The Assassin King

23

Fhremus had, over his many years in the army, smelled many horrific odors. The caustic smoke of the steel fires in the smithy, the repulsive reek from latrines and offal piles that were the result of any large encampment of soldiers, and the stench of corpses moldering beneath the blazing Sorbold sun were all familiar to his nose; he had become almost inured to them. None of them could have possibly prepared him for what assaulted his nostrils in the tunnels beneath Jierna Tal.

As he followed Talquist down the cavernous passageway, his instincts, honed by years in battle, were on fire, the gut-deep sense of danger that served to warn every soldier of an adversary or threat looming ahead of him in the dark. Having seen the regent emperor’s new standard bearer, who followed silently behind them, all but indiscernible in spite of his stone frame and massive size, Fhremus could only imagine what awaited him at the bottom of the tunnel. The smell of decay that permeated the very stone of the walls was like breathing in death, even through the dense weave of the linen scarf.

As they descended, the darkness became more and more impenetrable and the tunnel wider. The small lantern in Talquist’s hand did not serve to dispel even the gloom that weighed on their shoulders, but instead provided little more than a hoary ball of cold light that gleamed hesitantly into the blackness directly ahead of them, then was swallowed in shadow. In a way, Fhremus was grateful. He could not see what lurked on the cave walls at the edge of his vision, but more than once caught sight out of the corner of his eye of what appeared to be skittering movement across the dank surface. He steeled his will and concentrated on keeping the regent within his limited sight.

The farther they walked, the danker the air in the tunnel became, until Fhremus had beads of water dripping from his helm and eyebrows. His skin was clammy with more than trepidation; moisture beaded on his oiled jerkin and ran down off the front of it, splashing in thin rivulets on his boots. “This place was at one time the sewer of Jierna’sid,” Talquist said. His voice, muffled by the scarf and the mist, echoed against the distant walls and was swallowed in much the same way as the light had been. “Then the dynasty of the Dark Earth, Leitha and her forbears, built the great aqueduct system, abandoning this place.” Fhremus remained silent, his eyes futilely scanning for the walls that had receded into the dark. Then, in the distance, he began to hear a strange sound, like the harsh whistling of wind over the desert, punctuated a moment later by a deep hum that fluctuated below it. The noise was constant^ growing in volume as they grew closer. Though he did not recognize the sound, it chilled him deep within, even as it scratched mercilessly at his eardrums. “We are almost to the giant cistern,” Talquist said, his voice suddenly soft. “Follow closely, Fhremus, and do not lose your footing. ’Twould be tragic.”

Fhremus glanced over his shoulder. He thought he could make out the dimmest shadow of the titan’s outline, but when he looked again he saw nothing but darkness. Nervously he turned back again. Talquist had come to a stop at the edge of what appeared to be a massive circular canyon, a hole of vast proportions that had once contained all the runoff of the mountains, a water volume similar to that of a river in flood. Fhremus stopped behind him, fighting nausea from the stench that had become acidic, stripping the lining from the inside of his nose and resonating up into his sinuses. Below the canyon’s rim the noise had grown to a deafening pitch, a screaming whine below which a growing bass note was rising, thudding like war drums. Talquist held the light over the rim, then beckoned him closer. “Come,” he said softly, a tone of reverence in his voice. “Look.”

Fhremus swallowed silently and approached the edge. As he did, something small and hard grazed his face; instinctively he brushed it away, like a fly, and peered down into the darkness. For a moment it seemed as if he was standing above the funnel of a tornado at night. In the inky blackness below, air seemed to swirl with the ferocity of a whirlwind, screaming as it passed. The movement was as vast as the greatest desert dust storm Fhremus had ever seen, towering walls of sand that had torn up and buried entire villages. But unlike a storm, the motion was chaotic, sporadic, with millions of flashes that had no course, just speed and sound.

The regent emperor was watching his face closely. His smile widened, and he held the lantern up over the swirling chasm of stench, screeching, and sickening motion. In just the faintest ray of light, Fhremus could see what was spiraling in the cistern. “Dear All-God,” he whispered, feeling bile rise in the back of his throat and burn. “Are those—?”

“Plague locusts.” Talquist finished the question for him. “This is a young swarm, nymphs, hoppers mostly. No fledglings yet—the vast majority of the eggs won’t even hatch until the first week of spring. They haven’t grown wings—yet.”

The dank, putrid air of the place churned in Fhremus’s lungs. The first two words the regent had just spoken were considered a profanity in this realm of endless sun and little water, where crops were scratched from the unforgiving earth in the southern temperate region of the country but almost nonexistent in the northern mountains and steppes. The dryness of the land had been both bane and blessing; while the soil yielded little in the way of foodstuffs, the pestilence of unstoppable swarms had been minimal, because the vermin needed water in which to breed.

Like the swill at the bottom of the abandoned sewer.

Even so, despite the swarms’ not having been seen in this region in Fhremus’s lifetime, the history of locust plagues was devastating enough to have left long scars on the memories of the population. The misery and starvation that the hordes of ravenous insects left in their wake was so terrifying to the Sorbolds, as well as the people of the Middle Continent, that the appearance of a single grasshopper could cause widespread panic that led to many fields being unnecessarily burned.

Fhremus bent down and retrieved the carcass of the one that had struck him in flight. How anyone could mistake a simple grasshopper for one of these creatures was beyond him—the angular head, the saw-toothed mandibles, the sharp, knifelike wings, were the hallmarks of a creature that harbored evil in its midst.

He swallowed his rising gorge. “I don’t understand, m’lord.”

Talquist had been watching him closely, and nodded.

“Come then, Fhremus, and I will show you more.” He turned and walked away into the darkness. The imperial commander tossed the carcass into the black pit and followed him quickly, casting a last look over his shoulder as if to confirm that he was awake. The air in the tunnel around him grew even heavier with rotten moisture the farther they traveled. The stone giant followed them, moving as silently as death, or at least it appeared so, as the screaming hum of the cistern had been replaced by a deep, clicking thrum, pounding and pulsing in Fhremus’s ears and echoing the rough corridor walls around them. They passed what appeared to be old feeder tunnels of the sewer system, many of them occluded or entirely blocked with the rubble of centuries, until finally they came to a foul-smelling pond of sorts, the water foisted with green waste, possibly plant life, though Fhremus could not believe it possible that anything natural could grow in such a place. The regent emperor strode confidently into the water, wading slowly but purposefully out until the slime covered his boots halfway up the leg. Then he turned and gestured to Fhremus to follow him. The soldier complied, coming alongside Talquist when he finally stopped, gazing into the gloom ahead of him. The titan remained at the water’s edge, motionless. Talquist’s eyes were burning bright in the radiance of the cold lantern. He pointed into the darkness ahead. “There, Fhremus, see the answer the All-God has provided to our need for protection against those who would threaten our land.”

He held the lantern aloft. Fhremus squinted to see past the light. Ahead of them in the muck lay the massive body of what appeared to be a serpent, a dragon or horned snake, perhaps; it was impossible to tell, as it had been largely devoured, consumed in thousands of tiny bites. As he stared harder, he could see that the carcass was comprised of what appeared to be striated stone, like the titan waiting on the bank behind them, its glassy eyes smooth except for the gouges that had been dug in them. A tail, missing large sections, coiled behind it, while broken remains of wings could be seen, stripped to the stone cartilage. The statue of the beast appeared to be sprouting grass or grain of some sort, like an earthen sculpture left in a field to go fallow.

And all above and around it hovered screaming locusts, most the size of his hand or bigger, feeding avariciously on the grain, and on the carcass itself. But, unlike the nymphs and hoppers in the cistern swarm, they seemed to be actually flying. Talquist turned to the giant. “Faron, if you please, bring us one.”

The titan looked down at the green ooze for a moment, then waded into the water. Fhremus involuntarily held his breath as the giant walked by him, causing a wake to rise up the sides of bis boots in its passing. It continued, undeterred by the onslaught of swarming creatures until it came to the feeding ground, where it reached out with an almost sickening speed and grasped one of the insects. A sickening crack echoed through the cavern; Fhremus winced in spite of himself. Then the titan waded back to where the merchant emperor stood. “Put out your hand, Fhremus,” said Talquist softly.

The commander inhaled, then complied.

The giant stared down at him, its milky blue eyes gleaming in the light of the lantern. It dropped the locust into his hand, then returned to shore.

“Look at it,” whispered Talquist, awe in his voice.

Swallowing his disgust, Fhremus moved the locust’s body closer to the light. His eyes widened in surprise. Like the smaller insect mat had impacted him on the rim of the cistern, this creature was sharp and angular, with razor-like mandibles and legs. But its appearance was very different from the smaller one; this creature had a serpentine tail, its wings were large and webbed, its eyes scored with vertical pupils, and its jaws more serpentine than insectoid. Almost draconic. “Have you ever been in Terreanfor?” Talquist asked, running a gloved finger almost tenderly over the broken body. “One time only, for the funeral of the empress and her son,” said Fhremus. “Then perhaps you have seen the marvelous statuary there. In the eternal darkness that shelters the Living Stone of the cathedral stands an entire menagerie of life-sized statues, trees as high as the towering ceiling beneath which graze antelope and tirabouri, gazelle, elephants and lions, all rendered in utter perfection—have you seen these?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“They are a sight to behold, are they not, Fhremus? Perfect down to the last detail, with no feature overlooked. The sculptors that rendered them must have been artisans of incomparable skill, would you not say?”

“Undoubtedly, m’lord,” Fhremus said, struggling to keep his voice patient and respectful. The Emperor Presumptive. “Undoubtedly, yes, Fhremus, because what you don’t understand is that the Earth itself carved those statues. Our forebears, the indigenous people of this land that were living here long before the accursed Cymrians came, with their inventions, their disease, and their wars, understood the role the Living Stone plays in immortality. They buried specimens of each beast, each flower, each tree, within the sacred ground of Terreanfor, and from that sacred ground earthen statues grew—with the exact properties and the beasts and plants entombed within it.” He caressed the insect’s wings. And soldiers, many of whom were giants, like the one I harvested to make Faron, he thought Fhremus inhaled silently. “Those properties survived the creatures’ deaths in more than one way, Fhremus,” Talquist continued. “More than just becoming statues, those beasts retained what was unique about them; there is strength of gargantuan proportions in the elephants still, a swiftness and quickness of eye in the prey animals, even as they stand, frozen, forever. Even the flowers have retained a modicum of their scent—when they had bloomed and died millennia uncounted before. A form of true immortality, to be certain.”

Fhremus maintained his silence, struggling to quell the questions in his mind. Chief among them was the extent of the emperor’s knowledge; Terreanfor, before it was recently sealed by an earthquake, had been closed to any but the priests of the manse in Jierna’sid, and only the highest ranking among them had gone inside to maintain the cathedral. How Talquist had become so aware of the place’s history and contents was unclear to him, but he quelled any suspicious thought by reminding himself, as he always did, that the All-God had chosen the emperor, and as a soldier it was his duty to support that emperor’s vision and carry out that emperor’s commands, lest his reluctance be seen as doubting the wisdom of the All-God. “This wyrm, at one time, was such a being, now a statue formed by Living Stone. In its lifetime, the beast had the same sensibilities, the same powers, as the rest of its species— including the ability of flight. These locusts have been feeding on grain that sprouted from the back of the wyrm—and thereby have absorbed some of its life, its properties, including that ability. They are little half-breeds, little mutant-spawn now—I call them iacxsis, as that is what I believe this lizard-wyrm was called—with their own voracious appetites and the power to travel long distances in the air. Touch it, Fhremus— take off your glove and feel its hide.” He chuckled at the shock on the soldier’s face as he complied. “Because they have been feeding on Living Stone, they are hard, even more armored than the sturdy carapace of their insect side or the scales of a wyrm would make them. And their shriek is a hundred times the sound of the fledgling swarm; music to my ears.”

“Forgive me, but why is all this a benefit, m’lord?” Fhremus asked, the words all but exploding from him. “The presence of these creatures, in our land, portends disaster, does it not? The ones that are found in nature bring with them famine, pestilence, starvation, and death—why are you happy to see them in an even more formidable form?”

Talquist chuckled. “You will be happy to see them such as well, Fhremus—when you see the adults. Come.”

He waded back out of the slimy water, shook off his boots, and led the commander up another tunnel where the dankness of the air and the horrific hum began to dissipate. The stone titan followed, still making no sound.

They finally came into light and air that smelled as if it might be near the mountain’s surface. At the end of this tunnel was a wide stone doorway, and Talquist stopped before it, almost unable to contain himself.

“Do you remember some months back I asked you to lend me some of your slighter soldiers, recruits that had shown strength of lung and a tolerance of the high reaches of our mountains?”

“Yes, m’lord. I hope they have been serving you well.”

The regent emperor smiled broadly and stepped to the side of the doorway. “Have a look.” Steeling himself, Fhremus stepped into the doorway.

At first the sight that greeted the imperial commander left him puzzled, unable to grasp what he was seeing. At the far end of the room was an opening, like the mouth of a cave. The opening overlooked the vast chasm that scored the earth beside Jierna Tal, its far fissures and crags shadowy in the approach of night. Closer in was a series of animal pens, like those that might stable horses, numbering in the scores. Soldiers walked the aisles between the pens, conferring with each other, going in and out of the paddocks at will. He looked back to the opening above the chasm. His mouth dropped open as a shadow passed horizontally before it, then disappeared again into the dusk. “Dear All-God,” he murmured.

“Dear Creator,” Talquist corrected patiently. “I understand it will take a while for you to adjust; do not worry. They train here, away from the eyes of the city, as the sun is going down. It’s best, at first, to keep this a secret, so that we maintain the element of surprise. Don’t you agree?”

Fhremus watched a moment more, rapt, then turned to the Emperor Presumptive. “Yes,” he said.

Talquist smiled broadly and led the commander farther up the tunnel back into his chambers. “So you understand what a boon this is for Sorbold in her fight against invasion?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“I take it you approve, then, Fhremus, of the defensive steps I have taken to ensure our beloved nation’s survival against the aggression that is being mounted by the Alliance?” Fhremus thought for a moment. “It is not my place to approve or disapprove of your commands, m’lord,” he said seriously. “The Scales adjudged you to be the next emperor of our mother country; I am grateful that you saw the wisdom in keeping Sorbold a single empire, rather than dissolving it, as the counts wished to. I am a soldier; I do as my emperor commands.”

“Whether or not you approve?” The question hovered in the air, thick as the mist. Fhremus inhaled deeply through the sodden linen scarf, pulled it from his face, then exhaled slowly.

“Yes,” he said.

Talquist’s eyes sparkled black in the thin light.

“Excellent,” he said. “But on a serious note, Fhremus, it’s imperative that your men, and the families they left behind, understand the threat we all face. What is that saying you military men have about the initiative for going to war?”

“The defender fights with the strength of ten conquerors.”

“Yes,” Talquist said smoothly. “That’s it.”

“They will understand, m’lord,” Fhremus said. “And they will fight to their last breath to ensure your dominion.” Talquist smiled broadly. “Another form of music to my ears. You may go, Fhremus, but return on the morrow; we have plans to make.”

The soldier bowed unsteadily. “Yes, m’lord.” He bent over the regent emperor’s hand in salute, then left the room, his boot steps echoing down the corner stairway. When the sound died away, Talquist turned to the stone titan that had emerged from within his deeper chambers. “I believe he will do well, at least in the first wave, Faron,” he said idly. “Past that, we may have to make some changes. Do you agree?”

The stone titan watched the Emperor Presumptive for a moment, then returned to the inner chamber and came back a moment later with an object in his giant hand. It was an oval scale, tattered finely at the edges and irregularly oblong, scored with many fine lines. In his hand it appeared gray with a slightly blue tinge, but when the light caught it a prism of color danced across its razor-thin surface. Carved into its convex side was the image of an eye, clear and unobstructed by clouds, as the image on the concave side was. The titan held the scale in his hand, gazing out of the balcony window. A moment later he turned to the Emperor Presumptive and nodded mutely.

Talquist broke into a wide smile. “Good,” he said. “Very good.”

He stood and watched as dusk faded to night, the stars twinkling bright in the vast sky overarching Jierna’sid.