The Horns of Ruin (32 page)

There are a lot of old buildings on the lakeshore, stones
that were raised under Amon's watchful eye. Picturesque arches cross canals
that once fed the mercantile heart of the Fraterdom, but now serve nothing more
than pleasure rafts and private boats. This district has been spared the modern
touch. No monotrains, no glass towers, no waterway access to speak of. Just
glorious old architecture and cobblestone streets, and the kind of boutiques
that sell things no one really needs.

Which is why I hadn't been back since my acceptance into
the Paladin. Passing through doesn't count, and the bit of sneaking I did on
the edges of this district, following Simeon to his unfortunate meeting with
Elector Nathaniel, doesn't either. No, for all my dedication to the old ways of
my Cult, I had left this district to other pedestrians.

"The parade," I said, much to the surprise of my
companion. "I suppose the parade comes through here. I'm usually too tired
at that point from walking in formation to really notice."

"Notice what?" she asked.

"Oh. The buildings. The shops. It's really a nice
area."

Cassandra looked around at the picture windows and colored
awnings. I couldn't help but note how different this was from the Library
Desolate. I wondered how long she had been in there, anyway. I asked.

"Five years, more or less. I've been visiting since I
was a kid." I snorted at that. Still a kid, kid. "My parents didn't
like it, but they supported my decision to dedicate."

"They still alive?"

"I don't know. I guess." She folded her arms into
her sleeves and squinted out over the water. "I guess when I say
`support,' I mean they didn't physically stop me."

"Mm. Well. You ever been to this part of town
before?"

"No. No reason."

"Yeah."

We had walked most of the way here, which in itself was
unusual. Lots of pedigears here, rumbling down the street. Even at this hour.
Easy enough to pass unseen, though. That lack of the modern touch also meant
the street lighting was archaic. We were standing in an alleyway, not two
blocks from the Spear of the Brothers. I could see the underlights splashing
off the white stone and bathing the surrounding buildings in its pale
reflection. We were in the worst part of the nice part of town, the sort of
dark alleys that elected officials skulked down to find mistresses and vices and
the like. Not a lot of that business going on tonight, though. The city was in
upheaval. Even the vice making was in chaos.

"Let's assume that you know where the archive
is," Cassandra said. "How do you propose we get in there?"

"That's assuming a lot. Specifically, it assumes
something that's untrue." I leaned against the wall and sighed. "The
good thing is that we don't have to worry about sneaking in. Not until we know
where we're sneaking to, I suppose."

"I suppose," Cassandra echoed.

We had decided that we didn't know enough. That should have
been obvious, but it took us a while to accept it. Cassandra thought the
evidence from our little archive was more than enough to exonerate Amon and
nail Alexander to a wall. Any wall. The girl wasn't picky. I wasn't ready to
give up on Amon as the Betrayer, at least not on the scant findings we had in
hand. I think I was just putting it off, really. Even if we had absolute proof
that Alexander killed Morgan, what good would it do? Who would believe an
escaped Amonite and the last of the Paladins of Morgan?

It didn't matter. We had to know. So we decided to seek out
the theoretical hidden archive. If Alexander was keeping a body of knowledge to
himself, grooming his own personal cadre of Amonites to care for it, and using
that knowledge to prevent this "turning of the sky" that the Feyr
Elemental had talked about ... well, I wanted to know about it. If we found out
some other truth about Morgan's death, that was fine. We would deal with that
on discovery.

Thing was, this other archive was just a story. We didn't
know it really existed. We certainly didn't know where it was. Just made sense
to start at the Spear, close to the godking's throne.

I was done with waiting. The Spear was a simple building,
surrounded by other administrative chambers that served as the seat of
government in Ash. We would start in one of those other buildings and work our
way to the center, or down, or whatever path felt right. I trusted the Hunter.

One thing bugged me most. Infiltration, spying, sneaking in
... this was Betrayer work. And Cassandra was better at it than I was
comfortable with. She had gotten us uniforms, even disguised the archive as
some kind of street-sweeping gear. My sword and holster were hidden in an
enormously complicated staff of office that I almost had to drag along.
Administrators liked their relics of office, even if they held no noetic power.
Mine at least had a revolver and a sword stuffed inside. The articulated sheath
stayed on my back, retracted under the robes of state Cassandra had produced.
She had gone out without me and returned with her gifts.

"These are good," I said when she handed them to
me. "You practice this stuff?"

"Just a matter of hijacking an automated loom, tuning
it up a bit. The owner will actually thank me, when he figures it out."

"You didn't steal anything, did you?"

"You're kidding, right? We're talking about breaking
into the holiest house in the city, which will undoubtedly involve armed
opposition, and you're worried about me stealing things?"

I shrugged. "I've got plenty of blood on my hands, but
none of it was innocent."

"I seriously doubt that. But whatever you
believe." She flipped a hand dismissively. "Just put on the
robe."

I did, and so when we shushed our way across the last road
and into the light of the Spear, we didn't look completely out of place.

The administration buildings were dull gray boxes against
the Spear's white brilliance. Probably a psychological thing. Even though it
was night, there were plenty of lights on in the various windows that looked
down on the plaza. We moved purposefully, straight to the nearest door. No
guards that I could see, so I put my hand on the knob and pulled.

Locked. I rattled the door and peered inside. Empty
hallway. Cassandra was humming nervously behind me.

"I'm going to have to break it down," I said.

"You are not. We're administrators of the throne of
god. We don't break down doors. We have keys, and permission to be wherever we
are." She pushed me away from the door and knelt in front of the lock.
"You break this door down and someone sees it, that's our cover blown.
I'll pick it."

"You have a tool for that?"

"I can make one. Just give me a-People coming."

She was right. I could hear voices from around the corner
of the building, approaching fast. There was a vehicle too. Moving slowly for a
vehicle, but faster than was convenient.

"Open it now," I hissed.

"Can't." She stood. "Not enough time. Look
natural."

"Not bloody likely." I turned away from the
voices and hurried along the side of the building, toward the far corner.
Cassandra was quick behind me. It was too much distance, and too little time.

The party that came around the corner got quiet when they
saw us. I dared a glance back and saw an open-bed carriage, big knobbly wheels,
with something huge on the bed. It was covered by a tarp and tied down with
heavy rope. The carriage strained under its weight. Around it walked a circle
of officials, carrying the familiar staffs and wearing half-masks over their
faces. I turned around.

"Chanters," I said, and quickened my pace. They
hailed us. Not much to do now. Run, or fight, or turn and be civil. Never my
strength.

"Sire and lady!" the lead Chanter called, then
stopped when I turned. "Ladies of the Throne! Can you give us a hand, perhaps?"

"What business have you at the Spear?" Cassandra
called back. By the time they answered, they were upon us. The carriage smelled
like bilge water.

"God's business, of course." The lead Chanter was
a big man, heavy in the jowl and sweating profusely under his mask. He jerked
it off, wiped his mouth, then returned the binding to his mouth. "We're
delivering something, for his honor's collection."

"Alexander?" I asked. Of course Alexander, I
thought to myself. Don't be an idiot. They were thinking the same, judging by
the way they looked at me. "His collection. Of course."

"Yes. We were to meet an official, but he wasn't at
the door as declared. So we thought we'd bring ... this." He turned
nervously to the carriage, then winced and turned back to us. "We thought
we'd bring it around to the front. Perhaps you can lead us inside?"

"Are you late, or are you early?" A voice called
from the corner, back where the carriage had come from. "Or do you simply
not know when to stay put and follow orders?"

We all looked back. A man in a long gray robe was coming
around the corner. He wore no sign of office and carried no elaborate staff.
His clothes were plain, but his form was full of authority. The Chanters turned
gratefully to him. Cassandra and I shrank behind the carriage.

"Someone told you to haul this abomination around
front, did they?"

"No, your ... sir. No. But we thought it would be best
to get it inside."

"Yes, yes. You were wrong. Admirable thought, but
utterly wrong. Come on, turn it around. Don't just stand there."

With a great deal of noise and drama, the Chanters got
their automated carriage turned around and rumbling back toward the corner. We
tagged along. The gray man noticed us and scowled.

"You brought your own administrators? They won't be
necessary."

"Sorry, lord. They asked us the best way in, and we
were about to direct them back to you. Your arrival was fortuitous,"
Cassandra purred. Again, too good for my comfort.

"Hm. Well, it's best you come along. Don't lag. No
telling which Betrayers' eyes are watching, on a night like this."

Together we all made our way around the corner. When the
man's attention was diverted, Cassandra tugged at my robe and leaned in.

"His wrists," she whispered. I turned and looked.
Bracelets, one on each wrist, and matching rings. He even had a tight collar
around his throat, made of thin chain. Very odd. Cassandra tugged at my elbow
again. She had something in her hand. The light was bad so I leaned in to get a
look.

It was her soul-chain, from her time in the Library
Desolate. One of the links was snipped in half, the cut so clean it appeared to
have been forged that way. I looked back at the man in gray.

Amonite.

"The Special Collections Agency is around the
corner," the gray Amonite was saying. "Here." He led us to a
nondescript loading door in a nondescript wall. It took some time for the door
to open, time we spent listening to the lift chains rattle, loud in the silence
of the street. The Chanters looked around nervously. Once the door was open
they hurried inside as fast as the automated carriage would chug. The door
closed behind us.

We were in a plain brick room, the walls and floor painted
white. Another gray man stood just inside the door, his hands still on the
mechanism that opened the door. The Chanters looked much more comfortable now
that they were out of the open air. I was getting nervous. Cassandra felt it,
and so did the neutered sheath on my back. Sheath without a sword can't do much
but twitch.

"My dear brothers and sisters of the Song. I want to thank
you for performing this duty for our lord Alexander." The Amonite put a
hand on the tarp and smiled thinly. "Your god is pleased with you."

"We were lucky to save it from the drowning, your
sir," the fat one said. "It seemed those bloody dead were coming
right for it."

"And through your great works, we were able to prevent
that most unfortunate event. We would hate for all the Chanters' work to have
been lost in that tragedy."

"Aye. Many hours have gone into this. Though I was
surprised his godship put an interest in this, rather than, say, the Song
itself."

The Amonite shrugged. "Alexander will always have the
Song in his heart. And you?" he asked, turning to us. "What was your
part in this retrieval?"

"As we said, my lord," Cassandra answered.
"Happenstance. We were leading them inside."

"Ah, well. Unfortunate."

The Amonite before us drew first. My guess was the guy by
the door was already aiming, because three of the Chanters fell before this guy
got iron clear of leather. Good shooting, for a Scholar. And they were putting
the Chanters down, because they were the obvious threats. Couple pencil pushers
weren't any kind of dangerous.

Cassandra unmade the weapon behind as the fourth bullet
went into the chest of one of the Chanters. I heard the jigsaw tumble of metal
parts, familiar from my previous fight with her. The guy in front of us had
loosed one shot, killing the fat man. That guy had gotten off a couple notes,
his mask rattling open, his chin wobbling as he incanted pure notes of
destruction. Just enough to singe the air and leave us all feeling a little
like we had met the sun. Not enough to kill.

I fractured my staff of office, the quick-fall shaft and
flanges butterflying apart to present the blade and the bully. I took the sword
and invoked hard, splintering the air with light as I vaulted across the room
and opened the lead gray from teeth to ribs. He stumbled back, grinning at me
from two sides of a bloody gash, his revolver snapping shots into the brick at
my feet. Two quick revolutions and he stopped shooting. Clean.

Turning, I saw the other guy in a stance of meditation. He
and Cassandra were in a battle of noetic will. Waves of force lashed between
them, making and unmaking the bricks, the walls, the very stuff of the air and
earth and time. The cadence of their voices was a wall of tectonic force. They
seemed to be channeling the purest of power, forming energy out of nothing, and
nothingness out of the bare rock. Both stood in perfect meditation, an
invisible wind animating their robes and hair, the barest of auras pulsing from
their closed eyes.