“Pursuers. They’re right behind us.”
“Who is it?”
“I’m not entirely sure that it matters. Come on.”
They started to run, moving as quickly as she could. They moved right, right, left again, Clarinda leading the way, trusting her instincts.
They turned a corner and skidded to a halt.
There was a massive pile of rubble directly in their path.
“No,” she whispered. “No!”
She wouldn’t have thought it possible. Structural weaknesses must have developed in the sewer, and it wouldn’t have been a problem except for the steady pounding that the surface was sustaining. It must have caused the collapse.
There was no way forward.
“What do we do?” said Xeri, never sounding more helpless.
Clarinda looked up. There was a hole above them with a ladder running its length. But all that was going to do was head them back to the surface, which was being overrun by Mandraques and Serabim. On the other hand, they might well have no choice but to take their chances.
“Quickly,” Evanna said, and she threw herself at the fallen rubble blocking their path. She started grabbing chunks of debris and tossing them to either side.
Kerda immediately followed her lead, tearing at the rubble as quickly as she could.
If they had been given enough time, Clarinda thought, they might actually have managed to accomplish it. Time, however, was not their friend, as they heard gravelly voices shouting from the far end, “Hurry! Hurry, damn it! Don’t let them get away!”
Clarinda’s head whipped back and forth, assessing their options, trying to determine the best way to go. Then she turned to Kerda and said, “Go. Up.”
“What?”
“Go up! Don’t you understand? It’s Mandraques, and they don’t give a damn about me. They’re not even really going to care about you.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“But—”
“I am not going to be responsible for the death of another young, gullible female Ocular who made the fatal mistake of trusting me! I am not!”
“I don’t understand…”
“It’s not for you to understand. It’s for you to obey. Xeri will lead you to another entrance to the sewers. I’ll catch up.”
“After you…what? Take on the Mandraques singlehandedly?”
“You saw what I’m capable of. I’ll be fine. Now stop talking and get the hell out of here! Evanna’s going to need you to protect her!”
Kerda looked up doubtfully. “I’m not even sure I’ll fit up there.”
“Then you’d best get started squeezing. Now go. I’ll catch up, I swear.” She squeezed her hand. “We will be reunited.”
She was reasonably certain it wasn’t true, but knew that it was the only way she was going to get Kerda going.
Kerda nodded once and then went to the passageway above them. She leaped straight up, and grunted. “It’s tight, but I think I can make it.”
“Good. Evanna, go.”
The sounds of the Mandraques were drawing closer. The echoing made it hard to determine exactly where they were, but she knew it wasn’t going to be long.
Yet Evanna wasn’t moving. “Why are you doing this? Sending me ahead? Why do you care about me?”
“I don’t give a damn about you. You’re just something to keep Kerda occupied.”
Evanna considered that for a heartbeat. “I find that acceptable.”
She turned away and headed up the hole after Kerda. Xeri was right after her.
Seconds later, the Mandraques descended.
With a roar, Clarinda leaped straight at the foremost Mandraque. She expected that he would go down as easily as the one she had killed back in Firedraque Hall.
She was wrong.
Instead he seemed to anticipate precisely the speed and direction from which her attack came. He sidestepped her, twisting out of her way, and he brought his fist down on the back of her head. Clarinda hit the ground hard, and she tried to scramble to her feet but more of the Mandraques had fallen upon her. She struggled furiously against them but they pinned her down as the lead Mandraque shouted, “Hold her! We may need her for questioning!” He glanced around and then up. Seeing the hole above them, he shouted, “Arrows!”
Two Mandraques carrying bows with arrows already nocked took position under the hole and opened fire. The arrows zipped up the hole, making ugly sounds as they sped through the air.
There was a scream from above, and then another. Seconds later, something fell from above and hit the ground heavily.
It was Xeri. One arrow was protruding from his lower back, the other angled downward from his chest. He lay on the ground, trembling, his body spasming. From on high there was a distant screaming and Clarinda knew without question that it was Evanna.
“Which one is this, Thulsa?” said one of the Mandraques.
“Who cares?” Thulsa stepped forward, brought his sword around and down. It sliced through Xeri’s neck in one sweep with such force that his head skidded across the sewer floor and ricocheted off the leg of one of the Mandraques. He let out a coarse laugh and kicked it as if it were a ball. The others joined in, batting his head back and forth until Thulsa shouted for them to cease such frivolities.
“Did Evanna,” and he pointed upward, “go that way?”
From the ground, she said, “I have no idea who that is.”
He kicked her. Instinctively she rolled up, twisting her body around so as to shield her belly from the impact. She managed to do so, but the pain was still brutal.
“You! And you!” he pointed at two of his soldiers. “Go up after her! Bring her back down here! I want the Piri to be able to see us cut the Firedraque to pieces in front of her!”
The two Mandraques did as they were told, scampering up the hole after the fleeing Firedraque.
Thulsa strode around Clarinda’s prostrate form. “So we have a Piri rooting around down here, eh. And how did that come to be?”
“Why are you bothering to talk to me when you’re just planning to kill me?”
“Because,” he said, and he crouched in front of her and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back. Clarinda cried out. “Mandraques like to play with their food.” He noticed her hand with the missing finger. “Are you pre-chewed food, I wonder? That looks like it was bitten off.”
“It was.”
“Who did it?”
“My mother.”
Thulsa tilted his head back and laughed loudly, his guffawing echoing up and down the sewers. “Your mother! Hah! She sounds like an almighty bitch.”
And there was more laughter then…
…but it wasn’t his.
It was rich, and thick, and female, and it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. The Mandraques looked around in confusion, uncertain of the origin.
And then the laughter subsided and a female voice said, “You have no idea.”
It can’t be, thought Clarinda, oh gods, no, it can’t be.
Into the pale light stepped Sunara Redeye. A mob of Piri moved in behind her, their eyes alive with bloodlust. And looming above them all was Bartolemayne.
“Hello, my love,” said Sunara. “Your family has missed you ever so much.”
v.
The Zeffer that had transported Arren Kinklash, the two Ocular and Demali had moved far more quickly than the much larger ones. The fact that it was newly energized apparently had helped, plus the fact that it was carrying far fewer individuals upon its surface. Consequently the battle was still going on when Arren’s group arrived on the scene.
The advantage of riding a Zeffer in this situation, Arren Kinklash realized, was that it was easy to blend in. There was a small sea of Zeffers hanging in the air in front of them.
He saw the pure pandemonium going on below them. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “How the hell are we going to find—”
“There!” shouted Demali. She poi
nted. “There he is!”
“Oh.” He squinted and had to admit that Demali had remarkably sharp eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Definitely. He’s the one who’s all alone on the Zeffer.”
No one else had yet noticed Arren, Demali, Pavan or the two Ocular upon the smaller Zeffer. That was an indication of just how insane the destruction was that was being inflicted upon Perriz.
“We need to maneuver over there so you can get to him,” said Demali.
Pavan was studying the distance separating them. “I’m not sure how we’re going to manage that. He’s going to see us coming. So will the other Zeffers. This Zeffer is smaller than the others. They will easily be able to beat him back, and not let us anywhere near him.”
Arren considered their situation and then turned to the Ocular. “Turkin. Berola. Would you care to take me for a brisk run?”
Berola and Turkin looked confused for a moment, but then they realized. Demali and Pavan did not. “What are you—?” began Demali.
Without waiting for her to complete the thought, Berola grabbed Arren under one arm as Turkin sprinted ahead of her. He easily leaped the gap from the Zeffer they were upon to the next one nearest them. Berola was right behind him, also covering the distance with no problem.
The Zeffer naturally was filled with both Serabim and Mandraques. The landing immediately caught their attention. They moved to the attack.
They had no chance.
Turkin slammed through them, an unstoppable juggernaut. He was closer to being a full-grown Ocular than anyone of the other survivors of their race, and when he was in headlong charge, there was nothing alive that could stop him. Serabim and Mandraques were scattered to either side, and Berola was right behind him, carrying Arren under his arm as if he were a parcel that needed to be delivered as hastily as possible. Most of the obstructions were scattered by Turkin, although she was able to use her free hand to slap aside a few lingering obstacles.
They kept going, picking up speed, and they vaulted to the next Zeffer in line between them and Seramali. Seeing them coming, this group was more ready than the previous group had been. It made absolutely no difference. Because there were so many of them upon the Zeffer, they were too crowded to engage in anything resembling proper combat. Clumped together as they were, they were little more than a collection of angry bowling pins and Turkin was the ball plowing through them. The Zeffer sagged under the pounding weight of the stampeding Ocular, causing a lowering in altitude between it and the next Zeffer over. That didn’t slow them either. Turkin bounced upward as if he had been sprinting across a trampoline, and Berola followed suit.
The third group of potential opponents, having seen the fate of the previous two, chose the better part of valor. They slammed into each other to get out of the way. Turkin and Berola ignored them, charging across just as they had the previous two.
They landed upon it and, at the far end, was the Serabim who had been identified to them as a target. He was looking down, oblivious of their presence.
Arren came up right behind him and grabbed him from behind. The Serabim, caught completely off guard, was startled to find himself face to face with a Mandraque, but clearly even more shocked to see a couple of Ocular behind him.
“Seramali?”
“Y-yes—?”
“Your daughter sent me to kill you.”
A look of confusion passed across his face, and then with a roar Seramali attacked. He batted aside Arren’s grip on him as if he were a child and attacked with his claws outstretched.
Arren backpedalled, pulling out his sword. Then he stepped forward quickly, thrusting with his blade. He struck home, driving deep into Seramali’s chest. It caused the Serabim to grunt slightly, which made Arren realize that the blade hadn’t exactly inflicted the amount of damage that he’d been hoping. Seramali then grabbed the naked blade with his bare paw, yanked it out of the wound, and then twisted. He tore the blade out of Arren’s grasp and tossed it aside. The sword slid across the surface of the Zeffer and fell off the far edge, tumbling down toward the streets of Perriz.
Seeing Arren unarmed, Turkin moved to come to his aid, but Berola stopped him. “No,” she said. “He made the promise. He would not want us to interfere.”
Backing up from the advancing, infuriated Serabim, Arren overheard them and shouted, “Actually, I would have no problem with it at all!”
That was all the invitation that Turkin needed. Seramali leaped toward Arren, and suddenly the towering Ocular was directly in his path. Seramali shifted his target, tried to bring his claws to bear, but Turkin slapped him as if he were swatting a fly. Seramali went down, tried to stand once more, and then a massive foot shoved down upon him, pinning him.
Seeing their leader in dire straits, the Riders of the other Zeffers began to reposition their mounts. The Zeffers responded to their Riders, some moving slightly downward while others moved up, trying to situate themselves so that the creatures’ tentacles could be put to good use.
“Coward!” screamed Seramali toward Arren. “Coward, to use Ocular when you’re afraid to lose to me!”
“How is using superior weaponry cowardice?” said Arren, sounding reasonable. “It strikes me as simply being smart tactics.”
“You want superior weaponry? Take a look around you!”
Arren turned and saw that the Zeffers were moving into position. He saw the threats that the tentacles presented.
“Arren,” said Berola nervously, seeing their peril.
“If you’re going to kill me,” said Seramali defiantly, “then I suggest you do it now. Oh, but wait—if you do, then you’ll have no leverage to bargain for your own pathetic lives against the rage of my people. But if, on the other hand, you use me to live, then you won’t be able to accomplish your so-called mission on behalf of my late daughter.”
“Should I kill him, Arren?” said Turkin. “Tell me what to do.”
Arren mentally berated himself. He had thrown himself into this situation without planning ahead, and now he was paying for it.
Suddenly Turkin looked up. “It’s the singing again! Pavan is singing!”
And he was right.
And less than a minute later was when the screaming began.
the spires
I.
“I don’t want any part of it.”
Graves was stalking through the streets of the Spires, Trott directly behind him. With the new day aborning, Graves had had plenty of time to think matters through and he knew what he was prepared to do, and what he wasn’t prepared to do. “Not any part at all,” he said again.
“You’re being absurd. You cannot just walk away from your responsibilities.”
“And yet, here I am doing so.”
“Graves, you can’t sail the vessel by yourself. You’ll need me. You’ll need Ayrburn.”
“I’ll manage.”
“You can’t.”
“Watch me.”
“I won’t be able to watch you if you’re not here,” Trott said, trying to sound reasonable.
They strode along the docks, Trott racing to keep up. “What is the point and purpose of tracking down the few remaining humans and killing them?” said Graves. “It makes no sense. It’s vindictive. It’s pointless.”
“It is the desire of the Overseer.”
“The Overseer is an insane creature who was put in charge of us through some mad impulse by the Magisters!”
“And he holds the power of life and death over us. Over all the Twelve Races.”
“So you say.”
“You’ve seen what he can do! You saw how easily he disposed of insurrection! Do you seriously believe he won’t be able to do the same to you!”
“This isn’t insurrection. This is simply going somewhere else.”
“He will reach across the waves and destroy you.”
Graves stopped and turned to face him. “There are humans still dwelling beneath the streets of this very city. You know that, I know that. We’
ve left them alone because there seemed no point in destroying them. We’ve already annihilated their race. There are very few pockets of any humans left, and their mechanical weapons will not work. Our wards have seen to that. So again, why should we just go around needlessly slaughtering them?”
“Because it’s our job. And if we don’t start presenting some newly dead humans to the Overseer, then it’s going to be our asses as well.”
“Then let it be your job, because I am taking my ass and returning overseas.”
“He will reach across the waters. He will destroy your vessel. He will destroy you.”
“Let him do so, then!” said Graves. “Let him do so in one great stroke and it will be over with, rather than killing me bit by bit. Look at me, Trott!” He tapped the silver metal that constituted his face. “Look at what this world is doing to us! What he’s doing to us! Stay here with him if you like, but I will have no more of it. You hear? No more!”
The boat was sitting right where he had left it. He climbed up the gangplank while Trott remained on the deck. “And where will you go, eh?” said Trott.
“I’m going to find my brother.”
“Gant? You don’t know where to look…”
“I’m looking for Bottom Feeders and a large blob. It shouldn’t be that difficult. I’ll just seek out the latest war. There’s always a war going on. It’s the one thing that the Twelve Races excel at. No art, no invention, none of the finer things in life. But killing each other, that is well within our abilities. We can kill the hell out of each other. Huzzah for us. All hail the mighty Twelve Races. For a while I thought—”
“You thought what?”
He shook his head. “The girl. Jepp.”
“You mean the Fated One?”
Graves nodded. “I thought she was going to be important somehow. I thought perhaps she was somehow going to rid us of the Overseer…or, I don’t know, pleasure him so that he’s not so much of a bastard all the time. Something, anything. We were drawn to her because she was supposed to make a difference. How could we have been that wrong?”