Warrior Prime, page 26
part #1 of Ink Mage Legacy Series
The seventh statue stood tall with her head thrown back, arms spread wide in triumph or welcome or both.
“Made of copper, I think,” Peyne said. “The metal turns that sort of pale green.”
“Big statues,” Jaff said. “That’s a lot of copper.”
“Probably not solid,” Peyne said. “The statues in the Hall of Kings in Merridan are made with copper over an iron frame.”
Jaff considered, still looking at the statues. “Still expensive.”
“The Valley of the Seven Guardians,” Zayda said.
Peyne looked at her. “What?”
“Something the old woman told me.” A wan smile from Zayda. “It seems like so long ago. Like a lifetime.”
“It’s not a valley,” Maurizan said.
They looked at her, waited for her to explain.
“I mean, it’s a valley now, I guess, but look at that line of stone columns between the statues.” Maurizan pointed along one side and then the other. “And over there. With a little imagination, you can see piers. This was a harbor.”
“Can we assume a harbor means a harbor town?” Jaff asked.
“If so, it’ll be up there.” Maurizan pointed where the rock wall of the valley rose up another thirty feet behind the final statue. “Since we’ve no other pressing engagements, I suggest we have a look.”
They set out again, hiking along the floor of the valley. Peyne paused, looked back, and saw that Zayda wasn’t coming with them. He went to her. She stood still, eyes closed.
“Zayda?”
Her eyes popped open. “I smell water.”
The statues stood on bases at least twenty-five feet high, contributing to the looming effect as they walked among them. They found a landing behind the base of the seventh statue. They climbed up to it. Once on top, Peyne looked back out into the valley, tried to imagine a harbor filled with water, boats tied up along the piers. Had this been the gateway to some thriving civilization millennia ago? Or some powerful wizard’s private domain?
A zigzagging staircase had been carved into the natural rock and went up to the top of the wall. The stairs were smooth and wide enough to accommodate groups passing one another going up and down. Again, Peyne tried to imagine it. People disembarking from ships after a long journey, climbing the stairs home. Or those coming down the stairs, eyes on the sea that stretched out before them, excited for the journey, new people in new ports.
What sort of cataclysm could erase an entire people?
They started up the stairs with a renewed energy, the news of possible water nearby temporarily lifting their fatigue.
As they neared the top, they saw rusty chains hanging from multiple pulleys.
“For lowering cargo?” Jaff guessed.
Maurizan shrugged. “I would imagine so. Zayda, is this still the right way?”
“I think,” Zayda said. “Yes.”
They made it to the top to discover they were on a large plateau.
The ruined city lay before them. Peyne simultaneously marveled at its magnificence while gasping at the destruction that had obviously befallen it once upon a time. Their spot above the harbor stood at a slight elevation, offering a good overall view of the city. The plateau stretched perhaps a mile east to west and half again as far north to south. In terms of area, it would have fit ten times into his home city of Merridan. The ancient dwellers here had compensated by erecting their buildings very close together, narrow avenues crisscrossing the cityscape. They’d also built high. Peyne saw no single-story buildings.
Many of the structures, especially those nearest the harbor, had been wrecked to the point that only iron frames remained, ghostly skeletons of the edifices they’d once been. Sand piled high against the walls of the intact buildings, spilled from the windows of the lower floors.
Amid the destruction, two landmarks, basically intact, drew the eye, both domes.
The first dome stood more or less in the center of the city, a wide area of open space around it, odd perhaps in a place where square footage was at a premium. Three wide boulevards led away from the dome, stretching in straight lines east, west, and south. They were far wider than the other lanes and divided the city into sections.
The second dome was much larger and sat atop a once magnificent palace directly across from the harbor on the other side of the plateau, at the same elevation. The palace appeared to be the least damaged structure in the city but had clearly seen better days.
“How does a nation lose an entire city?” Peyne wondered aloud. “There must have been thousands of people here at one time. Tens of thousands.”
“You don’t look for something you don’t believe in,” Jaff said. “Why risk your neck in the deep desert for a fairy story?”
And yet that’s exactly what they’d done. They stood another moment, gawking at legend.
Zayda pointed. “The water’s down there.”
And just like that, legends would have to wait, awe vanishing in a puff of thirst. They found another wide stone stairway and descended into the lost city.
They tried to find a direct route to the city’s center, but it was difficult going. They sank ankle deep into the sand as they went, buildings rising high enough on either side to block the sunlight. At one point, they turned a corner to find a ship blocking the way, lodged between two buildings. It was made of the same metal as the ship they’d passed days earlier, now rusted, and almost as big.
“How did this happen, do you think?” Jaff asked.
“A tidal wave,” Maurizan said.
“I don’t know what that is,” Jaff said.
“But you know what a wave is, right?”
“Of course.”
“Now imagine one two hundred feet high,” Maurizan said.
Jaff shook his head. “Impossible.”
“Sherrik,” Peyne said.
Maurizan nodded. “Exactly.”
“You mean the port?” Zayda asked. “There was a storm or something, yes? This was many years ago.”
“Not a storm,” Maurizan said. “An ink mage. She created a wall of water and smashed the city. She destroyed the outer wall. Flooded every street. Ships smashed against the stone wharves like nothing.”
Jaff snorted. “You believe those stories?”
“Not stories,” Maurizan told them. “I was there.”
“And you think the same thing happened to the lost city?” Venny asked from across the fire. “An ink mage attacked it like Sherrik?”
It had become customary the last few nights for Meddigar and Venny to converse around the fire at day’s end. Frankly, he didn’t enjoy anyone else’s company. Venny had not shown any particular affection for him, but she was well mannered and educated. She’d been the first to offer sympathies upon hearing of his apprentice’s accidental death.
It had only occurred to Meddigar just in time he should pretend to be sad. His skills as a thespian had proven adequate.
“I thought it might be something like that until I saw the crater,” Meddigar said. “I didn’t see the crater my first journey. I originally approached the lost city from . . . a circuitous route. I believe the crater was created by one of the cosmic rocks pulled from the sky by one of the great wizards of old.”
Venny’s eyes narrowed. “How does that result in an enormous, destructive wave?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Meddigar asked. “The rock striking land might actually have done less harm. A water strike has far worse consequences. What happens if you drop a pebble in a puddle?”
“Ripples?”
“Yes.”
She thought about it. “The bigger the rock, the bigger the ripples.”
“Ripples taller than the prayer tower in Zinevah,” Meddigar said. “Traveling faster than an avalanche in the Glacial Wastes.”
Venny’s face had gone blank. She was trying to imagine such a spectacle. “When the ripples reached land . . . that would be catastrophic.”
“The city sits atop a rocky plateau, so some of the wave’s destructive power might have been absorbed by the harbor wall,” Meddigar explained. “But not the bulk of it. I’ve spent some time considering the aftermath. The initial wave would have killed most of the populace, and when the water eventually receded, the bodies would remain, stacked like cord wood and left to bake in the merciless sun. The dead would have outnumbered the living. Disease would rise, taking more of the survivors, if any, and vermin would feed upon the corpses and spread more disease. Rebuilding would have been an impossible task. Fleeing the city would have been the only sane option, but flee where? The sea had gone and all the boats wrecked in any case. And so the dead took management of the city, and it faded into legend.”
“Suddenly I’m less eager to see this place,” Venny said.
Meddigar chuckled. “Don’t worry. The bones have long turned to dust. Most of my previous visit was quite dull actually. The majority of the buildings are empty husks.”
“There had to be something of interest,” Venny said. “Or why bother coming back?”
“Of course,” the wizard said. “The great wizards knew how to keep their secrets safe, how to seal themselves away from the elements, away from time itself. The ink magic had been preserved, the means to create ink mages and control them. I am considered by some to be an accomplished wizard.” Meddigar sighed, shaking his head. “Compared to the magicians of old, I am nothing. I’m looking forward to exploring the lost workshops of the ancient wizards again. There is much to learn.”
“Hopefully these workshops are well hidden,” Venny said.
“Not especially,” Meddigar said. “I remember the location well enough, so that might give me some advantage over a newcomer. We lost some time finding a path down the cliff that would allow the dromadan to descend safely, but Krokett assures us we’re only two days behind, three at most.”
“I’m not as eager to catch up to them as you are,” Venny said. “They almost brought the Last Village down around our ears. I just want to make maps. Sorcery and swordplay are out of my league.”
“We’ll do our best to keep you out of harm’s way,” Meddigar said. “As far as Maurizan and her people are concerned, I wouldn’t be surprised if we stumbled over their corpses any day now. The desert is merciless to the unprepared. Thirst and hunger may have taken them.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.” Meddigar felt suddenly wary. The girl was naturally curious, and she’d never before felt the need to ask permission before a question.
She pitched her voice lower and asked, “Why do you want Maurizan’s map so badly?”
He could almost hear the question she was really asking. You’re lost, aren’t you? Did Venny suspect what had really happened to Nila?
Meddigar’s first impulse was to lie. And then suddenly there was an overwhelming desire to tell her the truth, to unburden himself. He realized that he was deeply lonely, realized further that this was something he’d known on some level for a long time. The prince could provide him with any number of females to satisfy his carnal needs, but none of these women were companions or confidants.
The wizard ultimately settled on a less damning version of the truth.
“As I mentioned before, I came via a different route the first time,” he said. “If she knows another path, a faster or safer path, then I want to know also. And consider this. Your father is unsurpassed in mapmaking, is he not? What information could Maurizan have possibly unearthed to fill in the blank space on a map if your father could not?”
He could see Venny giving his words serious thought.
At last, she said, “But these are guesses, surely. For all you know, she has no map at all.”
Meddigar had worried himself over that very notion. If that were the case, then the lost were following the lost, and likely the desert would take them all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“What in the bloody blue blazes do you mean there’s no map?” Shouting hurt Peyne’s dry throat, but under the circumstances, he felt a little shouting to be justified. “We’ve been following you as if you know where you’re going.”
“I do,” Maurizan said. “And there is a map, so keep your voice down.”
“But you just said—”
“You said you wanted to see the map, and I said I didn’t have one to show you,” Maurizan snapped. “It’s not on paper. It’s up here.” She tapped the side of her head with a stiff index finger. “Ink mage recall, remember? If I tap into the spirit, I can see every crease and ink blot on the map. I destroyed it so it couldn’t be stolen. Then I rolled up some parchment as a decoy. An exploding glyph on the inside so any thief would get a nasty surprise.”
Peyne sulked. There had seemed no point in looking at the map before, but now that it seemed they might actually find water and live another day, his curiosity had resurfaced. Where were they? How had they gotten here?
What does it matter now? We’re here, aren’t we?
Except maybe it would be nice to get back home again. Alive.
Maurizan’s theory that the city had been destroyed by a tidal wave had given rise to a myriad of other questions, but Maurizan had told them she was dead on her feet and might murder all of them if forced to answer questions.
In light of such a pronouncement, they agreed to table further conversation until they’d located the source of the water.
They picked their way through the narrow lanes, debris or a collapsed building often turning them aside. There seemed to be no straight path to where they were trying to go. They were following Zayda’s nose, an inexact process at best.
Maurizan tapped into the spirit and tried to catch the scent of water also. Although successful, her sense of smell was not as keen as Zayda’s.
“The chuma sticks,” Maurizan speculated. “I smoke too much.”
It seemed to hit the gypsy hard that after twenty years as an ink mage, she was just discovering this limitation.
After three hours of slowly plodding through the ruined city, they happened upon one of the wide boulevards they’d spied from atop the harbor wall.
Except it wasn’t a boulevard.
It was a canal.
Or at least some of them thought it was a canal. They couldn’t guess what else it might be.
The way was smooth, tiled in white with an intricate blue pattern of lilies. Peyne marveled. The fountains on the royal grounds in Merridan were tiled in such a way, but this canal stretched a mile. It must have been fabulously expensive, boasting a city that had riches to squander. Many of the tiles along the canal were chipped and weathered with age but still a testament to artisans long dead. The canal was a dozen feet deep and forty feet wide.
And it was, of course, as dry as a bone. The sand seemed to barely collect here.
“I don’t believe it’s a canal,” Jaff said. “Such an extravagant use of water is unheard of. What’s the purpose? There are no crops here to irrigate.”
“Maybe it was some kind of transportation system,” Zayda said.
Jaff shook his head. “Absurd. How many millions of gallons of water would that take when one could just walk?”
“There are places where water isn’t so scarce,” Peyne said. “Canals like this wouldn’t be uncommon.”
“This isn’t other places,” Jaff said. “This is Fyria.”
“Who knows what it was a thousand years ago,” Peyne shot back. “People might have been farting water, for all you know.”
“Insolent ass!”
“Enough!” Maurizan shouted. “First we find water. Then we can debate whatever idiocy you like.”
“Yes, shut up your stupid bickering,” Zayda said. “What difference does it make right now when we’re dying of thirst? Shut up! Shut up, both of you!”
They all stood silent a moment.
Then Peyne slowly raised his arm, pointing along the path of the canal. “Just tell me plainly. Is there, or is there not, water in that direction?”
“Yes,” she said. “I think.”
“You think?”
She lifted her chin, expression hardening. “Yes. I know.”
Peyne shrugged and started walking. The other three followed.
Walking along the dry canal turned out to be a good choice. It provided a straight, uncluttered path, and Peyne sent up a silent prayer of thanks to any gods who might happen to be listening. He wasn’t particularly devout, but he’d take help from anywhere he could get it.
Ten minutes later, they came upon the boat.
It lay on its side in the center of the canal. They circled the craft, examining it with interest. It was made of some light, durable metal Peyne had never seen before, not rusty like the previous vessels. It was twenty feet long with bench seating around the interior, a rudder in back, and something like a miniature windmill sticking out of the aft end. An odd piece of machinery like a sealed metal barrel sat in the middle of the boat, and a tube the diameter of a cup sprouted from the top of the barrel. Coiled tubes went in and out of the barrel, gears on the side for no purpose Peyne could guess.
Still, the boat was obviously a boat. He turned to Jaff, gesturing at the vessel, face smug.
“That proves nothing,” Jaff said. “We’ve seen ships out of place already. The tidal wave could have dropped them anywhere.”
“To me it looks exactly like the size and type of boat perfect for canal travel,” Peyne said.
Jaff made a dismissive gesture. “Now he’s a boat expert.”
Zayda started walking, didn’t wait to see if anyone followed. “We’re close. Stay and argue about the boat if you like.”
Jaff and Peyne exchanged brief looks.
Then hurried after Zayda.
The dome was made of a dark brassy sort of metal that had somehow retained its color, unlike the copper harbor statues. The canal led directly into the dome. More specifically, the canal led into the gaping maw of a gigantic fish, a stylized sculpture affixed to the side of the dome and cast from the same metal. Huge fins and scales gleamed in the sunlight.
