Kage Baker - The Anvil of the World

The cloaked man spoke again, quietly, with implacable calm. Before he had finished, Greenbriar shouted at him in indignation. It was the closest Smith had ever heard to a Yendri being shrill.

“What’s going on now?” he asked.

Lord Ermenwyr snorted smoke. “He says it’s all our fault,” he replied. “That we made the destruction of the garden inevitable by taking refuge here. They are not responsible. And Greenbriar just called him—well, you’d have to be a Yendri to appreciate the full force of the obscenity, but he just called him a Warrior.”

“Well, isn’t he?” Smith inquired.

“Yes, but ordinarily they hire mercenaries from your people,” Lord Ermenwyr explained. “They don’t like getting their own hands dirty. This is some kind of elite force, I suppose.”

“You know what this reminds me of?” said Svnae in a faraway voice. “Watching the grown-ups through the stair railings when we were supposed to be in bed.”

“Staying awake to see whether Daddy’d drink enough to discover the eyeball I’d hidden in the bottom of the decanter,” Ermenwyr agreed fondly. Then his smile faded. The man in the cloak was speaking again. He spoke for a long while, and the lordling listened in silence. So did Willowspear and Svnae.

“What is it?” Smith asked at last.

“He’s calling on them to put aside their differences and rise against a common enemy,” Lord Ermenwyr replied at last, not looking at Smith. “He means your people, Smith. He’s talking about Hlinjerith of the Misty Branches now. He says it’ll be profaned if they don’t act. And he … I thought so. He knows the Key of Unmaking is here. He says he’ll spare them if they’ll deliver up the Key to him. Now we know why he didn’t bring mercenaries from your race, Smith.”

Greenbriar had been making some kind of reply.

“And he’s telling him no, of course,” Lord Ermenwyr went on. He fell silent as the voices went on down below. He turned to regard Smith with a cold thoughtful stare. Lady Svnae turned too, and though there was a certain pity in her gaze, it too was terribly thoughtful.

“What’re they saying now?” Smith stammered.

Willowspear cleared his throat. “Er … the Grand Master of the Orphans is saying that the brothers have been deceived. He just told them that all the high-yield cultivars and medicinal herbs they’ve been growing here have been intended to help the Children of the Sun, not the Yendri. He said Mother betrayed them.”

“Why would your mother want to help us? ” asked Smith.

“She has her reasons,” said Lord Ermenwyr. “Now… he’s saying there have been signs and portents that the Star-Cloaked Man is returning to this world. He will be the … hm … the Balancer. He will bring harmony. They are confident he will come in wrath to take by her hair the disobedient—” He stopped, aghast.

“What?” Smith asked.

“Just something really nasty about Mother,” said Lord Ermenwyr briskly, though he had gone very pale. “And I’ll have to kill him. Perhaps not today, though. Sister mine, I have a getaway boat and six big bodyguards watching it for me. Are you positive there aren’t any other hidden back doors to this place?”

“We could make one,” Svnae replied.

“I’ve got a remarkable rock-melting spell.”

“An explosion might be quicker.”

“Just what I was about to say.”

“We can’t just leave!” said Willowspear. “What about the brothers? What about the Key of Unmaking?”

“The brothers will be fine as long as the Adamant Wall holds, and as for the Key—Smith, old man, I’m sorry, but your race will have to take their chances. I make it a point never to try to pinch anything that belongs to a god, especially when he’s paying attention.”

“If it’s too dangerous for us to take the Key out of there, it will be even more dangerous for the Orphans to try,” said Lady Svnae. “Cheer up! Perhaps nothing very bad will happen after all.”

“Other than a race war?” Smith demanded.

“Well, er—” Lady Svnae was searching very hard for a response both reassuring and noncommittal when there was a shout from beyond the window.

They all turned to look. The shout had been a summoning.

From the back ranks of the Yendri came a very young man, striding confidently to the front. He halted before the Grand Master and made deep obeisance. The man put his hands on the boy’s head in a gesture of blessing. Then he turned and addressed Greenbriar.

They listened at the window in silence. Suddenly, Lady Svnae put her hands to her face in horror. Lord Ermenwyr’s smoking tube fell out of his mouth.

“That tears it,” he said. “Willowspear, Smith, we’re going now. I hope the monks have the sense to run.”

“Why?” Smith peered out at the boy, who was standing proudly beside the man in the cloak.

“They’re going to take out the Adamant Wall,” Lord Ermenwyr replied over his shoulder, for he had already grabbed his sister by the arm and was pulling her down the passageway with him. “Come on!”

Willowspear seemed to have taken root where he stood, so Smith caught his arm and began to stagger after the lordling and his sister. “Let’s go, son.”

Willowspear turned his face away and ran. “Innocent blood,” he said. “Willingly offered. The boy will let them behead him, and his blood will break the Wall.”

Smith could think of nothing to say in reply. He concentrated on following Lady Svnae, just close enough to avoid stepping on the train of her gown. He congratulated himself on the fact that he was able to run so well, all things considered. Thinking about that, and watching where he put his feet, kept him from dwelling on the fact that his hand was cold as ice and turning blue.

Down and around they went, through long echoing darkness pierced now and again by the light of a distant barred window. The air was a roar of echoes. Something was echoing louder than their footsteps. Something was loud as surf on a lee shore—

The train of Lady Svnae’s gown stopped moving.

Smith cannoned into her. She felt like a warm and beautifully upholstered wall. He staggered backward and collided with Willowspear, who cried, “What is it?”

It was a moment before anyone answered him, but the silence was amply filled by the thunder of their beating hearts and the other sound, the louder sound. Smith, who had been a mercenary, knew what it was. He felt a sharper pain in his hand and, looking down, saw that he had pulled a stone from the wall. He hefted it, getting the balance, knowing exactly where it should be fractured to make an edged weapon.

“The battle cry sounds familiar,” said Lady Svnae.

“Nine Hells,” said Lord Ermenwyr. “It’s Daddy.”

Lady Svnae turned on her heel decisively. “This way,” she said, and they followed her up yet another tunnel, one with quite a lot of daylight at the end. It was bright because it opened out on a gallery of stone, lower in the face of the rock than their previous vantage point but still well above the floor of the valley. It had clearly been cut from the rock for persons wishing to enjoy a spectacular view. The view now was indeed spectacular, if not exactly enjoyable.

The Adamant Wall was still in place. The order of the previous vista had been destroyed, the neat green ranks broken up by a chaos of black and silver that was streaming over the hill to the south. An army, liveried and fearsome, had arrived.

It was like no battle Smith had ever seen. More horrible, if possible, because many of the Yendri stood straight and let themselves be cut down by the invading force, but it appeared that they did so to enable their comrades to advance on their targets without interference.