The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 91
“Of course, Elder,” he said. “There is more trouble to our tale however, and I would ask what might stop me reaching Snake Lands?”
Ain glanced at his friend. That Schan would want to leave...he hadn’t considered it. Of course he would want to see his own home. Maybe Schan could be convinced to stay? Ain would try later, first he had to know of what darkness had driven people from the Cloud. Was it darklings? Or something else? Something worse?
And he had to find Silaj, finally!
After so long. He would see her again and she would smile.
Raila closed her eyes a moment. “Something has left the dark below the Sands and set upon us. It began with the death of but one. At first we thought it a Sand Giant or wild animals the next day there were two more...horrible deaths, strong warriors. And then sentries – all of them, the following night.”
Ain’s stomach sank.
“And then at dawn we saw that which we could not harm, not with bow or blade, creatures of bone and fury, shade and blood, with glowing eyes.” She squeezed the wooden cup. “And so we fled and we flee still, perhaps for the Wards or the Wasteland and beyond.”
Schan muttered a curse. “Darklings.”
Chapter 18.
Beneath a thin sun Notch tugged on the reins, slowing his horse as he joined the flow of traffic heading toward the city. In the near distance, the shell of the Harbour Gate stood within a crumbled wall. Faint trails of smoke rose from beyond the Lower Wall and stone lay scattered across the plain and whole sections of the great pier too, where it ran along the wall to the smaller Plains Gate, or the Merchant’s Backdoor, as some called it.
But now figures in blue cloaks stood in groups before the gate and barred access to the water and the wharves.
Medah Pathfinders? He squinted. No, they had a different look. And not Renovar either – had the city survived the invasion then? Was this the threat the Oyn-Dir mentioned? From what he could glimpse of the bay the wreckage of ships made up a good deal of the floating debris and whole sections of the Tiers appeared crumbling and blackened.
Yet the palace was intact.
None of the people he’d passed, most fleeing on foot, faces-streaked with dust and tears, would answer his questions or accept his help. The vast majority were Braonn though more than a few were Renovar too. One man mentioned something about Mascare killing everyone, but that didn’t make sense.
Notch turned to a caravan guard who rode nearby. The man’s helm bore a dent but he appeared well enough. The head of the train was some way along the muddy road.
“What’s happening here?” Notch asked. “Who guards the gate?”
The man raised a scruffy eyebrow. “You’ve been away a while, haven’t you?”
“I have.”
He waited, as if for Notch to elaborate, then shrugged when he didn’t. “The Renovar were all set to invade but then these strange folk swept in and started killing everyone. They’ve taken over the city.”
“What of the king?” he asked. “And who are they? The men in blue cloaks?”
“Them blue-cloaks calls themselves the Ecsoli.”
Soli, the old word for ‘Sun’. “Go on.”
“Claim to be from across the sea and the like. Our ancestors, supposedly. At least their talk is old-sounding.”
Notch drew a breath. Ancestors? “And King Oseto?”
“Prisoner. Like the rest of the city, I guess.” He rubbed his chin. “Although, that’s not quite true. They let some of us come and go – if it’s for food or other supplies. Merchants mostly.”
“There is no resistance?”
He laughed. “You have been away. No-one’s going to stand up to them, friend.”
“Why not?”
“They all have Greatmasks. Each and every man. And suits of bone just like Greatmasks. I saw one of them snap a Braonn man in half without laying a finger on him.”
Notch dropped his reins. All with Greatmasks? It was just as the Oyn-Dir said, bones everywhere. How could it be so? Did the Gods hate Anaskar? For there was nothing they could do against such a force – even were Sofia and Danillo to return...
“You see what I mean?” the guard said.
“I fear I do.” Notch retrieved his reins. “You say these Ecsoli allow people in and out of the city?”
“They do. Usually with one of these.” He fished a bone token from inside his purse. It was a small disc, carved smooth.
“And how can I get one?”
“You’ll have to demonstrate some use to them. Otherwise they’ll turn you away. Or if they let you in, it won’t be with your weapons. Not that it’d make much difference.”
Notch squinted at the still-distant figures. Maybe heading in through the gate wasn’t the right way. There was the harbour if he wanted to swim, but they’d be watching it surely. Mountain Gate – but that’d put him days from entry. And even then, no guarantee.
He could wait for nightfall and attempt to scale the outer wall – a tall order.
Gods.
Finding new weapons and gold wouldn’t be impossible but still, it was a shame to waste them.
Yet he was no good to Seto, Flir and Luik, stuck outside.
There was really only one choice open to him – get inside quickly, without drawing attention and head for the Queen’s Harper. If it still stood. He looked back to the rear guard. “Thanks for the information...?”
“Mitola.”
“Thank you, Mitola. I’m Notch.” He produced a glittering gem from an inner pocket. “Care to make some easy money?”
Mitola’s eyes lit up. “What do you have in mind?”
“The gem is yours if you can smuggle my weapons and possessions into the city, and drop them off at The Queen’s Harper. If it stands.”
“It does.”
Some luck at last. “Then we have a deal?”
“We do, friend.” Mitola waved his arms. “Let’s be quick then. Don’t want to draw their attention.”
Notch unhooked his sword belt and handed it over, adding a long knife and short bow he’d strapped to his saddlebags. “Will they let me keep the belt-knife?” It had a short blade, and while it was still a weapon, it was nothing to take on a sword or axe with.
Nor a Greatmask.
“Hard to say. Leave it on. You look like someone who’d be armed.”
“Right.”
“Remember, don’t give them an excuse to get curious and agree to whatever they say.”
Notch nodded and tapped his horse’s flanks, weaving between the flow of farmers and merchants, each with a variety of wagons and carts. Some men who rode beside the carts bore the look of Shield, proud posture and roving gaze, but he couldn’t be sure just because the men were diligent.
He bypassed a broken-down cart, clomping over yellowed grass beside the road, and came to the slower-moving part of the queue near the gates. The fellow before him grumbled to his companion from his mule, about the ‘same old bloody run-around’ but he looked to the mud when one of the masks turned his way.
Notch kept his gaze on the queue, but the Ecsoli were the ones he watched.
Four men stood in the shadow of the open gate. Two waited at the head of twin queues, glancing at tokens or searching people with cursory movements. The two behind were watching the crowd, the eye-holes of their masks dark. Each wore a series of bracers and gauntlets of bone, along with breastplates that caught the wintery sun.
All moved with a confidence assured from supreme power.
And why not, there was no-one in the entire city who could challenge them – was there? Maybe Seto’s cunning, maybe Flir’s strength. But against a whole army of them?
The two men before him were waved through with barely a pause, but the Ecsoli before him held up a hand. His mask had the look of old bone and it exuded power, awareness. Even the breastplate, marked with a charging boar, echoed the same forcefulness. “Stop.” His speech gave the word an old sound, precise, as if he’d wanted to speak every letter.
Notch obeyed.
The Ecsoli tilted his head back, a tiny movement only, then gestured for Notch to dismount. He did so, then waited. Again, the man – he assumed the figure was a man – tilted his mask back, as if receiving instruction, then moved to search Notch’s saddlebags. Finding nothing amongst the remaining supplies or within the rolled blanket, the Ecsoli turned back to Notch.
“Leave the horse. Take your belongings.”
Notch opened his mouth then closed it. The man’s posture had shifted, a slight tensing of the body, as if poised to strike. “Thank you.” Notch collected his saddlebags, slung them over his shoulder and headed into the Lower Tier, passing the other two Ecsoli, neither of whom bothered to even glance at him.
Because he was so far beneath their notice, no doubt.
The streets were blackened and littered with rubble and char from the husks of buildings. Just like after the Iron Pig. He paused before the half-flattened warehouse, pale sky gaping between the black eaves of the roof. The faint echo of a ringing in his ears. How red everything had been, even the night.
He hurried along the cobblestones, detouring deep gouges. It looked as though some effort had been made to clean up, rubble stood in piles and beggars hovered over them, picking through for belongings to salvage or perhaps sell. How long since the invasion? Where were the Renovar now? He turned toward the harbour. A little detour wouldn’t hurt and the information it’d win him worth the time. More, the Harper wasn’t going anywhere, and it’d take some time for Mitola’s caravan to be permitted into the city. Notch paused at an intersection, letting a horse-drawn carriage rumble up the cobblestones, its curtains drawn. The driver’s face was marred by an expression of terror.
Notch gripped the small belt knife they’d let him keep. Little use it would be.
His boots rang out on the street. Ahead, a door slammed. He could not tell which when he neared, all were closed, all curtains too. Even the squawk of seagulls was hushed. As if no-one dared leave their homes, not even the animals.
He crossed an alley, shadows dropping around him, damp air heavy. Light blazed at the end of the narrow way, where he slowed. Two bodies lay slumped beside one an another. He wrinkled his nose. Both had been dead for some time – one was a Braonn man, perhaps a dockworker from his canvas tunic. His head had been partially caved in, black blood shadowed in the dim light.
Beside him rested an Anaskari, his clothing similar – save for a bloodstain in his side. Like the other wound, it was old.
Notch squinted. But there was a difference.
A shard of bone had been driven into the man’s chest – above the wound. Why? Notch rose with a frown, one knee giving a twinge. “Damn cold.” Why drive bone into a man’s chest after killing him?
If that was the order events had occurred.
Who knew what madness had gone on of late, or during the invasion. Or maybe it had nothing to do with any of that? Maybe the two had fought, drunk, an argument over something else; women or money probably.
Best not to linger. He strode into the street, heading down toward the harbour. Two sailors hurried along before him, arms laden with barrels. Neither spoke. He followed them around an inn – the first open door he saw – and onto the expansive harbour.
And stopped.
The wharves were full of large, wedge-shaped ships with blue sails rolled up – few vessels were Anaskari and two appeared to be of Renovar make, with their bulky hulls. The docks were crowded with blue-cloaks and Anaskari men helping with loading bone along creaking gangways.
Despite his curiosity over the disappearance of the Sea Beast and its bones being stolen, it was the giants who gave him pause. Huge men towered over the cloaked figures, with mottled skin of a dusky fire and bald heads, each doing the work of three Luiks. Or half a Flir, perhaps. They spoke with deep voices, using...Old Anaskari. Same as the Ecsoli.
“Big, aren’t they?”
Notch faced the owner of the voice. A scruffy-looking fellow in a faded cloak, who paused to spit onto the cobbles, then glance around. None of the masked men had seen and Notch doubted they’d have cared.
“What are they?”
“Giants from across the sea-is. The Blue-Cloaks call them Gigansi. See? Gigansi. Like the old word for ‘giant’.”
“I see.” Notch looked to one of the Ecsoli. “Have you seen them use those masks?”
The man’s expression darkened. “I have at that. Don’t you wish for it, though.” He moved off with a nod.
Sudden.
Notch nearly called after the man, to ask about the invasion, but he was already gone. The two sailors he’d followed had paused before one of the few Anaskari ships, speaking with an Ecsoli stationed before it.
Was the ship familiar? Two masts – empty of sails, but there was a green flag. He took a step forward. The Hawk? Captain Melosi’s ship! Had the man braved the winter storms as he’d claimed he would? Had he tracked down The Blue Lady? Father’s sword, did Melosi have it?
Notch jogged along the wood, reaching the sailors before they started to board.
“Excuse me, I need to speak with Captain Melosi,” he said.
The sailors turned but the Ecsoli stepped between them. The man’s breastplate was carved with a crow. A different house to the men at the gate, all of who had been Boars.
“Who are you?”
“Notch, My Lord,” he said.
“And your business?”
“I paid Captain Melosi to deliver goods and wished to speak with him.”
The man waved a hand at the plank. His bearing was not as alert as the Ecsoli at the gate – was he bored? Were they human? Beneath the cloak the fellow still wore a dagger and short sword, so they did not all rely solely on their Greatmasks.
Notch followed the sailors onto The Hawk. One jerked his head toward the helm, where a man leant against the wheel. Melosi. Silver buttons stood bright against the black of his coat. A thin trail of smoke twisted up from a pipe in his mouth. Notch strode across the decking to the ladder and climbed swiftly, to meet Melosi as the man turned from the water.
The Captain raised a dark eyebrow. “Ah, ‘Marco’ wasn’t it? Or would you prefer to be called ‘Notch’ or even ‘Captain Medoro – War Hero’ perhaps?”
“You’ve asked around.”
“I have.”
“Notch will be fine.” He apologised. “At the time, the Shield were looking for me. I didn’t want –”
“No trouble.” Melosi gave his pipe a wave. “I’m sure I’d have done the same. I suppose you’ve come to see your sword?”
“You found it?”
“Aye. The Blue Lady was at Whiteport, Captain Honal rather confused as to why my men...interrupted his attempt to sell your belongings. I have the sword and a few other items below – not all of it, mind.” He stroked his beard, bird-skulls clinking. “And the promised gold?”
Notch glanced back at the city. “My benefactor is the king, I’m sad to say.”
Melosi nodded, as if he’d deduced as much himself. “For a War-Hero that is no surprise, but of course, King Oseto is imprisoned, just as we are, and not likely to be able to pay for my work.”
“The Ecsoli keep you here?”
A rising breeze tugged at Melosi’s pipe smoke. “All ships who are foolish enough to dock. My Hawk has been searched and bruised, my sails confiscated and a guard placed below. We leave when they say we can, though when that may be I do not know and I do not wish to argue with them. Though they certainly seem in a hurry to leave with their precious bones.”
“Of the Sea-Beast.”
“Aye. I’d wager that’s how they make their dark masks and suits.”
“Doubtless,” Notch agreed. He still had some of the gems left over, not equivalent for twenty gold pieces however, but near to half if he left off the one he owed Mitola. He removed one from the tiny pouch, holding it up. “Would you consider half now and half later?”
Melosi scratched at his beard, eyes on the gem. “Later?”
“Once I free the king.”
The Captain laughed, but held out an arm. “You’re a bold one, Notch. Come below and we can talk about ‘later’. Maybe we can come to a new arrangement.”
Chapter 19.
Seto was given no time to practice Chelona’s form of possession.
When he woke at dawn, still weary, muscles aching – especially around his rib – he was being hauled from the cot by a shadowy figure in blue.
“Wake.”
Seto stumbled, fumbling for the cold wall to steady himself. Curtains were thrown open – the light searing his eyes. He raised a hand, squinting. Marinus. Once again he was waited upon by other Ecsoli. One with a Boar on his Greatsuit sat in the deep armchair. And Bethana stood behind him in turn, arms folded, red tips of her gauntlets visible again. Her breastplate bore no insignia.
“My Lord?” Seto asked. The words were a bitter paste in the mouth.
“The collapsed passage within the Tier wall, near the mountain. Where does it lead?”
Collapsed? When had that happened? Obviously the search for the Forge was not going well. “I do not know. I was preparing for the Renovar invasion. I sent my people within but they did not follow the path to its end.” How easy a lie should have been – that Flir found the blockage or that she or ‘his people’ had never returned. Only, Marinus would simply read his bones again if he suspected deception. “I believe it is where Vinezi lurked while he plotted to destroy Anaskar.”
Marinus offered nothing in response, his face impossible to read beyond the mask.
Seto waited.
Finally; “Your people?”
“I have not heard from them since the attack.” Another truth.
Marinus waved a hand to the Boar. He strode forward and put a hand on Seto’s shoulder, thumb digging into the collar bone. Again, the whisper of a Greatmask’s power. It graced his own bones, a delicate touch and then gone.
“He speaks the truth,” Boar said, stepping away.
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