  “We have to stop it,” I said, putting confidence in my voice.  “Not because we’re the best equipped, and not because it’s our responsibility.”

I paused, letting them digest my words.  “But because no one else will.

“I may have gotten you all into this,” I continued, “but it’s bigger than me, and I need your help to fix it.  I can get to Tribe and the data drive, but I’ll need you to cover me.  If not for me, do it for your friend.  And if not him, do it for the city.”

I looked around at my companions, trying to make eye contact with each of them.  “Will you help me?”

Doubleshot was the first to respond, chuckling.  “You had me at ‘leave now.’”

I grinned, then looked at Gloric.  The gnome cocked his head to the side.  “I wouldn’t be much of a captain if I didn’t!” he said.  I liked his attitude.  “I may not be much help at the moment, but I’m in.”