Paul Crilley - Night of Long Shadows

“He’s dead,” said Wren. “You got your revenge.”

Cutter was silent for a while. “I still miss her,” he said softly.

Wren resisted the urge to shake Cutter by the neck. “Of course you do,” he said. “Did you honestly think killing Tiel would make that go away?”

Cutter turned to look at him, the pain clear in his eyes. “I hoped so.”

Col looked over his shoulder. “Slap him again, will you? If he doesn’t tell us where the shard is, we’re going to be sitting inside Menthis soon.”

“What’s he talking about?” Cutter asked, barely interested. “Isn’t he that watchman? The one who chased us?”

“It’s a long story. But what he’s saying is true. Look around. The whole of Skyway is dropping out of the sky.” Wren waved a hand about.

Cutter looked around. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“It’s going slowly, you idiot!” snapped Col. “Just tell us where the bloody shard is.”

“I don’t know!” Cutter snarled. “Tiel-”

“What? What is it?” asked Wren.

“Bren. Tiel’s bodyguard. He said he had to go to Tain Manor. Said he had to do something for Tiel.”

“Col?”

“I heard,” said Col, turning the skycoach around.

Bren was in the garden retrieving his jacket when the first shudders ran through the ground. He steadied himself and looked around, thinking he should probably get away, that it had something to do with the dragonshard. Did the shudder signify Saidan’s death?

The ground pitched beneath his feet, sending him to his knees.

He looked around. The guests from the Tain supper were filing out of the house into the front garden, looking around in curiosity. Bren stood up and saw that Saidan was among them.

A third, more violent rumble pulsed through the ground. Bren managed to steady himself before he was thrown off his feet. Some of the dinner guests were not so lucky. They fell to the ground, cursing and swearing. The statues lining the pathway toppled over and smashed to pieces.

Then the whole island lurched beneath him. The guests cried out in fear. The island shook again, and the thought came to Bren that Skyway was falling out of the sky.

And the timing could be no coincidence.

Bren looked back at the house. He had done this. Or rather, he had been tricked into doing this. Anger surged through him. He didn’t like being manipulated. Using the dragonshard to kill Saidan Boromar was fine. But if Skyway kept falling, it would land on the districts below, crushing thousands of people. He wasn’t going to have that on his conscience.

The dinner guests were panicking, running for their chariots or skycoaches. Bren fought against the push of bodies, shoving those too slow to get out of his way. He ran around the back of the house and through the kitchen, to the stairs leading to the basement. He picked up the lantern he’d left at the bottom of the steps and hurried back to the room with the strange machine.

The ground was rumbling constantly. Dust fell from the ceiling, creating a thin haze in the air that was hard to see through. Bren made his way into the room and reached inside the machine for the dragonshard. He couldn’t reach. It had sunk too far inside for him to get hold.

He sighed. He’d have to resort to the direct method, then. He lifted his adamantine arm, intending to smash the machine into as many pieces as he could.

Something caught hold of his wrist.

He spun around and stared into two glowing white eyes. They darted toward him and a splitting pain exploded in his head.

Then nothing.

Col’s skycoach sped across the Tain Manor grounds. Below, people were running around in confusion, fighting to get into their coaches. A Lysander barge rose straight into his path, forcing Col to veer sharply to the side to avoid a collision. Cutter nearly fell overboard. Wren reached out to grab him and pulled him into the center of the seat, but he shook Wren’s hand off, staring at something below.

“Down there,” he shouted, pointing to something on the ground.

“What?” Wren leaned over to see what he pointed at.

“There. That’s Bren-the one with the metal arm. He’s running into the house. See?”

Wren did. “Col!” he shouted. “Bring us down.”

Col pointed the skycoach toward the ground and they dropped from the sky. A group of milling elves and humans screamed and scattered out of the way. Wren leaped over the side before Col had even brought them to a stop. He landed lightly and sprinted to the door he had seen Bren enter. The tremors were getting worse. It felt like an earthquake was ripping through the island.

The door led into some kitchens, then into a narrow hallway. Wren ran down the hall and around the corner, but the rooms were deserted. He stopped, wondering where to go next.

He heard a faint click behind him. He turned and saw a narrow door, and realized the noise had been the door closing. He pulled it open and saw a faint light bobbing in the distance. A moment later, it disappeared.

Wren forced himself to slow down. He didn’t have any wands left, and Bren looked like a powerful man. That adamantine arm would pack a punch, he was sure.

His vision allowed him to navigate the stairs easily in the dark. He followed the corridor, checking down each branching passage. As he moved deeper into the house, he became aware of a low humming sound, like a swarm of bees on a summer day. It came from up ahead. Wren moved as quietly as he could, following one of the small corridors and stopping outside an open door.

He took a deep breath, then peered into the room.

The first thing he saw was Bren lying sprawled on the floor.

The second was the eldritch machine sitting next to him, humming quietly as if it were alive. It was made of brass and gold, with intricate patterns raised on the surface that confused the eyes.

Wren darted into the room and headed straight for the machine.

As stupid moves go, it was definitely one of his stupidest.

The warforged slid out of the shadows, stepped over Bren’s body, and positioned itself directly in front of the machine. Wren froze in his tracks, suddenly wondering why he had run ahead and not waited for Col.

He heard the quiet schick of metal on metal and stepped back as two long blades extended from the back of the warforged’s hands. The warforged lifted its arms so the blades formed a Vthat framed its face.

“Why are you doing this?” Wren asked.

The floor shook violently. Wren staggered to the side, then caught himself against the wall and pushed himself upright. Even the warforged was knocked momentarily off balance.

“Why am I doing it? Are you asking me why I am doing this to Skyway, or why I am doing this to all the softskins?”

“Aren’t both answers the same?”

“No. I’m doing this to Skyway because I’ve decided I want to die. And this guarantees me an eternity at the side of the Shadow. As to the softskins-” it shrugged-”I don’t like you. I think you are weak, petty, hypocritical, lazy. You are a waste of space. What god cares for such a race?”

Wren shrugged. “Maybe none of them.”

This gave the warforged pause. “And this does not bother you?”

“No. Why should it?”

“Because without gods you are … nothing. A sack of skin filled with blood.”

“And why would the grace of a god change that?”

“It gives you something to look forward to. Something to strive for.”

Wren frowned. “So, what you’re saying is you spend your whole life striving for something that will only begin once you die? Is that what you think life is? A practice run? A …” Wren searched for words. “A test to see what rewards you will get in the afterlife? That’s not living. That’s spending your life waiting for something better to come along. Do you think Diadus intended that for you when he created you?”