The Keeper's Shadow (44 page)

Number Six pushes his glasses against his nose and as the elevator shudders to a halt on the lowest floor, he scurries away.

“Well,” a jocular voice calls out, “old friend. Close calls on all sides.”

“I'm sorry, Kamyar, Number Six just told me—”

“Willum. There will be time enough for that after. Sorrow cannot ride at the warrior's side.”

“You've begun?”

“Of course, we've been at it for days, telling tales of renewal and insurrection to whoever will listen. We've been trying to convince the Absent to stay in their homes, but that shiny eyesore Darius erected has attracted them like ants to honey.”

“It's an Apogee. It must be destroyed, Kamyar.”

“Final deployment's being discussed tonight. I'll add it to our agenda.”

“Quickly, they are here!” announces Number Six, who is standing beside a large, open duct. One by one, they climb over its edge—Mabatan, Lumpy, Mhyzah, with dozens of Apsara behind.

Mabatan spots Willum instantly. The echo of Kira's suffering still marks her cheek and eye, and the loss he feels when she presses herself into his arms is almost beyond bearing.

“Much has happened since I saw you last,” she says, pulling away from the embrace, her voice burdened but her old pragmatism shining through. She has survived the ordeal and will, in time, be stronger for it.

“And more is still to come,” mutters Ende, emerging from behind her warriors.

The memory of his vision slams over the sight of her, blood flecking the air like the first heavy raindrops in a downpour. “What are you doing here, Grandmother?”

“I'm Kira's replacement.” Ende pauses, squaring her jaw defiantly. “There was no other choice, Willum. I do only what I must.”

Any frustration he may have had with the Apsara matriarch dissipates instantly. It is an obvious truth she speaks and he needs no special power to sense her personal anguish and the effort it is taking for her to conceal it. “I know,” he whispers, and wraps her, one last time, in his arms. Looking over her shoulder he sees Petra, and her cocky smile of greeting is like a spear piercing his side.

With a sigh, he draws back and scans the faces of all the friends around him. “I cannot stay. I just needed to ensure you had all arrived safely. When the moon bites the sun, it will begin. May we survive these days.”

The sounds around him muffled by his own heartbeat, he memorizes tiny details—Dai tossing her hair and laughing, Lumpy's concerned but confident nod, Mhyzah's fist tapping her heart—then he pries himself away, and strides quickly to the elevator.

Stretching an arm around his shoulder, Kamyar joins him for the ride. They stand silently together, deeply immersed in their own thoughts, until the floor settles with a jolt at the top.

“What say, Willum, after this is over,” Kamyar says with a sidelong glance, his usual bluster muted, “we sit together in the open air of Conurbation Park, and share an ale or two or three and speak of old friends?” They had both long ago accepted the inevitability of this moment; now their faith must endure the ultimate test—and Kamyar was never one to acknowledge the possibility of failure.

“Agreed,” Willum accepts with a smile, and with Kamyar's firm slap still stinging his back, he crouches through the door. His head has barely cleared the concrete wall when he spots them—three Clerics in the courtyard. Well-armed.

“So. What do we have here?” one of them crows arrogantly. “A strange place for Our Stowe's Primary to be lurking about.”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Master Kordan's business is our business. And, it seems, his doubts about you were justified.”

These three are so full of swagger and self-importance, they should be easy to take.

The Cleric smirks at Willum as he motions his cohorts to enter the concrete cube. “How kind of you to open this door. We've been at it since we saw you go in.” Brandishing a flare, he continues, “Master Kordan says you're dangerous, so I'm not taking any—” Mouth gaping, the Cleric stares down at his chest. A knitting needle is protruding from his heart.

As the dead man falls into Willum's arms, Kamyar slips out from between the two Clerics at his feet and whispers, “Always glad to be of assistance.”

THE GORGE

PRESUPPOSING THE KEEPER'S FORTIFIED BIOFIELD IS FED BY THE THRONE CONSTRUCTION, I HAVE DETERMINED THAT A TIMED CEASE-FUNCTION WILL WEAKEN HIM AT A CRITICAL JUNCTURE,
IF
SUFFICIENT NUMBERS OF ENABLERS ARE AFFECTED.

—Algernon's Enabler File Report 7.4

E
VERYONE IS IN POSITION AND READY.
Roan hopes they won't have to wait long. It's hard to keep focused in the cold and even he finds his attention wandering.

The Caldera is barely visible against the eastern horizon. Alandra must already be there. His falling out with her in Newlight seems a lifetime ago. And yet, that was where so much began. If he comes out of this battle alive, he'll go see her. Even if she's unable to hear him or even know that he's there.

Far in the distance, glints of silver reflect the sun. “They're coming,” reports Stinger, peering through a spyglass. “Twenty-five troop carriers, all equipped with Apogees.”

“Glad to see Querin went all-out,” Wolf comments dryly.

“How much fuel do they have stockpiled?”

The awe in Stinger's voice is echoed in Wolf's face, as he turns to Roan. “We're lucky the embargo was successful or he'd be sending air machines, like he did during the Consolidation.”

The quickest way here had been through the Devastation. One hundred years hadn't lessened the reek of death, and visions of Darius's bombs exterminating rebel armies are fresh in everyone's minds.

“Still,” Wolf mutters, shifting uneasily, “we'd better hope the Master of Inculcation hasn't cooked up any nasty surprises.”

Roan can understand his reservations. He'd had his doubts as well. But when he arrived he knew they couldn't have found a better place for an ambush. The oncoming Clerics would see nothing but a forbidding cliff face running for miles on either side of the gorge. In reality, though, there were many avenues of descent, and numerous small corridors wide enough to hide horses and through which they could ride to attack their enemy.

“Don't worry. There won't be.”

“Good. Because seventy-five against a thousand means we all die. And there's no guarantee the darts—”

“Mabatan can be trusted.” Pulling away from the spyglass, Stinger stares sternly at his commander. Both he and Roan know why Wolf's being so difficult. A third of the army is untested, Roan's age and even younger. Eager, but if things went wrong, more of a liability than help. “The drug will work as planned.”

“Brother Wolf,” Roan says, drawing his attention away from Stinger. “When I saw the Friend, his eyes were gouged, his vision impaired. We choose this path to give Him back his sight. He will breathe fire into the hearts of us all this day.”

Pulling himself up to his full height, Wolf smiles proudly. “You speak like a Brother, Roan of Longlight.”

Only a few weeks ago he was ready to fight Wolf for saying much the same thing, but in that time Roan's come to realize that distinguishing between enemy and friend, whether god or human, was more of a challenge than he'd thought. So he lets the statement stand and returns Wolf's smile. Then, eyeing the approaching vehicles, he breathes deeply. “How long, Brother Stinger?”

“It is time.”

In the long, narrow gorge sits a sprawling campsite, with scores of tents flapping in the wind and campfires blazing. Brother Wolf whistles long and loud, and the Brothers positioned there ready their weapons. Then he whistles again, this time short and sharp, and a dozen crossbowmen scramble to their positions along the ridges.

The trucks are almost upon them when Wolf gives the final signal. Arrows rain down from the ridge and along the ground, piercing the wheels of the vehicles. The trucks careen wildly, smashing into each other, skidding across the plain. Secure in the effectiveness of their new weapon, hundreds of Clerics pour into the gorge, brandishing swords and stunners, like lemmings off a cliff, while others man the Apogees.

Wolf gives the signal to ready the Allayers. The archers on the ground sprint straight back through the camp, chased by hosts of Clerics. As the Brothers reach the back wall, ropes swing down and they are hoisted up. With a glance at Roan, Wolf and Stinger make their way down to the horses hidden below.

The Clerics suddenly realize that they're at a dead end—but too late. At the mouth of the gorge, thirty blowguns have already begun their work. The Blue Robes collapse from the drug, one after the other, obstructing the exit for those further in.

Alerted by the whirr of the Apogees powering up, Roan gives the command to initiate the Allayers. The reaction of the Clerics behind the weapons is at first confused, but within moments, calls for retreat fill the air. Roan looks down at the litter of unconscious bodies below him. At least two hundred Clerics are still struggling to get out. As soon as he's signaled the crossbowmen, Roan takes out his blowgun and sets to work.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the first fusillade of fiery arrows has forced the remainder of the Clerics out of their trucks. Then, from either side of the perimeter of the gorge, he hears Wolf and Stinger emerge, leading the Brothers' cavalry attack. Only a handful of Clerics are still struggling in the gorge. Leaving two Brothers behind to finish the job, Roan motions the others forward. They're going down.

As they fan out to join the battle on the plain, Roan is swarmed by a phalanx of Clerics. Drawing out his hook-sword, he strikes again and again, hitting heads with the flat side of his blade, kicking hard to the chest or chin—careful not to land a mortal blow. Weaving through the scores of horses that lie wounded, their riders trapped beneath them, Roan circles and spins, his sword strokes a blur until a Cleric's hand cinches around his ankle.

Stumbling back, he's pinned by two Clerics against a fallen horse. As he fends off their swords, Stinger, moving with the stealth and focus of a sand painter, rives them one after another with his double-pointed spear. Throwing himself back into the melee, Roan plows through the Clerics until they are a sea of bloodied blue cloth.

Chest heaving, his ears ringing from the silence, Roan turns. In every direction, only Brothers are left standing.

Joining Roan at the center of the battlefield, Wolf's breath is short, his eyes overly bright, the veins on his bald head still pulsing with adrenaline. “They battled well and died with honor.”

Stinger, arm bleeding, stares out at the grisly remains, shaking his head. “I'll keep fifteen Brothers with me,” he mutters. “We'll set the pyre, separate the wounded.” He does not wait for Roan to respond but turns instantly to choose his men.

The Hhroxhi are already on the field. They've agreed to tend the injured, but shelter in the tunnels for an army of a thousand was out of the question. Crowded together and protected by the gorge, the uninjured will survive the cold, but Roan is worried some of the wounded might not.

“Everyone else to the gorge,” Wolf orders. “Begin the scan!”

Pulling out the hand-sized devices, the Brothers creep from Cleric to Cleric, modifying their enablers. The sight is disturbingly reminiscent of stories Roan's read about scavengers who scour the battlefields to rob the bodies of the dead. But these men are alive. Most of them. And they're being released from a prison they might not even know they were in.

Brother Wolf watches with a disgruntled look on his face. “And when they awaken. What then?”

“How would you react? If you woke up no longer in Darius's control.”

“They will still have their faith.”

“The prophecies shape their beliefs. You may find they are not so dissimilar to your own.”

Wolf eyes Roan skeptically. “Soon the war will be over. What need will we have then for such an army? Killing them would have been easier.” Before Roan can answer, Wolf looks back in the direction of the City and asks, “When do you leave, Roan of Longlight?”

“After the tribute to the Friend.”

“Hhroxhi are readying Allayers for positioning outside the City gates as we speak. The moment the eclipse begins, we attack.”

“Friend willing, in two days' time I will find you there.”

“Friend willing,” Wolf says, squinting at the horizon. And running a hand over his bald head, he sighs and turns to join his men in the gorge.

Roan had hoped their parting would be easier, but Wolf has never approved of this part of the plan. He'd wanted Roan to lead the Brothers to the gates of the City, and dismissed all of Roan's protestations with outraged sputterings. But in the end, he'd accepted it, in his fashion, because Roan had said that he knew it was what Wolf had dreamt of doing since he went to train with Ende as a child. The Friend had clearly singled him out for this task, and so Roan was sure Wolf would succeed.

As he watches his commander take charge of the field, Roan goes over the events of the day. Over a thousand Clerics demobilized with a minimum of blood spilled. Walking toward the pyre, Roan wishes he could find it in himself to look at the faces of the fallen so that he might remember the cost of this accomplishment. But he cannot.

THE WRATH OF DARIUS

WHEN, BY DAY, THE MOON'S SHADOW IS SEEN CROSSING THE CITY, CHILDREN WILL LAUGH, AS IF AWAKENING FROM A BAD DREAM.

—THE BOOK OF LONGLIGHT

T
HE FATES WERE WITH THEM,
and the sky is clear. The wind's forbiddingly frigid, but here, near the top of the tallest building in the City, heat rises from the elevator shaft and keeps Mabatan and Lumpy warm.

This vantage point provides them with an unobstructed view of the battle about to unfold. Through the binoculars Number Six gave her, Mabatan scans the areas where the initial clashes will take place: the gates of the City, the square where the giant Apogee stands in the ghetto of the Absent, and, far in the distance the Quarry's great pit and the concrete bunker where the Dirt is refined and stored. Mines have been set, Allayers transported, troops positioned. Soon, at the top of this very building, Roan will confront Darius.