Chapter Six
Rae was wrong. Some things were not better than the orderwall. The ruins of Dwehlling, for example. Dwehlling was a place Rae avoided. Even Morgan’s little gang of adventurous teenagers would be fools to wander Dwehlling’s streets alone at night. So, of course, that was where they went. And the closer they got, the more nervous Rae got.
“Look, I want to be clear, here. I don’t want to let Morgan down,” he said. They had reached the road that led to Dwehlling, a broad, flat strip of true stone, woven through with elemental earth to ensure its survival. The forest grew right up to the edge, but the road was eternal. Until Chaos took them both, of course. “But there’s a considerable difference between the kind of work I’ve done for him in the past, and . . .” He gestured down the empty road, toward the shadowy bulk of the burgh that was just coming into view. “And whatever it is you want in there.”
“I don’t want you to let Morgan down, either,” Mahk said. “So pipe down and keep walking.”
“Yes, but . . . but . . .”
“What I meant is that you should stop talking. Straight-up quiet.” Mahk glanced down at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach friendly. “Work on that.”
“Right, right,” Rae said, realizing that Mahk was just as nervous as him. He shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his coat. His fingers brushed against the hilt of the glass sword. He was really regretting his decision to bring it along. If they got rolled in Dwehlling and he lost that blade, Rae wasn’t sure he could forgive himself. Then again, he would also probably be dead. The thought struck him that he might have to haunt Dwehlling for the rest of his unlife. “So much has gone wrong,” he muttered.
“Not yet it hasn’t,” Mahk said. “Give it time. Always does.”
Rae didn’t answer. He stared down the road at the piled shadows of Dwehlling. The streetlights were dead, but the flickering glow of fire lit up the walls and spotted the buildings that still stood.
Dwehlling used to be a pretty nice place. It was situated on the southern road that once led from the Hammerwall Bastion toward Fulcrum, and was the first settlement travelers would reach when visiting the steading. As the rot of Chaos drove the ring of stable Order around the Bastion back and that road became isolated, wardings were set up to try to keep it clear. Many of the residents of the outer farms were forced from their homes and, rather than retreat coreward, resettled in Dwehlling, Hammerwall, and the smaller burghs closer to the Bastion. As long as the wardings along the road held, Dwehlling flourished. But the wardings did not hold.
The final collapse of the road sparked a wave of panic in Hammerwall Steading. This happened shortly after Rae and his family moved to Hammerwall, and the terror in the air lay heavy in his memory. Families closer to the orderwall abandoned their homes wholesale, dragging all their possessions through the Kelthannis property on makeshift sledges, discarding furniture, clothes, and other merchandise that suddenly didn’t feel so essential. Rae spent a week wandering the fields, gathering treasures that had been cast aside. He remembered wondering what sort of place they had moved to, that everyone else was so anxious to leave.
That had been the beginning of the end for Dwehlling’s heyday. Once a respectable burgh, its high street was lined with merchants, and stone walls that divided the burgh into districts of wealth and squalor, as all decent cities were. The death of the road meant the death of trade, and the shops that once profited off traveling merchants who didn’t want to pay the Bastion’s tariff withered and blew away. The citizens who could afford to leave the steading completely did so, finally taking the journey toward Fulcrum by windship or armored caravan, back when people were still daring the overland route between Hammerwall and Anvilheim, the next steading coreward. These days, the only way into or out of Hammerwall was by air. Others bought space inside Hammerwall Bastion, trading palatial halls for crowded apartments. The entire social structure moved one step closer toward dilapidation, as abandoned markets were claimed by packs of entrepreneurial squatters, and high-street shops became barter houses, trading in the sort of merchandise that couldn’t be had inside the Bastion, for any price. The militia occasionally swept through and cleaned out the shell of the burgh, but the vacuum always filled again, with sturdier criminals, and more dangerous trade.
The regular chorus of insects and birds that filled the night was replaced with other sounds: music, disjointed and angry, and the random argument, dissolving into screams and breaking glass.
“There’s still glass in Dwehlling to be broken?” Rae wondered aloud. “Thought it would have all been shattered long ago.”
“They have it shipped in special,” Mahk said. “For the Hallowsphere celebrations.”
The idea that Hallowsphere was celebrated in the criminal slums of Dwehlling had never occurred to Rae. He hated to imagine how they observed the rites of Order in that place.
Unconsciously, Rae began to fall behind his escort, slowing down the closer they got to the broken gates of the city. Mahk got farther and farther ahead. As they approached the gates, Rae thought about running, but then he remembered his parents, and La. They were counting on him. Without the money from this job, they would be trapped in Hammerwall. Even if this justicar didn’t cause them trouble, the next one might, or the one after that. It was time to take a stand, to make things better.
The gentle insect chatter of the night was broken by a sound behind him. Rustling at first, and then the unmistakable pad of muffled feet across the forest floor. Rae jumped out of his skin and whirled around, drawing the translucent length of his binding sword. The forest was close and thick with shadows. He thought he saw something flicker between two trees, a slight form, and then the crack of a branch. His breath caught in his throat. I might not have to wait to get to Dwehlling to get robbed.
Rae backed slowly away from the road as long as his nerve held, then hissed a string of expletives and ran, closing the distance with Mahk in the span of a heartbeat. He slid past the big man, putting Mahk’s bulk between himself and the lurker in the woods. Mahk stared at him quizzically.
“Something bite your toe, Kelthannis?”
“I heard . . . saw something. In the woods.” He pointed toward the forest with the sword. “I think we’re being followed.”
“Mm-hm,” Mahk said. He twisted in the direction Rae was pointing, but there was nothing in the shadows but trees and silence. When he turned back to Rae, his face was set in an impatient scowl. “None of that around the boss, mageboy. Morgan’s twisted up enough he’ll probably believe you. Just be cool.”
“I swear, I saw something!”
“Lots of somethings to be seen, most of them inside the walls. If you’re going to be jumping at every shadow that looms out of the darkness, you’re going to be worn out by morning.” Mahk strolled past him, hands shoved firmly in his pockets. “And keep that blade tucked. It’s the kind of thing that might draw unwanted attention, ya know?”
Rae glanced back at the forest. A pair of eyes blinked back at him. Rae caught his breath and hurried after Mahk, not even noticing when he crossed the border into Dwehlling.
The streets beyond the gate were narrow and littered with trash. Immediately past the former guardhouse, a pile of refuse forced Rae and Mahk to walk single file, their elbows scraping the sides of an impromptu alleyway. Rae fell in step behind Mahk. In the flickering light of the bonfires that burned in passing alleyways, Rae saw that the big man was packing for a fight. The long flaps of his overcoat jangled as he walked, concealing all manner of weapons. Mahk glanced over his shoulder, then cleared his throat.
“You have other things to worry about, I think, my young magician,” he said gruffly. “The people we’re going to meet here, they don’t care about your heritage. They just want your soul.”
“Wait, what? What are you talking about? What people?” Rae asked.
“Morgan’s new friends. I don’t like them very much,” he answered. “I don’t think you will, either. Keep your eyes up. Pay attention.”
Nervously, Rae looked around at their surroundings. Eyes watched them from the balconies overhead, a cluster of bright goggles that turned and followed them as they passed. Some kind of visors, Rae thought. Pretty fancy for a bunch of criminals. La would probably think they were really cool.
“They take their security pretty seriously,” Rae said, gesturing up to the balconies.
“More like they’re counting marks. Probably already dispatched a greeting party, to see what we’re worth,” Mahk answered. “We should hurry.”
Rae tightened his grip around the hilt of his blade and stuck to Mahk, close enough to be the big man’s shadow, or at least his ghost. He wasn’t sure what kind of tricks he could pull with his newly bound zephyr, but he didn’t want to find out in some dark alley. Mahk led them through the twisting alleys of the city, dodging out of the light cast by barrel fires and overhead spotlights. They caught sight of roaming bands of celebrants, some of them following ragtag priests, others led only by their wine and enthusiasm. Mahk avoided these crowds, leading them deeper into the ruined city.
“Where are we going?” Rae asked again. He couldn’t imagine what sort of business Morgan would have in Dwehlling. Morgan and his gang were small time, sticking to scams in the Hammerwall market and the occasional light banditry.
“Did you really bind a spirit?” Mahk asked, ignoring Rae’s question. He glanced over at Rae, genuinely curious. “Like the stories? Are you a mage, now?”
“I did,” Rae said, straightening his shoulders. “My father taught me. He was a great spiritbinder in his day, before—”
“Yeah, yeah. Before he wasn’t. Everyone knows your story, Kelthannis.” Mahk turned back to their path, narrow eyes scanning the shadows ahead. “Better be a true story. These people, they’ve got no room for lies.”
“What people are those?” Rae asked again.
“You’ll see soon enough,” Morgan said from the shadows overhead. He dropped down from a balcony, quickly joined by the rest of his inner circle. Rae flinched back, swearing as he stubbed his foot on the rubble in the street. He really likes dropping from the ceiling, Rae mused. Morgan and his gang were carrying hand lanterns and blackfoots’ saps. Morgan’s eyes burned with frenetic energy, and not a little bit of fear. He nodded to Mahk. “You were followed.”
“Probably some scrubs from the city. It’s hard to hide how fragile this one is, and he keeps waving around that damned sword,” Mahk said, shrugging at Rae. Rae realized he had drawn the blade again, and sheepishly tucked it back into his belt. Mahk smirked and continued. “We’ll have to keep moving.”
“No. You’ve been followed from outside. Someone came over the wall right after you,” Morgan said. “I don’t want to risk scaring our patrons.”
“I didn’t see . . .” Mahk’s voice trailed off. “He heard something outside the wall. I thought it was just nerves.”
“I told you!” Rae snapped. “I bloody told you!”
“We don’t need forest spooks disrupting our plans,” Morgan said. “Take care of it.”
Mahk put a heavy hand on Rae’s shoulder and bent down to whisper in his ear. His breath smelled like burning wood. “You don’t cause the boss any trouble, right? I would hate for my friend to get nervous on account of you.”
“Sure, sure thing,” Rae stammered. “I’m as cool as . . . cold things. Snow?”
Mahk rolled his eyes and left. Morgan turned his attention to Rae.
“So. You’ve done it?” Morgan asked.
“I have,” Rae said. He tried to look serious, like the roguish mages from those childhood stories. He threw back his coat, revealing the spiritblade. Trying to appear casual, Rae rested his hands on the hilt. “Spirit bound and tamed, as promised.”
“Thought the spiritblade hides in yer soul,” one of Morgan’s followers muttered to another. “Not tucked into yer belt. That doesn’t look right.”
“No, it doesn’t,” his companion agreed. “Looks like an ornament. Bit of glass or something.” The girl, dressed in an impressive array of rags and filth, reached out to touch the hilt. “Wouldn’t want to get stabbed by it, though.”
“This is a spiritblade, but it’s not mine,” Rae said, flinching back from the girl’s hand. “I will form my own focus later. When I have time. But—”
“They’re going to demand a demonstration,” Morgan interrupted. “Are you prepared for that?”
“Who are they?” Rae demanded. “What’s going on here?”
“People you don’t want to disappoint. People I don’t want to disappoint.” Morgan drew his knife, a curved jambia long enough to stick all the way through Rae’s chest, heart to spine. “I’ll ask again: Will you be able to prove yourself to them?”
Rae swallowed hard, then stiffened his spine and drew the sword with a flourish. The light from the gang’s torches sparkled in the fractured glass. They drew back, even the girl and her friend, the sneer on her face momentarily replaced with worry. That warmed Rae’s heart. People should be afraid of him. People would be afraid of him.
Forming one of the sigils of air with his other hand (probably unnecessary, but what good was an audience if you didn’t give them a bit of a show?), Rae felt around at the soul-scar, deep in his chest. The spirit murmured under his attention. For a moment it felt like the spirit would tear free of the wound, and a thrill of destruction surged through him. His vision narrowed, and the keening song of the storm filled his head.
He slashed dramatically with the blade. The arc of the swing left an eddy of living air in the blade’s wake. A funnel danced the length of the blade, jumping to the ground before kicking up a cloud of dust and static electricity. It dashed itself against the wall of the alleyway before disappearing. The gang stared at Rae in silence.
“Yes,” he said. “I will be ready.”
“Good,” Morgan said, quickly recovering as he glanced up at the shadows. “We can’t afford to wait for Mahk to deal with your tail. He can catch up.”
Morgan’s words broke whatever enchantment Rae’s binding had cast over the gang. They spread out in both directions, some snaking ahead to check intersections and maintain a rolling watch, while the rest lagged behind to make sure their tail was clear. Morgan led Rae through a series of broken houses and tumble-down warehouses, avoiding the main streets. It wasn’t long before Rae figured out that Morgan and his gang were just as scared as Rae was. It wasn’t reassuring.
“Where are we going, Morgan?” Rae tried again. “Who are these people we’re meeting?”
“Business partners, young Kelthannis. My network extends far outside the meager walls of the Bastion.” Morgan paused as they reached a corner, watching for a signal across the way. When it came, he and Rae scampered across the small open space before ducking through the broken window of an abandoned shop. “I’m moving up in the world. Stick close, and maybe you can move up with me.”
“This doesn’t feel like moving up,” Rae said. “It feels like a mouse scurrying from shrub to shrub, one eye for the hawk and the other for the snake.”
“Don’t be so damned smart,” Morgan snapped. He marched through the wrecked display room of the shop, pausing before he ducked into the back. “Smart will get you killed around here.”
“Get the feeling that not-smart will, too,” Rae mumbled as soon as Morgan was out of earshot. One of the other members of Morgan’s gang snorted, then gave Rae a shove toward the back of the room. Rae shot the kid a nervous look. “You see it, right? He’s not always like this.”
“Big day,” the kid said. “Now get moving. Don’t want to fall behind.”
The rest of their trip was carried out in silence. Morgan hurried them through the shop, across an alleyway that was sealed off from the night sky by a series of overhead balconies, and into a once-grand amphitheater. The remnants of velvet curtains hung from the walls, and row after row of plush seats led down to a round stage at the center of the room. The sharp stink of mildew and more delicate decay hung in the air, but the stage was clear and, judging by the amount of dust on the rest of the furnishings, had recently been swept clean. Morgan and his gang hesitated just inside the door, staring down at the stage clustered close together like field mice scenting the air.
“Where are they?” Morgan hissed at one of his companions. “They’re supposed to be here. You were supposed to check it out.”
“They came, they went,” the kid said. He didn’t look old enough to be walking around by himself, much less carrying out minor crime. “They’re still around.”
“Alright. Alright, fine,” Morgan said. He glanced nervously around the room, his hand rubbing against the adorned hilt of his knife. “Spread out a little. Check the other exits, and maybe we can get someone up in those catwalks.”
“That won’t be necessary.” The voice came from the stage below. Everyone froze. There was a shivering crack, and two figures appeared in the middle of the open space. “You’ve kept us waiting, young Morgan.”
The two figures were as different as night and day. The speaker was a tall man, impeccably dressed in a bright blue suit, with complicated spectacles and a narrow beard that was frosted with gray. He didn’t appear to be armed, other than a walking cane that he carried in his left hand. His other hand held a thick leather leash that hung slack, the far end of which led to the second figure.
The creature squatting at the man’s side had been human once. It was dressed in a simple gray tunic and loose-fitting pants, with bare feet, and atrophied hands that hung limp at the end of its arms. A hood covered the top half of its head, leaving the mouth and nose exposed, and the leather of the leash wrapped around its eyes, cinching tight to its skull. Rae felt a shiver go through him.
“That’s a soulslave,” he whispered. “Morgan, what the hell have you gotten us into?”
“We can’t always be picky with new friends,” Morgan said out of the corner of his mouth. He raised his voice, addressing the newly arrived man on the stage below. “Mister Button, I presume? My apologies for being late. We have—”
“Your excuses do not interest me.” Button jerked the leash and the soulslave lurched forward, snuffling along the ground, walking on knuckles and the balls of its feet. “You were hired to do a job. Is it done?”
“We were hired to steal something, but the details of the job were unclear. Our contact said that things would be clarified at this meeting,” Morgan said. His voice was a little too high, a little too tight. “All we were told was that we would need a spiritbinder for the job.”
“The spiritbinder is the job. A stormbinder, perhaps hiding from Fulcrum, and willing to do a little crime,” Button said, his smile sharp. “You have one?”
“Sure, as promised,” Morgan said. He glanced nervously at Rae, his eyes thoughtful. Rae shrank back, but Morgan’s heavy hand stopped him. “You better not be lying, kid,” Morgan whispered, then pushed him forward. “One stormbinder.”
Mister Button looked Rae over, his eyes lingering on the fractured length of the sword in Rae’s hand, then nodded. He signaled to the ceiling. Something scampered through the shadows of the catwalks, limbs and body too long to be natural. The doors Rae and Morgan had come through clicked shut.
“What the hell is this?” Morgan snapped.
Mister Button smiled, then pulled the slave’s leash taut, whispering words in a language that grated on Rae’s mind. The soulslave arched its back, mouth opening in a grimace as its spirit was commanded. Some part of Rae howled inside his soul; the shard of spirit resonating with the music of another spirit being drawn into the material plane. His vision darkened for a heartbeat. He grabbed Morgan by the elbow to keep from pitching over. The scrub shook him off angrily.
Figures appeared around the room, emerging out of thin air like ghosts in the morning mist. There was a snap in Rae’s heart, and the world returned to normal, though a chill hung in the air. Morgan’s gang muttered nervously, checking weapons and backing closer together.
“Where did they come from?” Morgan muttered.
“Oblivion, unless I miss my guess,” Rae answered without thinking. “Your friend used the spirit in that slave to tuck them just outside the material plane. I’ll ask again, what the hell have you gotten us into?”
Morgan ignored Rae’s concern. He straightened his back, thrusting hands on hips, chin in the air.
“We had a deal, Button.” Morgan said.
“The deal is complete, young man.” Button flicked his wrist, as though shooting his cuff. A gun, small and black with two tiny barrels, smacked into Button’s palm. He pointed the weapon at Morgan. “Your contract has been terminated.”
The sharp snap and bang of the firelock going off echoed through the room. The enchanted bullet struck Morgan square in the chest. The kid folded, eyes going wide even as the infernal spirit bound to the heavy bullet tore free of its prison, burning through his bones like they were kindling. Rae stepped back, staring in horror at the rapidly collapsing body at his feet. Morgan’s open mouth filled with a small firestorm, a twisting corkscrew of cinders and flame that cracked his teeth and burned his lips away. The heat of the eruption forced Rae back.
Grabbing the sword in his belt, Rae drew the blade and his spirit in one smooth motion. A crackle of lightning ran the length of Rae’s arm as he wrapped a cone of angry storm around his fist, ready to strike. He looked up just in time to see ten different guns trained on him.
“Don’t try anything funny,” Button said, turning the firelock on Rae. “Funny guys don’t live through the night.”
Rae hesitated for a heartbeat. He looked down at the ruin of Morgan’s chest and the look of shock in the young gangster’s eyes. Then he dropped the summon, letting the wind die and the lightning fade away.
Neither do smart guys, apparently, Rae thought, staring down at Morgan’s burning body. So what does that leave?