The black iron empire, p.14
The Black Iron Empire, page 14
Longer than Joran would have liked, but it was what it was. “Does anyone know what time it is?”
“About two hours after noon,” Stoneheart said.
Joran shot him an inquiring look.
“When you live underground, you get good at keeping track of the time without the sun’s help.”
Yet another thing Joran had never even given a passing thought to. “That gives us about four hours of light. I say we put as much distance between us and this place as possible.”
No one objected and they set out with Bahesti once more in the lead. It seemed impossible, but Joran felt the pressure even more acutely now. Samaritan had to be stopped no matter what. Lives beyond counting depended on it.
Chapter 18
An overmage’s citadel, at least according to the last living overmage, contained dangers beyond counting. Samaritan and his companions had climbed six levels so far and had yet to encounter so much as a magical ward. In fact, they encountered nothing of particular interest, assuming undifferentiated stretches of black iron and stone weren’t your style of choice. Of course, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t run into some later, but so far the tower defenses didn’t especially impress him.
Not that Samaritan had any intention of complaining. Only fools sought out dangers for their own sake. He preferred to avoid them as much as possible. After all, if he died, his revenge died with him.
On the seventh-floor landing Gomo stopped. “I can go no further.”
Samaritan peeked into the ether and found a ceiling of dark energy blocking the way. Since he felt nothing, he assumed that the ward affected only summoned creatures, just as the earth spirit said.
“Hopefully we won’t be long,” Samaritan said.
Overmage shook his head. “There has to be more than this. None my fellows would leave their home so unprotected.”
He sounded confused; an alarming trend Samaritan had noticed in the metal man lately. At least his confusion hadn’t led them off the ultimate path. If he got confused by some minor surprise, well, Samaritan wouldn’t claim to care all that much.
The two of them, along with the remaining golem, started up to the eighth floor.
“There should be lethal wards everywhere,” Overmage muttered. “Guardian beasts should be opposing us at every step. What in the world has happened here?”
“Does it matter?” Samaritan asked. “As long as we complete the earth spirit’s task and find the information we need, who cares about the rest?”
“It’s the principle of the thing. There’s a certain pride that comes with being an overmage. You don’t just leave your citadel unprotected like this.”
They reached the eighth landing and started up to the ninth and still no lethal dangers.
“It’s been hundreds of years,” Samaritan said. He didn’t know why he went to the trouble of trying to reassure Overmage, but he didn’t have anything better to do so why not? “Without proper maintenance, even magic breaks down eventually. Why should an overmage’s citadel be any different?”
Overmage looked back over his shoulder. “We were the mightiest wizards in the empire. It should make a difference.”
When he looked away Samaritan rolled his eyes. With an ego like that, Overmage would fit right in with the imperial nobility.
On the tenth floor, no wall or door separated the landing from the rest of the room. And that’s all it was: a single, huge room. In the center rested the crystal on a metal stand, just as the spirit said. What the spirit hadn’t mentioned, and probably knew nothing about, was the black iron statue of a giant with the head of a crocodile standing halfway between the orb and the steps. Even knowing as little as he did about the Black Iron Empire, Samaritan felt certain that thing would come to life and try to kill them should they attempt to destroy the crystal.
“At last,” Overmage said. “An iron beastman statue. They were among the higher-level magical guardians popular with my fellows.”
“I’m happy you’re happy, but how do we get past it without getting crushed?”
“We don’t. The iron beastmen aren’t especially fast, but they are tough and relentless. I don’t know what this one’s activation parameters are, but once triggered, it won’t stop until the ones that activated it are dead.”
Even though he’d expected it, Overmage’s explanation didn’t please him. Samaritan considered his options and liked none of them. About twenty paces separated him from the crystal. He still had his dagger, but that was a long throw.
A quick glance at Overmage and his golem gave him a better idea. “Why don’t you send your bodyguard to smash the crystal? It’s a black iron statue the same as the beastman. It might not register as a threat.”
“I have only one left. Should it be destroyed, I will be defenseless.”
Samaritan wanted to slap a hand to his face. Overmage was as durable and unkillable as the golem. He needed no bodyguard in his current form. He couldn’t even use magic, so that offered no excuse. No doubt the ego of a former ruler spoke more than anything practical.
“So that’s a no?”
“It certainly is.”
“Do you have any other suggestions?”
“You could run over to the crystal, smash it, and hope that the magic binding the guardian construct to the object it protects breaks and keeps it from activating.”
“What are the odds of that working?” Samaritan asked.
“Not especially good. More likely the beastman will go berserk and try to crush everything in its path until destroyed.”
“So do you have any useful suggestions?”
Overmage’s shoulders creaked as he shrugged. “I warned you of the dangers and you doubted me. Now you see just how dangerous an overmage’s citadel can be.”
He seemed entirely too pleased with the situation given that it stood in the way of them completing their mission.
Samaritan turned away from his ever-more-useless partner and considered his options. None of them were good and all of them involved getting around the guardian of the crystal. Assuming Overmage actually knew what he was talking about, avoiding the monster once it came to life hopefully wouldn’t be too huge of a problem. Having it chase them all around the citadel, on the other hand, would be a huge problem. And it looked like it would make it down the stairs despite the tight fit.
To hell with it. Standing around thinking would accomplish nothing. Gathering himself, he darted into the room.
He barely managed three steps before the beastman groaned to life.
It stomped a foot down directly in his path.
Samaritan lunged around it and then back on to his chosen path.
Only ten steps separated him from the crystal.
A black hand big enough to envelop him from knees to neck swept down.
He slid under it, sprang to his feet, and kept going.
Five more strides.
The beastman roared and Samaritan feared he might go deaf.
He didn’t let the pain slow him.
Two strides from the crystal he drew his sword and swung.
The sphere shattered like glass.
He kept running toward the back wall.
The beastman stomped its feet like a child whose favorite toy just got broken. It struck the floor with such force that Samaritan staggered and nearly lost his footing.
If that happened, he was dead.
At last he made it to the far wall. Now he had to hope that Overmage actually knew as much about these things as he claimed. If he was all ego, this was going to end badly.
“Hey!” He shouted and waved his arms. “I broke your precious orb. What are you going to do about it?
The beastman’s angry glowing gaze turned to focus on him. It pawed the floor like a bull, lowered its head, and charged.
The top of its head was level with Samaritan’s chest.
This had seemed like a better plan when he first came up with it.
Well, he couldn’t exactly back out now.
Samaritan held his breath and waited.
The monster drew closer at a terrifying rate.
At the last possible moment, he dropped to his knees. Its tooth-filled snout passed over his head close enough that it brushed his hair.
An instant later it hit the back wall with the force of a battering ram.
Iron screamed as it bent outward. The beastman roared and flailed, but found nothing to catch itself on. Samaritan turned in time to see it crash into the courtyard.
To his absolute horror, the monster started to climb to its feet. One arm had bent the wrong way and some teeth had snapped off, but other than that it appeared intact.
When it got to its feet, the ground shifted under it. Over the course of about ten seconds, it sank into the dirt until it was out of sight. A small figure rose out of the dirt, threw Samaritan a wave, and vanished in a puff of dust.
He moved away from the hole in the wall and slumped to the ground. That had been far too close.
“Clever thinking,” Overmage said from behind him. “Though if the earth spirit hadn’t seen fit to lend a hand, we would have been in serious trouble when we got ready to leave.”
Samaritan wiped the sweat from his brow. “All’s well that ends well. What do you say we collect Gomo and return to the library?”
“Splendid idea.” Overmage actually sounded pleased about something for a change. “With all the distractions eliminated, we can get back to our important work. Finding the dragon’s hiding place and how to wake it up.”
Samaritan forced himself wearily to his feet. Yes, and most importantly, how to convince it to destroy the Tiberian Empire.
Samaritan had learned to do research in college and later at his ruined tower it became a necessity if he wanted to better figure out how to use his power. But despite that, he never learned how to enjoy it. Heaven only knew how many hours of reading in the library with Overmage and Gomo reinforced his dislike to the point that he almost would have preferred to fight another construct.
He tossed his most recent book, a slim folio describing a failed mission to find the source of the Black Bile, onto the table he sat beside. That was the third book he’d read to no avail. Swallowing a yawn, he reached for the next one in the pile.
“I have it!” Overmage said from the opposite side. “We hid a seeking device in the colonies—that is the continent you came from. It generates large amounts of corruption and so should be easy to locate magically. Once we reach the bile portal, it’s just a matter of finding it and letting the device lead us to the dragon.”
“If they had already found it, why didn’t the overmages just say where? Forcing us to repeat their journey makes no sense.”
Overmage touched his head as if in pain. “Perhaps the others were killed before they had the chance. I’ve lost so much since the transformation, but I’m sure the device described here is what we need to find.”
Samaritan held out his hand. “May I see it?”
Overmage clutched the book to his chest. “Do you not trust me?”
“Trust is a tricky thing. Given what’s at stake, I’d prefer to confirm the facts with my own eyes.”
The metal man shrugged and held out the book. “I marked the page.”
Samaritan opened then flipped a few pages back from the marker to what looked like the start of the entry. Everything looked good. The author mentioned the quest for the source of the bile and how the overmages worked together to craft the seeking orb. A page further on, he frowned. No mention about how the device made it safely back to its hiding place after the dragon wiped the overmages out. Or, for that matter, who had written the stupid journal in the first place.
He got to the marked page and read the description of the orb’s location, a cave hidden by magic near the east coast. The details looked right, but the whole thing sounded off to him. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he had so many options. One way or the other he needed to get back. Every day he stayed here, he felt his body getting a little weaker and he doubted the preserved food was the primary cause.
“I found the location of the bile portal,” Gomo said from deeper in the library where he’d been studying a map of the bile network. A moment later the demon came stomping up to their table, a torn piece of parchment in his hand. “It’s one island over.”
Samaritan nodded, brushing his uncertainty aside. For better or worse, he’d made his decision. “Let’s go. It’s time to find a dragon.”
Chapter 19
When Gaius joined the White Knights and went through six months of intense weapons training, he thought he knew what it meant to be tired. Three weeks of walking or riding twenty hours a day taught him that in fact he hadn’t had a clue what tired meant.
He did now. Gaius passed through the gates of Tiber twenty minutes ago with no issues. Even an exhausted White Knight commanded the respect of the city guards. Though looking back on it, maybe they should have been a bit more reluctant to let someone in just because they wore a white uniform.
Dismissing the stupid, random thought, Gaius slapped himself on both cheeks and focused on the gray stone towers of the First Church of The One God. Five more minutes should see him through the doors. Whether he made it in to see the pope was another matter altogether. The ultimate success or failure of his mission came down to one simple question: would Commander Cossus’s amulet get the respect he said it would?
Gaius had no idea what would happen, but he hoped whoever he spoke to gave him permission to wait for a response in one of the pews. Even a hard wooden bench would feel like a feather mattress right now.
He passed people, he felt certain, but didn’t see them. An enemy could have cut his throat and Gaius doubted he would’ve noticed.
Death might even be a welcome rest.
His jaw clenched and he focused. He didn’t dare die yet. He had a message to deliver and brothers to avenge. How would he face The One God should he fail in this most important mission?
The obvious answer was that he wouldn’t. No doubt some hell dedicated to failures would welcome him with open arms.
When his horse reached the foot of the church steps, the sun had nearly set. Thankfully there was no service. Gaius had no desire to wade through several hundred members of the rich and powerful. Not that he ever did, but tonight especially their phony piety would grate on his weary nerves.
Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, Gaius trudged up the steps, paused to make the circle over his heart, and pushed through the unlocked doors. A priest stood at the far end of the chapel, pale hair and skin marking him as a provincial. His white robes were spotless and his eyes appeared unshadowed.
Lucky bastard.
Gaius immediately banished the unworthy thought. The priests had their work to do and the White Knights had theirs. If someone had offered him a chance to trade his white cloak for the robes of a priest and easy duty in some church in the countryside, he’d refuse. Gaius made his choice the moment he felt called to fight for his faith. Nothing save a command from The One God himself, or maybe the pope, would be enough to get him to renounce his choice.
When Gaius had covered half the distance separating him from the priest the other man bowed. “Welcome, Brother. What brings one of The One God’s holy warriors to us at this hour?”
The priest’s kind, gentle words made Gaius feel even worse about his earlier thoughts. “I have an important message for His Holiness. Please get word to him right away.”
The priest’s face paled. “His Holiness doesn’t speak to the likes of me. I can relay any message to Cardinal Rufious, His Holiness’s advisor. If he feels the matter warrants the pope’s time, I’m sure he’ll pass it along.”
Gaius pulled out the medallion Cossus had given him. “Commander Cossus, my commanding officer, ordered me to present this medallion to His Holiness and deliver my message. I have been riding virtually nonstop for three weeks to get here. Tell that to whomever you have to, but I’m not leaving until I’ve had an audience.”
The priest bowed for a second time. “Your determination to complete your superior’s task does you great credit. I will speak with the cardinal and impress that upon him. The pews are not the most comfortable of places, but please, rest yourself. I know not how long it will take to get the cardinal’s decision.”
“The One God bless you, Father. Commander Cossus held great faith that the amulet would be known to those above us. If you use his name and describe it, you may get a reply faster than you fear.” Gaius dropped into the nearest pew and failed to suppress a sigh of relief.
When he looked up again, the priest had gone.
There were days—more since his ill-fated decision to bring Joran Den Cade in for questioning—that Cardinal Rufious hated his job. Septimus had never been especially interested in doing the actual work of being pope. He liked the trappings and power. More importantly, he had the talent, when he chose to employ it, to project the church’s authority in a way that made the rich and powerful both fearful and eager to donate. That skill sufficed to make all the extra work he created for Rufious worthwhile.
But lately he hadn’t even been doing that and the church coffers showed it. All he did was whinge about the stolen holy sword and how it was an affront to the church and The One God himself. The fact that they had already acknowledged that The One God was only convenient fiction didn’t seem to faze him or slow down the complaints.
All Rufious could do was nod and try to coax him back to doing his actual job. So far, his efforts had been mostly unsuccessful.
When the knock sounded on his door, Rufious looked up from the scroll he’d been reading with relief. That relief lasted just long enough for him to realize that no one would be visiting him at this hour unless there was a problem. And if there was one thing he didn’t need, it was another problem.
Nevertheless he said, “Come in.”
The door opened and a nervous, twitching priest inched inside. The youth—if he was a day over twenty-two Rufious would eat Septimus’s new hat—looked everywhere but at him. He reminded Rufious of nothing so much as a mouse about to be introduced to the family cat.
