‘No, listen, I’m working on it. I’ve kind of got mixed up in some other stuff as well, but, believe me . . .’
‘Laszlo, just . . .’ To have a jagged piece of hope thrust into her hands and then torn away so swiftly was unbearable. ‘Just do something,’
‘I will. But you need to make sure Milus takes you with him when the Sarnesh march out. And that’ll be soon. Things are happening. Just be with him.’
‘Oh, he’ll take me.’ There was a wealth of tired pain in her words that left him silent, and for a moment she had mad thoughts of him putting an arrow into Milus, stabbing the man or getting killed while trying, and then where would she be? Milus was her jailer, but at least he had an interest in keeping her alive.
Then Lazlo said, ‘You’ll get your chance, I swear to you. I’ll get you out and then you’ll never need to see Milus again.’
I’ll see him one more time after that
, she told herself, but that was more than Laszlo needed to hear. So she moved over to the brighter end of the garden, drawing the soldiers’ gazes after her, so that he could creep away.
It was a Fly-kinden war.
The machine that ghosted to a silent landing north of Collegium was a fixed-wing, and Taki never liked flying fixed-wings. If a Wasp combat orthopter had caught her in the air, she would only have speed to trust to in her escape. Actual fighting would be out of the question.
It was quiet, though, her machine, and, most importantly, it could glide for long distances with its propellers stilled. She had kept up high on the trip south from Sarn, riding the winds whenever she could to conserve fuel, she and her passengers muffled in scarves and overcoats against the chill of the upper air.
Once touched down, she listened intently for the engines of Wasp fliers, but the night was keeping its secrets. She twisted in her seat, looking back at the others.
‘Your stop.’
There was little space in the body of the fixed-wing, but enough for two Fly-kinden.
‘You know what you’re looking for?’ Laszlo prompted her. Beside him, Sperra shifted, still half asleep, and leant into the man.
‘An army’s a hard thing to miss,’ Taki told him contemptuously. ‘You just concentrate on doing your own job, whatever that actually is.’
‘Top secret,’ he insisted, and not for the first time. ‘I’m a spy, remember.’
‘A piss-poor one, if you keep telling people,’ she retorted, and was surprised to see a slight twinge of pain come into his smile at the reproach.
‘You just remember your job, mistress aviator.’
‘Avia
trix
.’
‘Whatever.’ He untangled himself from Sperra, who made a complaining noise and then woke up with a start as Laszlo unlatched the hatch.
‘Already?’ she demanded.
‘Winds were with us,’ Taki said. ‘That, and the fact that you have the best pilot in the world.’
Laszlo snorted. ‘Good luck in the city,’ he told Sperra.
‘I thought you were coming in with me.’
‘Got other places I need to be, and better roads to take me there.’ He hopped down to the ground and then put his head back through the hatch. ‘Good sailing, both of you.’
He was gone even before Sperra replied in kind.
‘You too,’ Taki urged her. ‘Come on, out. I want to be on my way west before the Wasps decide we’re overdue for a fly-by.’
‘He’s quite a character, isn’t he,’ Sperra said, in a thoughtful tone of voice.
For a moment, Taki couldn’t imagine what she was talking about. Then: ‘
Laszlo?
’
‘Do you think he really used to be a pirate?’
Sperra and Laszlo had been talking earlier on, but due to the rushing of the wind and the softness of their voices, Taki had caught not even one word in ten. Now she regarded the other woman doubtfully, deciding with uncharacteristic tact to let her own opinions remain unspoken. There was a hope on Sperra’s face that was just ready for some jovial bravo like Laszlo to step on. ‘Pirate? No more than he’s a spy,’ was all that she said.
Sperra looked put out at that. ‘He’s doing good work.’
‘So am I. So should you be. Come on, move.’
Still Sperra hesitated. ‘You think . . . what they were saying in Sarn, Leadswell and the rest. This
is
going to work, isn’t it?’
Taki shrugged. ‘Wasn’t really listening, except for my bit.’
Sperra was unhappy with that, but Taki finally got the woman out of the hold and did a few quick calculations as to how much room she was going to need to get airborne. The fixed-wing was a flimsy little thing, though, light as anything she’d ever flown. It only took a little lift to get it away from the ground and into the arms of the wind.
The summons from Milus came just a few days after Eujen had bearded him on the wall. This time it was a map room in the Royal Court, the unspoken subtext being:
Look how seriously we are taking you.
The tactician regarded him without expression as Eujen stood there under his scrutiny, the brace and the stick taking his weight between them.
‘We’ve fought the Wasps about ten miles east of here – the former Collegiate garrison force and some of the First Army,’ Milus announced. ‘Mostly a skirmish of scouts and automotives, but a fair-sized engagement.’
‘I assume congratulations are in order,’ Eujen advanced.
‘The result was inconclusive, but the Wasps have been pushed further back. We think that we can control any attempt to reconnoitre our city, save for a full-scale assault. The reports from the officers in charge suggest that they will not be in a position to make such an assault in the immediate future.’
‘That is good news.’ Conversational pleasantries, obviously marking time until Milus got to the point.
‘I am aware of how many Collegiates you can put under arms, little Speaker. There is clearly nothing you can accomplish in Collegium, even with that woman’s Mynans at your back.’
‘And yet we are going,’ Eujen confirmed. ‘Perhaps we, too, wish to test the enemy’s strength.’ Wondering all the time,
And what else have you heard?
The plan was full of big secrets, sliding into place like blocks of stone, and Milus must have spies and agents listening out for their movements.
‘Our recent gains against the Wasps here, however, mean that I can spare at least a nominal force to accompany you south.’
Eujen waited.
‘Five hundred men, some light artillery, some war automotives.’
‘A thousand would perhaps better demonstrate the leading role that Sarn is taking in the fight against the Empire,’ Eujen stated.
For a long time Milus’s eyes bored into him, hunting for the awkward, injured student he knew was in there somewhere.
‘Very well.’ So very grudgingly, and Eujen could see a flare of that un-Ant-like temper, that erratic nature that marked Milus out from his fellows.
‘Thank you, Tactician,’ he said graciously, thinking,
I have an enemy there. Once this is done, I will have to be careful.
Eleven
His name was Orothellin, and Che had waited for the cascade of titles that all of his kinden burdened themselves with, but if he had ever possessed such, he had shed them a long time ago.
He had led them from Cold Well, choosing path after path in the pitch-dark caves, and never once coming within sight of another segment of the Worm. There was no magic to it, just an utter certainty of his route, as though every inch of it was second nature to him. His pace was leaden, his bare feet dragging on the stone, and his hoarse, heavy breathing echoed about them.
When they came out into what passed for the open, they were far enough from Cold Well that the lights and the foundries were only a reddish glow limning a distant ridge, and Orothellin gave out a great sigh, swaying so that Che thought he might collapse. A moment later he was on his way again, one scraping step after another. He did not even look back, and for a moment Che thought he was abandoning them.
‘Please,’ she hissed at his retreating back, ‘I have questions.’
He stopped, then turned – not just his head, but his whole bulky body, as though craning over his shoulder would somehow have involved even more effort. He was a shocking sight, his pale, slick skin dirty and lined, and his hair long and matted and streaked with grey. He looked
old
, Che realized. The thought had been slow in coming because she knew his kind lived for many centuries, and those she had met beneath Khanaphes had seemed still in their prime.
‘Ah, no,’ he mumbled. ‘Come with me. No, there is further to go yet. They will search here. Come, now.’ His staff creaked as it took his weight, and then he was shambling off again.
Their progress was agonizing, given the thought of the Worm and its swift-ranging pursuit, but somehow their lurching hulk of a guide took them on a winding route that avoided all notice, despite shackling them to his slow shuffle. Messel kept ranging further ahead or off to one side, plainly anxious to be further from Cold Well, but he always came back. Orothellin had become the centre of their world.
At last he found a crack in the rock that seemed shallow but opened out below into a fair-sized cave. The walls were tacky to the touch, and there was a bundle of rags in one corner that must serve as a bed. A pot beside it held embers, and Messel built a low fire to bring some warmth to the place.
The huge man gave out a groan and slumped down onto the ground, the staff clattering at his feet.
‘So, my people survive still, do they?’ he asked Che.
‘They . . .’ In her mind again was the tomb complex beneath Khanaphes, with the Masters lying in dignity and state. What would they think to see one of their own like this? ‘They sleep. They are almost forgotten. I am sorry.’
‘As I knew they would be,’ Orothellin said mournfully, a prophet unacknowledged in his own country.
There had been Masters amongst those who had driven the Worm below ground, and no doubt there was a complex story to account for this man being trapped down here, but Che had other priorities, urgent priorities.
Like escape.
‘Please, Master . . .’ And, when he waved the title away, ‘Teacher, then,’ for that was how Messel had addressed the man. ‘Tell me . . . that was magic. Of all we have met down here, you are the first who . . . Please, can you help us?’
He regarded her grimly, and for a long time he said nothing, so that she thought he really was falling asleep, but at last he said, ‘Messel, keep watch.’ A ridiculous request to a man with no eyes, but their erstwhile guide nodded sharply.
‘Yes, Teacher,’ and he had crawled from the cave, out into the hostile dark beyond.
‘So, you really are from the Old World,’ Orothellin said. ‘I had almost convinced myself that there was nowhere else but here.’
‘At least you can believe us, then,’ Tynisa stated. ‘Those other creatures didn’t – the slaves.’
‘Believe?’ Orothellin echoed mildly. ‘Dear girl, I
remember
. I remember the sun and the sky. I remember
rain
.’ His voice was hoarse with wonder.
‘When did you come here?’ Tynisa demanded. ‘If there’s a way in—’
‘I have always been here,’ the great man told her. ‘Since there has been a “here”, here I have been.’
‘But that’s—’ Tynisa started, but Che put a hand on her shoulder.
‘It’s possible,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s just possible.’
How long ago was it, really? How old is this man?
‘But, yes, we come from above – from the Old World, if you want. Please . . . we need to get back. The Seal . . .’
The huge man gave out a low moan. ‘So it has happened at last. They broke the Seal.’
‘It was broken from the surface, by the Empress of the Wasps,’ Che told him, but of course he had no idea who he meant, or what Empire that was. ‘She has released the Worm,’ she pressed on. ‘She will ally with them, make use of them. She must be stopped.’
‘One does not
ally
with the Worm.’
‘She will,’ Che insisted.
Another vast sigh from Orothellin. ‘The Worm does not negotiate or deal. It cannot. It has only one goal: for there to be nothing in existence but the Worm. All you see here, all those poor wretches in Cold Well, they are kept solely because their toil and their tax make them more useful to the Worm than their deaths would, but in the end all will be the Worm. That is what the Worm wants. And if the Worm can breach the surface, then perhaps it will not need any of this down here, not for much longer.’
‘Then we must stop it – but from up
there
,’ Che insisted, hearing the ragged sound of her own voice. ‘Please, you have magic. Can you send us out?’
‘If he could do that, do you think he’d still be here?’ Thalric demanded sharply.
‘Perhaps I could have left here a long time ago,’ the massive man mused, almost to himself. ‘I had power then, but it has bled away over the ages while I have hidden away here. I have a bare shadow of it left, now: so little that my kin would weep.’ He shook his head slowly, even that motion seeming to tire him. ‘If I could only sleep a little, then perhaps some might be saved up again, and I might accomplish something. But the Worm hunts me always. I have not slept in so very long.’
‘How long?’ Che asked, voice hushed.
He met her eyes, and she had to fight to hold that weighty ancient gaze.
‘I don’t think I have slept in a thousand years,’ he whispered.
‘Excuse me, sieur,’ Maure put in. ‘I am a magician of some small skill, back in our home. Here . . . I cannot find any strength here.’ Her hands were clasped together, wringing and twisting. ‘There is nothing . . . even in the great cities of the Apt it was not such a desert as this. But you . . . you hid us. That was not Art nor skill; that was magic.’
Orothellin smiled slightly. ‘I am pleased you think so. It was almost the last of my poor marshalled strength. I have that little only because the Worm does not know me. I have evaded its notice for all the time I have been down here. If it turned its gaze on me, I would be as helpless as you. More so: you at least could run.’
‘Then there’s nothing . . .?’ The halfbreed magician trembled, staring at the man’s sloping bulk as though she was starving.