She had spoken in Raksuran, but Hians in the corridor shouted the warning in their own language. Bemadin leapt up and ran from the room, calling out orders. Vendoin and Lavinat bolted after her, and Aldoan and the other Hian guards followed in a desperate rush. Delin shoved to his feet, knocking his stool aside in his haste. “Bramble—” His eyes were wide.
She stepped to him and caught his wrist. She didn’t want to risk being separated from him. Opposing impulses to hide and to fight warred in her chest. It was an Arbora’s duty to protect others and hide, and an Arbora’s instinct to fight. There was no queen or consort or older Arbora here to resolve that inner conflict.
Then Delin said in Raksuran, “Bramble, should we try to escape? If they have lifting packs aboard—We must find Merit and Callumkal—”
Bramble twitched and was able to think again. Yes, they had to use the confusion to get to the others. “Come on.”
She went out and up the corridor, tugging Delin along. Several cabinets lined the wall and Bramble stopped to fling them all open and Delin hurried to help. But there were no flying packs stored inside. Hissing, Bramble led the way to the nearest stairs. The Jandera had worn the harnesses for the packs all the time on their flying boat, and the packs themselves had been stored away in every cubby Bramble had ever looked into. The Hians didn’t do that, maybe because the skin between their armored patches was irritated by the harnesses. Or maybe they just didn’t care as much about survival as the Jandera did. “We’ll get Merit first. Do you have any idea where Callumkal is?”
“I have not heard him since we moved to this ship,” Delin said, his voice unsteady with exertion. “I think he must be on the far side, away from our room.”
They passed a window and Bramble caught a glimpse of dakti diving away from the flying boat. She felt a stab of despair; they might escape right into the mouths of the Fell.
Bramble plunged down the stairs, Delin hurrying after her. The boat rocked abruptly to the right and Bramble bounced off the wall. Delin hung on to the railing and she staggered, her claws catching on the soft surface of the deck. Multiple thumps shuddered through the deck, and she knew someone was operating the boat’s big fire weapons. Out of the corner of her eye she caught motion in the cross-corridor and hauled Delin back under the stairs.
Aldoan and another Hian trotted past, Aldoan carrying something and holding it out from her body like it was a poisonous fruit.
It was a dull, silver-colored metal cage with a jagged piece of dark crystal suspended inside it.
Bramble hissed under her breath. It was the artifact, the weapon.
Aldoan and the other Hian went through the outer hatch, letting the heavier door bang behind them as they ran out.
Delin gripped Bramble’s arm. He said, “That was it, the artifact— They must mean to use it against the Fell.”
Bramble leapt to the nearest crystal-covered window with a view of the deck.
Over the hills of the city, dark bodies shot through the air. Bramble spotted more dakti and two kethel. Light and sound burst from the top of a hill not far away; a Kishan fire weapon must be mounted atop it somewhere.
Bramble dragged her gaze down toward the Hians on the deck. Vendoin held the artifact now. She spoke to Lavinat, but the glass in the window muffled sound too much for Bramble to make out the words. From their gestures and posture they seemed to be disagreeing about something. Vendoin turned impatiently to Aldoan and handed the artifact back to her. Aldoan turned toward the hatch and Bramble started to duck.
The Fell ruler hit the deck barely three paces away from Aldoan. It slashed through the two armed Hians in the way, bounced forward, snatched Aldoan, and flung itself off the boat.
Delin made a strangled noise of horror. Bramble’s snarl was soundless, vibrating in her chest. It struck her suddenly that no matter how much she hated the Hians for everything they had done, this was not something that should happen. Not to them and not to anyone. It was too late for the armed Hians to fire their weapons, even as a mercy killing. The ruler carried Aldoan toward the outer edge of the city, so fast Bramble was sure only her eyes could track it. And now the Fell have the artifact. She hoped they didn’t know what it was.
She turned away from the doorway and grabbed Delin’s wrist to pull him with her. Nothing had changed, they had to escape now.
She made it two steps down the corridor when the deck suddenly leapt up and struck her in the face.
Bramble woozily contemplated the curve of the moss ceiling. Her whole body ached, especially her joints. She groaned, and realized the rush of noise was her ears ringing. Delin must have rolled her over, because he was leaning over her, eyes wide with dismay, shouting her name.
She tried to lift her hand and flail at him to stop. They couldn’t let the Hians know they were here. Then she saw two Hians stagger by behind Delin and groaned again. Well, piss on it. We’re too late. She tried to ask what had happened, but couldn’t get her mouth to form the words in her head.
Delin patted her face, as if trying to rouse her. Bramble realized she had shifted, that she was in her groundling form now. She tried to tell him she was all right but again no sound came out of her throat. It occurred to her that she was very much not all right.
Delin twisted to speak to someone she couldn’t see. “What is this? What has happened?” He sounded frightened. Bramble had never heard Delin sound really frightened before, and it turned her insides to ice.
A Hian stepped in to lean over her. It was Lavinat. “It was the weapon,” she told Delin. “It affects the Raksura as well as the Fell, as we expected. I think we will find it affects other races, any who descend in some way from the foundation builders or forerunners. There was a good reason why they chose to hide the weapon instead of use it.”
“This I suspected,” Delin said impatiently. “But Bramble was so far from it . . .”
Lavinat made a gesture of dismissal. “Vendoin knows less of it than she believes. She hoped the scholar who lives here could tell her more.” She added bitterly, “Aldoan obviously discovered how to get some use of it in a moment of extremis. If she lives, she can tell us.”
Delin looked down at Bramble, his face etched with fear and anger. “I don’t understand. Why this concealment, and abduction, and violence? If it is a weapon against the Fell surely no one could object to obtaining and using it? If it is carefully directed, the Raksura would not be harmed. There are no Fell flights near Raksuran colonies.” He glared up at Lavinat again. “Why did the foundation builders fear using it?”
Lavinat eyed him. “You haven’t guessed? Vendoin feared you had. The artifact is only one component of the weapon. The bulk of it lies somewhere else, somewhere nearby on the coast, if Vendoin is right. It is meant to kill on a large scale. Our scholars believe if this artifact is united with the rest of the device, it will destroy all the Fell on this part of the continent, from the far west to the eastern end of the Abascene peninsula.”
Bramble couldn’t take it in. It was like listening to a story read from a book. Surely this couldn’t be real. She was Bramble, an Arbora hunter of great skill from the Indigo Cloud Court. People like her hunted and worked and made art and had sex with their friends and at some point had a clutch or two or three on their way to old age. They didn’t become witnesses to the end of their world.
Delin’s face flushed a dark gold in distress. “That includes all the Reaches. All of Kish. The Jandera think they descend from the foundation builders . . .”
“As do other races within and outside the Imperial Kish borders.” Lavinat tilted her head in wry inquiry. “Would you have helped Vendoin if she had asked?”
“No.” His lips curled in revulsion.
“Then she was right,” Lavinat said, as Bramble saw the world go dark and drop away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As Moon and Stone flew, the cloudwall still didn’t seem to change, except with the play of light and shadow. The rolling hills of the forest under them began to g
row wider and deeper, like the swells of a sea of trees.
Then Stone abruptly turned, slipped sideways, and dropped down toward the ground. It was so abrupt, Moon’s heart went tight with dismay. Stone had said he was recovered from his injuries, but Stone lied a lot.
Moon followed him down, already mentally scrambling for alternative plans, and dropped down onto the rocky ground beside him as Stone shifted to groundling. “What is it?” Moon demanded. “What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, Stone climbed the nearest outcrop. A large tree with fringed leaves perched atop it and birds clacked angrily at them from the branches. Stone tasted the air and said, “Fell and death, from upwind.”
Moon furled his wings and bounced up onto the rock beside him. “I can’t scent it yet.”
“It’s coming from the south.” Stone shifted and leapt, his wings brushing the tree branches as he flapped upward. Moon shook the stirred moss out of his frills and leapt after him.
After some hard flying, Moon started to catch the scent too. Stone was right, it was Fell stench, a taint on the clean wind, and growing steadily heavier. But it was accompanied by the growing sweet-sour stink of rot. So much that it almost overpowered the Fell stench. It was odd. In Moon’s experience, the strength of the scents should be reversed. Fell ate most of their kills. The remnants they would have left behind wouldn’t have an odor this strong.
The sky was mostly clear, with some clouds gathered toward the west where a small rainstorm fell. Moon scented wood smoke before the rising trails of it became visible. They were approaching a groundling settlement. Or what was left of one.
Finally he caught sight of it, built atop a series of steep hills overlooking the wide bends of a shallow river. Two different trade roads wound through the forested hills toward it. The roads had been elevated some twenty to thirty paces off the ground, supported by large carved stone blocks, similar to those Moon had been familiar with in the east. It meant this spot had been a major nexus of travel for more turns than anyone could remember.
Stone leading the way, they dropped out of the air while they still had a hill and tall forest for cover. Approaching on foot and in groundling form was a frustratingly slow necessity, though at least when they reached the first raised, stone-paved trade road they were able to run without wading through brush and high grass. The stench of Fell and death-rot was almost choking the air now, and scavenger birds circled overhead.
The road took them over two bends of the river toward the settlement. Tall, evenly rounded hills dotted the river valley, the slopes covered with low buildings, the pathways and staircases winding upward shaded by trees. On the valley floor between the hills it was all tents and light wooden structures. Flags and other symbols, some variants of ones that Moon was familiar with from the east, hung from poles along the road and near the river docks, telling travelers everything they needed to know, from what shelter and food were available to which kinds of goods trading was done here.
The wind brought the faint sound of agitated voices and Moon saw groundlings still moving among the tent pathways and up the stairs on the hills. Most were short, hairless, with a dull green skin tone. There were far too many groundlings still alive for the aftermath of a Fell attack. This doesn’t make sense, Moon thought.
Then Stone stopped, staring at something. Moon caught up and looked down to see a black scaled arm lying in the dust on the ancient paving stones. His first horrified thought was that it was Raksura, but the scales and claws were wrong. “It’s a Fell ruler’s arm,” he said.
Stone’s brow was furrowed. “Right.” He looked up and tasted the air again. “Come on.”
Next it was a join with a leathery dakti wing still attached, then a ruler’s torso, then more dakti limbs, then a kethel’s foot, and more, all rotting in their own congealed blood, surrounded by buzzing insects and the small ground-scavenging lizards. It was impossible to tell what had killed them. Some groundlings had weapons that could cause things to explode, but it was usually accompanied by fire, and Moon couldn’t scent any burned flesh. There was no sign of damage from Kishan-style fire weapons.
“A little more than a day,” Stone said, judging the time the bodies lay on the road by the carrion insects and the smell of rot. “Maybe yesterday morning. Must be the flight that was ahead of us.”
Moon hadn’t seen any remnants that suggested this was the flight controlled by the Fell-born queen. He felt a little relief about that. Seeing dismembered Fell was puzzling but not horrific. He didn’t want to see dismembered Fell-Raksuran crossbreeds, no matter how mad he was at them.
They reached a place where a ramp had been constructed to allow travelers to leave the trade road. As they climbed down, it was clear the exploding Fell phenomenon was not confined to the old road. Groundlings gathered dead Fell pieces and dumped them in piles in the city’s outskirts, clearly making ready to burn them. Many of the groundlings stumbled with exhaustion, and others carried jugs of water for the workers. Everyone was busy and no one paid attention to the two astonished travelers. Moon said, “What did . . . How did . . .” That was all he could manage.
Stone shook his head, and started away from the burial piles toward the nearest tents.
Moon followed, noting signs that a battle had taken place. Some tents closer in had collapsed, and one had caught fire, its canvas and poles now a smoking heap. Everywhere there was disarray, broken pottery, smashed carts, confused herdbeasts wandering the streets, groundlings who were injured or in obvious distress. There was also some damage to the structures on the hills. The greenery and trees made it hard to see, but Moon spotted a collapsed terrace on the nearest, and on another bricks and roof tiles had spilled down, blocking a stairway.
But most of the groundlings are alive and the Fell are dead, Moon thought. There were Kishan fire weapon emplacements on the hills, but the Fell hadn’t been burned. That was the part that didn’t make sense.
Stone wound his way through the tents with his usual lack of concern in strange groundling places, heading for an open plaza. More groundlings gathered there, some of the stocky green-skinned ones and some who were skinny and light blue-gray and looked as if they were wearing their skeletons on the outside. They were clearly distressed, talking to each other in a high-pitched language Moon didn’t understand, and letting out occasional wails. The cause was obvious: groundling bodies had been laid out on the hard-packed earth of the plaza. The motionless forms had been covered by blankets to protect them from the carrion birds and lizards.
Stone stopped beside a green-skinned groundling, and asked in Kedaic, “What happened?”
The groundling looked up at him. Her head was narrow and almost square, and her eyes large and lidless. She said, “The Fell came here before the last sunset, and attacked, but then they died in the sky. They dropped.” She gestured toward the rows of bodies. “But when we came out of hiding, we found all the Jandera traders dead, with no mark upon them. The Viatl think they’re next.” She wiped at her face, conveying exhaustion and anger. “They panic.”
The Jandera, Moon thought, startled. You thought it didn’t make sense before.
Stone stepped toward the bodies and Moon couldn’t help a hiss of caution. Stone ignored it. He knelt by the first motionless form and pulled the blanket back.
It was a Janderan woman, her dark leathery skin unmarked, eyes open and staring, sunken and clouded with death. The skeletal Viatl and the others all went quiet, watching Stone. Moon eyed them but it was clear they were hoping the stranger had answers.
Stone leaned close to study her, to sniff and examine her mouth and eyes. Then he shook his head and tugged the blanket back over her. Stone pushed to his feet and said, “Tell the Viatl that if it hasn’t happened by now, it probably won’t happen.”
There was a startled murmur from the green-skinned groundlings. “It’s sickness?” one asked.
Stone said, “No, I think it’s something the Fell did.”
Another turned to sp
eak to the Viatl, who greeted the information with confusion. Some wailed in relief, while others seemed understandably unwilling to put much trust in the word of some random person from the trade road.
Stone came back to Moon. In Raksuran, Moon said, “You know what this is?”
“No. But it’s not doing them any good to panic.” Stone looked across the plaza. “We need to find out if the Hians were here.”
He was right; this was a puzzle, and it was too much of a coincidence that it had happened on the route they thought the Hians followed. “Somebody would have noticed their flying boat.”
Stone frowned. “How do you know that?”
Moon sighed. How Stone had traveled all over the east without picking up on these things continually irritated him. He said, “The trading flags. They have two sets, one near the ground, and one on those tall poles. The ones on the poles have to be for flying boats.”
The caravanserai that maintained the trading flags was in as much disarray as the rest of the town. It was carved in the base of the hill nearest the river docks, on the side facing toward the water. There were pens for draft beasts and tents on the flat ground below it, and a wide set of stairs led up to the entrance. Big windows and a balcony overlooked the river, and it was full of traders and locals, sitting on carpets made of woven reeds and trying to ease their shattered nerves with intoxicants and talk. The place stank of fear and the inhabitants were jumpy and suspicious, far more so than the locals outside who were hauling bodies and trying to calm the Viatl.
From picking up snatches of conversation, Moon managed to glean the information that the green-skinned locals were called the Bikuru. This town was an important rest stop for traders, with the nearest cities being some distance away, and the country not being much inhabited.
Asking after the proprietor of the caravanserai led Moon and Stone back outside and around the base of the hill, where a collection of tents forming the better part of the grain trading market had collapsed under the weight of a very dead kethel torso. The Bikuru proprietor was helping to drag it free of the debris and seemed to welcome the distraction of answering questions.