Engines of Chaos, page 14
The Archlegate had no more to say. If anyone objected further to his plans for the country, they did not see fit to speak it.
Rearden rose gingerly, gripping tight to his bloody nose as he staggered from the room, closely followed by Lorens. The marshals likewise stood. Tarjan offered a curt nod to Sanctan before leaving, where Sarona did not offer so much as a second glance. Only Olstrum and Darina remained.
“You will set in motion the dismantling of the city’s artifice,” Sanctan said, still examining his fingertips. “I am relying on you to organise this as efficiently as possible.”
Olstrum nodded his assent, but he could not hide the reluctance in his eyes. “As you command, Archlegate. I will set about the task immediately. But… might I take this opportunity to enquire as to the health of—?”
“The health of…?” Sanctan raised his brows as though the question were a stupid one. “You should think more on your own health, Olstrum.”
The consul sank visibly, lowering his eyes for a moment before glancing Ansell’s way. “As you command, Archlegate,” he said, sliding back his chair and slinking from the room like a dog that had just been kicked.
Now only Sanctan and Darina remained. The Archlegate’s mother glared across the table with a disapproving expression, but Ansell could not remember her looking much different any other time.
“You are making a mistake,” she said, the stark words ruining the calm of the vestibule.
Sanctan sighed like a child told it was his bedtime. “I disagree.”
“You are moving too fast. Trying to bring about too much change too quickly. It will not—”
He slammed his hand on the table. “I will not be contradicted!”
The words echoed through the room. Darina looked distinctly unimpressed with her son’s fury. She watched him without emotion, before glancing toward Ansell.
Did she expect him to approach her and offer the same harsh lesson he’d given Rearden? Was that Ansell’s purpose now, to threaten and beat old men and women?
Without another word, Lady Darina rose imperiously and turned to the door. Ansell expected her to throw a final barb at her son before she left, but she kept her peace as she closed the door behind her.
Sanctan let out a long sigh, before standing and stretching his spine. He turned toward the one window, shaking his head.
“They do not share my vision,” Sanctan said to no one in particular. “But I will make them see.”
Ansell could only ponder what that meant. Would the Archlegate grant his brood enlightenment? So far he had forced everyone around him to accept his will with duplicity and violence. It was certain that would carry on well into the future. And Ansell had little doubt what his part would be in the days to come.
KEARA
She was over a day late, but with the red drop tingling its way through her system she couldn’t have cared a shit. Any repercussions there might have been for upsetting the Archlegate seemed almost inconsequential. Besides, it was such a beautiful day, why waste it worrying on things that hadn’t happened yet?
From the observation deck of the landship, the Anvil looked stunning—coruscating lights winking on those soaring white towers, the skytrain line encircling it like a lambent halo. Keara would have smiled in delight, but all the mirth was gone from her. All the joy leached from her body as her father’s words echoed in her ears, no matter how much narcotic she dripped into her eyes.
Through the haze of the red drop, she noticed the forge fires of the Anvil no longer burned. There was no pall of smoke drifting on the southern wind, and the city looked quiet, like an ancient monument to a time long dead. But Keara knew the old regime was not dead yet. There was still much work to do before that day came.
As she leaned against the gunwale she watched Ulger standing to the fore. His bald head was tilted back as he let the wind rush past him, arms outstretched to embrace it as it blew through splayed fingers.
Hesse stood to the rear, eyes concealed behind her dark eyewear, hair billowing. She looked discomfited, nervous even, and it served to bring Keara crashing down from her high.
“What’s your problem?” she called across the observation deck.
Hesse chewed at her lip before saying, “We’re late.”
Of course they were late, but wasn’t it Keara’s prerogative? A little demonstration that she was an ally to the Ministry and not its servant.
“Let the Archlegate wait,” Keara said. It was defiance, pure and simple, but when she said the words, she didn’t quite feel their conviction. No matter. What would Sanctan Egelrath do anyway? He needed her, and her Guild. He was hardly going to punish her for tardiness, like an apprentice late for tutelage.
As the landship crossed the boundary of the city she could see workers busying themselves in one of the manufactory yards. They were dismantling a section of hulking machinery, the sounds of their hammers and blowlamps rising above the din of the pyrestone engine.
The closer they came to the landship terminal, the more activity was evident, until eventually she could see the platform up ahead. Where previously there had been rows of landships maintained by crews of artificers, now hulking workmen were stripped to the waist, breaking up the great engines and reducing them to scrap.
“What’s going on?” Hesse asked as the landship began to slow.
Keara shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“Don’t you think you ought to find out?”
The notion she should be concerned by all this sat ill in Keara’s stomach, but she didn’t reply. As the landship slowed to a stop that ill feeling set like stone, foreboding clouding her mind as the ecstasy of the red drop began to wane.
Her nausea persisted as the three of them debarked and made their way through the terminal. There weren’t many other passengers, nor much in the way of security as they proceeded through the building and out into the city. The streets were all but deserted, with the odd sad-looking stallholder touting their meagre wares. As Keara led the way toward the Cogwheel, Ulger picked an apple from the stall of a fruit seller, not bothering to toss him so much as a copper coin before he raised the apple in thanks and took a bite. The fruit seller didn’t utter a word of complaint that he’d just been robbed, and Keara didn’t feel the need to chastise Ulger for the theft. This was their right after all. They owned this place now.
In the distance she could make out the ruin of Archwind Palace, its magnificent facade lying open like a corpse on a slab, ribs splayed to reveal its innards. The cog symbol that used to adorn it was now so much rubble. The Bridge of Saints was likewise smashed and broken—a monument to the battle that had taken place across its hallowed span. A reminder of the sacrifices made to secure their victory. Keara had seen so many die that night, so many webwainers giving their lives for the glory of the Ministry. People she had known. People she had called friends.
Before she could lament further on that loss, she heard a noise carried on the wind. The closer they came to the Cogwheel, the louder that noise got. A single voice was raised, but she couldn’t make out the words, before a cheer echoed along the promenade. As they crested the lip of the rise, she realised why the streets were mostly deserted.
A huge crowd was gathered about the Cogwheel. At its centre, elevated above the throng on a podium, was a single High Legate, flanked by half a dozen Drakes. Her black robes marked her as a devotee of Ravenothrax the Unvanquished, the Great Wyrm of Death, and as she spoke she beguiled the crowd with her every word.
“As they have fallen, so shall their symbols fall,” the High Legate cried.
A pitiful squeal pealed over the crowd as the Drakes pulled on chains, dragging a war eagle onto the podium. It was huge, feathers ruffling as it struggled against its bonds. The Drakes held firm and the creature was helpless before the murmuring crowd.
Keara sensed what was coming, as the spectators began to bay in anticipation. Ulger took another noisy bite from his apple as the black-robed High Legate raised her arms for the crowd to be silent.
“We have been ground beneath the boot of the Guilds for too long. Oppressed by their idols and kept in thrall to their craven images. These beasts are symbolic of that tyranny, the great war eagles with which they controlled the skies. But you will be freed from their despotism. The Archlegate has decreed it so.”
As the High Legate spoke, the sick feeling in Keara’s stomach intensified. The beast struggled against its chains as one of the Drakes hefted a mighty axe.
“Behold,” the High Legate continued. “This is the way you shall be freed from the yoke of the Guilds. This is the road to your emancipation.”
Keara held her breath as the Drake raised his axe high. It seemed the crowd shared her trepidation. Some of them even turned their eyes away before the axe slammed down. Keara forced herself to watch the grim spectacle, as a single blow took the head from the eagle with a resounding thud. A moment’s pause before the crowd howled its approval.
“Brutal,” Ulger said above the sound of cheers, before taking another big bite of his apple.
“A fucking waste,” Keara replied, turning away from the crowd.
Hesse was still watching. As usual there was no expression to suggest how she felt about the needless slaughter. Before Keara could think to ask, she saw someone heading toward them through the press.
Olstrum eased his way from the crowd, slithering past like the snake he was. As he moved closer, Keara could see his expression was not quite as self-assured as usual. The man looked worried, fearful even. His eyes searched the crowd conspiratorially, and as he came to stand in front of her, they shifted furtively toward her companions.
“You’re late,” he said. “And you know how he hates to be kept waiting.”
“How did you know where to find me?” she replied.
Olstrum simply shrugged. “I know everything that goes on in the Anvil. It’s my job.”
“If that’s true, then what in the Lairs is going on here? Why are these creatures being slaughtered in front of a baying crowd?”
Olstrum glanced toward the podium as another of the great war eagles was dragged forward in chains. “The Archlegate has decreed the symbols of the Guilds be dismantled, along with its artifice.”
Keara wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “With its artifice? But that’s just madness.”
“You are to meet him at the Guildhall.”
Changing the subject. Clearly the consul wasn’t of a mind to question the Archlegate’s decision.
“Why there? Why not the Mount?”
Olstrum shook his head. “I don’t ask the reasons. I just deliver orders.”
She should have arrived in the city a day ago. What else had she missed?
“What’s going on? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Olstrum took a step closer. “I suggest you don’t keep him waiting any longer, Hallowhill.”
As much as she hated this simpering coward, she knew it wouldn’t be wise to ignore his advice.
“Very well, let’s go,” she said to Hesse and Ulger.
Olstrum raised his hand. “You are to see him alone.”
More bad news, but again it would have been foolish to ignore Olstrum’s instructions. “Very well. Alone it is.”
From the look on Ulger’s face he was none too pleased with the notion, but Keara offered him a nonchalant wink before making her way from the Cogwheel.
There wasn’t so much as a stray cat on the street as she walked toward the Guildhall. When it came into view, Keara remembered the last time she had entered its illustrious confines. It had felt like she was trespassing, the right to enter denied to her bloodline for too long. Had Treon Archwind not brought her Guild low, her father would have had his own seat there. Instead, it felt as though she were some disgraced serf, grovelling for forgiveness at the feet of her betters.
Only Sanctan had not treated her as such. He had offered her Guild redemption, and they had long spoken of raising a new empire—one with the Hallowhills at its epicentre. Now it seemed all that might have been a lie. If his plans to destroy Torwyn’s artifice came to fruition, what of the Hallowhills? Without artifice what need for webwainers?
Surely there was some misunderstanding. She had been made promises. And despite the gains the Ministry had made, it could not hope to succeed in its crusade without continued help from her people.
When she finally made it to the Guildhall, the entrance yawned open like the mouth of some beast—one of the Great Wyrms ready to consume her. There were no guards outside, but her nerves still began to jangle as she neared the dark archway, the carved symbols of the Guilds that were hewn above it glaring admonishingly. Everything about this felt like a trap.
There were no torches to light the passageway, and Keara was shrouded in darkness, her nerves starting to fray, all her confidence vanishing with the light. But there could be no turning back.
When she entered the main hall, it was dimly lit by torches, the bright pyrestone lights that normally illuminated the place having been removed. The sigils of the six most powerful Guilds had been torn down, and on the seat reserved for the emperor lounged Sanctan Egelrath.
He squinted at his fingernails as though there was something there he couldn’t quite dislodge, one leg slung over the armrest. At the bottom of the stairs leading up to that throne stood a single Drake guarding the way. Keara recognised him as Sanctan’s personal bodyguard, the one with a chin scarred black, despite vain attempts to hide it beneath a wispy beard. She’d never bothered to ask his name, and he’d certainly never offered it. The Drake regarded her as she moved forward, and there was an almost sympathetic look to his sad eyes, as though he were sorry she was being subjected to this indignity.
“Good of you to finally join us, Hallowhill,” Sanctan said, not deigning to look up from his troublesome fingernails.
The implication was as subtle as a brick to the head. “My apologies, Archlegate. I—”
He looked up from his fingers and regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “You were supposed to be here yesterday.”
Keara dared a glance toward that Drake. Suddenly he didn’t look so sympathetic. “I had important business at the Web.”
“More important than attending a meeting of our new council? Plans are afoot, Hallowhill. Plans you and your webwainers are critical to.”
“Really? Do those plans involve executing more helpless animals? Or destroying more artifice?”
Sanctan shrugged as though it didn’t matter a damn. “Those things are necessary. A demonstration of intent.”
“A demonstration of power,” Keara replied, instantly regretting it. She was speaking her mind too readily, most likely a result of the red drop that still lurked at the edge of her senses. It was a dangerous game to play with Sanctan.
Nevertheless, he seemed unconcerned by her candid opinion. “And we have only just begun. We must push ourselves to greater efforts. This nation has not been brought to heel yet. Demonstrations of power are not enough, we must dominate. For that to happen you will need to play your part.” He was staring at her now, all his arrogance sloughed off, replaced by steel. “Castleteig is under siege. You will send more of your webwainers to help bring order to the city. It must be taken. Wyke is under our control, but if my guess is right, it may soon come under attack. You will also send your people there to ensure it remains under my control.”
My control. Not our control. Sanctan was making it crystal clear who this was all for. Who this would benefit.
“My webwainers are at your disposal,” Keara replied. “But how are they to be effective without artifice?”
“Rest assured they will be provided with stormhulks, and all the materiel they require for the task.”
“That’s all well and good, Archlegate, but what happens when all this is over? What happens when my webwainers finally seal your victory and there are no more battles to fight?”
A smile rose on one side of Sanctan’s mouth. It was obvious he knew what she was implying. That she knew his real plans. That she could see an end to the Hallowhills’ usefulness when all this was over.
“You need not concern yourself with that,” the Archlegate replied. “We face a stubborn foe. The priority for now is to see our enemies defeated.”
Keara should have kept her mouth shut. There was no way she should question this man, poke the lion with a stick, but the future of her Guild was under threat. Hadn’t her father warned her of this very thing?
Once again her eyes flicked to the brooding knight who stood scant feet away. She knew he was here more to intimidate her than to protect Sanctan. If she went too far, would he be ordered to demonstrate the might of the Ministry? Keara was past caring.
“I’ve witnessed how you intend to destroy the Guilds, Archlegate. How you intend to eradicate the very infrastructure this country is built on. The Hallowhills are also a part of that infrastructure. Will we be cast aside once you’ve achieved your goal? Tell me, Sanctan, what fate awaits us when you have what you want?”
That smile crept up the side of his face again. “Why, Keara, it is the same fate that awaits everyone. You will exist in a state of grace beneath the watchful gaze of the Great Wyrms.” The smile fell away, those eyes regarding her with renewed intensity. “Or you will be burned in their righteous breath.”
But of course. What answer had she been expecting?
Sanctan shifted in the throne, rising to his feet and walking down the stairs to stand before her. “Do you doubt my word? I would hate to have to convince you of the right path to take.”
The Drake behind him hadn’t moved, but the threat from Sanctan was convincing enough. Still, she had no answer. The red drop inside her gave enough courage not to throw herself to her knees and pledge fealty to the Ministry, but neither did it give her the strength to speak.
