Harkovast

Shalem took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them and spoke.

“I …I understand. What’s happened is not your fault. We’re all bound by duties and obligations. We all have to do what we must. Not everyone understands that, but I do.”

Quinn-Tain stood up and Shalem embraced him.

“You are right,” said Shalem. “It is truly terrible to carry such burdens.”

Quinn-Tain was opened his mouth to speak but his body suddenly stiffened and then jerked violently.

“No,” said Quinn-Tain. “You can’t…”  

           Shalem stepped back; a long bloody curved knife in hand.      

“I am sorry,” said Shalem. “I truly am.”             Quinn-Tain looked down at the blood pouring through his shirt down the side of his body from the multiple stab wounds under his arm.

“My work--” said Quinn-Tain, with true surprise. “--it isn’t complete. The Enemy…”

His heart had already been pierced, and blood was pumping from it freely. Light-headed, he fell back hard on the side of the fountain. Shalem’s lip quivered.

            “You were…wrong,” said Quinn-Tain, making a last futile attempt to explain himself before the end. “You don’t understand or you would not…you don’t know what you’ve done. It’s not one life…but millions of others and millions more yet unborn…I don’t…”

            Quinn-Tain tipped backwards into the fountain.

His body twitched for a few moments before becoming still as red clouds filled the water. With his face halfway submerged, one could see the iris of his eyes fading. This left empty black pupils amongst the blood shot whites of his eyes. His face had a horrible unnatural appearance.             Shalem dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor.             He had betrayed a trusted ally, to whom he owed his own life. But somehow he knew he had done something far worse.   

A terrible crime he could not comprehend, but one for which ignorance was no defence.

On Eldex, the Wizards wailed in pain at their loss.

            Shalem entered the palace gardens and saw Quinn-Tain sitting on the side of a marble fountain. Quinn-Tain had his back to Shalem and was concealed under his dark red cloak and hood, seemingly in deep meditation.             “Do you realise what you’ve done?” snarled Shalem, barely able to contain his anger.             Quinn-Tain didn’t respond.             “Don’t ignore me!” shouted Shalem. “No more riddles, no more cryptic silence! You’ll answer now! You levelled whole districts! The city is in ruins! YOU did this!”             “Yes,” replied Quinn-Tain, without turning around.             “Hundreds are dead!” Shalem clenched his fists. “You claimed you would save us but you’ve brought ruin down on our heads! Why did you bother to defeat The Skyman if this was the price? How is this better?”             Shalem knew this was inaccurate, as The Skyman’s intentions for the city were far worse; but in his anger he just wished to say whatever he thought would be most hurtful to the Wizard.             Quinn-Tain wouldn’t turn around.

            Shalem continued, “You talk about your power and the authority it gives you, but it has made you arrogant and cruel. Ferrix was always right about you. I should have listened to him. He saw you as you are! A self-serving meddler! We are just playing pieces in your great game to be thrown away when we serve your purpose! You had the power to destroy that machine back in the Knarl Empire, but you let it come here! You made that choice--for whatever cynical reasons drive you! You’re a butcher! A murderer!”             “Indeed,” said Quinn-Tain.

            Shalem paused, his brow furrowed, surprised by this blunt response.             He walked around to face Quinn-Tain and was shocked when the wizard looked up at him with tearful eyes.             “I am sorry,” said Quinn-Tain. “I wish things had been otherwise.”

            Shalem found himself suddenly uncomfortable. Quinn-Tain had always been a figure of tremendous power; one that Raeeda, Ferrix and even himself could throw complaints against and get barely a reaction. Shalem had prepared himself for his words to mean nothing--in fact he had been counting on it. But facing Quinn-Tain in this state, he didn’t know how respond.

            “It is terrible to have such power,” said Quinn-Tain. “Not just the Old Magic. The authority of Eldex…it is an evil thing. Any who want it should not have it. The world is on the edge of a knife. I do not know if it can be saved. The enemies gathering against us…”

His voice trailed off for a few moments before he continued, “If I hesitate--if I show mercy or weakness--everything could be lost. In the moment I have to make the choice, I cannot escape it. Even to not choose and stand aside is still a choice that could doom whole nations. I have killed those I should have spared and spared those I should have killed. Looking back it is all so obvious--what I should have done. But it is too late now. In that moment I had to choose.”             “Why didn’t you use this great power to destroy the airships at the Tolpish work camp?” Shalem’s tone was stern. “So many lives could have been saved.”             “Tendu lives, yes,” said Quinn-Tain. “But thousands of innocent Cansaibe would have perished.”

            “Those were slaves,” said Shalem, defensively.

            “That is not…I did not wish to shed so much innocent blood. But by sparing them I put this evil onto your people instead, an evil you did nothing to deserve. That is the nature of it--of what I have to do.”             “No one asked you for this,” said Shalem. “Your people have put themselves above us all.”

Because the Tendu authorities were hard at work moving people out of the south of the city, the streets were crowded and progression was painfully slow.             In a strange reversal, many wealthy citizens were being slowed in their escape by their own wagons of riches. Many stopped to argue about this imposition with the guards, while the impoverished citizens were more able and willing to leave behind what they had to flee.             Quinn-Tain’s expression was strained as he watched the chaotic crowds. He was trying to hold off unleashing the Old Magic as long as he could, but time was running out. In a moment of self reflection he realised he wasn’t just waiting for the crowds to move away, he was hoping something would happen to intervene. He was desperately looking for some sign or excuse to turn away.

But he knew he couldn’t delay any longer.             He walked to the city gates. The Tendu guards looked at him nervously as they opened them and allowed him to walk through. They didn’t know and they didn’t want to find out.             Quinn-Tain stepped forward slowly, looking behind him as the gates closed.             Again he hesitated.             Perhaps he should try to get closer to the Skyman’s machines? He could put some more distance between himself and the city.             But the distance would be trivial compared to what was about to happen, and getting there would waste yet more time and even put him in range of the Skyman’s terrible weapons.             No, there could be no more excuses. The time had come.             He knelt down, and relaxed himself.             He allowed the Old Magic to flow again.             Far from Eldex, without the other wizards to restrain him, it was entirely upon Quinn-Tain to make this choice, for better or worse.             He looked down at the sandy ground below him and noticed the grains begin to swirl as the wind picked up. But of course this was not the wind.             The Skyman stood on the bridge of his airship as it began to power towards the city.

            “It is,” Quinn-Tain hesitated, as if the topic was making him uncomfortable, “the Old Magic.”             “Old Magic?” asked Ferrix. “Some wizard magic? You seem to pull new powers out of your sleeve whenever the mood takes you.”             “This is something different; a devastating force.”             “You mean dark magic?” said Shalem. “The Cansaibe use it.”             “No.” Quinn-Tain furrowed his brow, struggling to explain himself. “This is something more. Something fundamental.”             “So bigger dark magic,” said Ferrix. “Can it stop the Skyman or not? That’s all that matters.”             “It is not any element of magic you know of,” said Quinn-Tain.             “There are only fourteen magics in the world,” said Gangana. “Everyone learned knows that. We need serious plans, not superstitions.”             “What I am talking about is entirely serious,” said Quinn-Tain. “It is perhaps the most serious thing that can be spoken of. There are fourteen elements of magic, yes, but there is something deeper. There is the foundation on which that magic was built, on which the world was built. That is the Old Magic. It is the power with which Harkovast was made.”             “I’m desperate enough to humour this,” said Shalem. “So you can use this special magic and do…what exactly?”             “Exactly? The Old Magic is not exact. When you break a dam you do not get an exact measure of water. The Old Magic is not a power to wield like a sword or an axe. It is…it is something that you try your best to control. To avoid using it at all is a victory. I would rather not speak of it, let alone unleash it.”             “Why not?” said Ferrix. “If it’s so great, just use it.”             “Have you used it before?” asked Shalem.             “Once, yes,” said Quinn-Tain, “against an army of the Nameless.”             “And it worked?” Ferrix pressed.

            “The army was destroyed.” Quinn-Tain’s tone made it sound like there was more to say, but his voice stopped.             “Quinn-Tain is the only one who understands anything of the magic he is talking about,” said Mashul. “His reluctance to use it makes me wonder if this is wise.”             “The Skyman is going to level the city,” said Shalem. “I don’t see how it could worsen our situation.”             “I will use it,” said Quinn-Tain, “but we must make preparations.”             “What do you need?” asked Gangara. “If it is in the Maharaja’s power to provide, you will have it.             “I do not need anything,” said Quinn-Tain, “but you need to speed up the evacuation of the city. You need to get people as far away as possible.”             “What?!” said Shalem.             “As I told you, the Old Magic cannot be truly controlled. You should get your people as far from it as you can.”             “The city is already in chaos,” said Gangara. “This will only worsen the situation.”             “Then focus on the south of the city,” said Quinn-Tain. “Those facing the Skyman’s approach directly.”             “I don’t…I don’t understand what you are planning to do,” said Shalem.

            The Skyman looked at the airship’s controls.             Everything was functioning as it should be.             The attack on the Al-Saigal had been a complete success, with several cities laid waste by the incredible destructive power of the airships’ bombs and cannons.             On the journey towards the Tendu Raj, one of the airships had been forced to crash land, but the Skyman was unconcerned. The reason he had constructed three fearsome flying machines was to give his plan some tolerance for inevitable difficulties. Admittedly having only one of the three still flying at this point was a worse attrition later than expected, but one was still more than enough.             The crashed machine had been stripped of fuels, ammunition and spare parts and its crew were abandoned to their fate. The final ship was now fully stocked to deliver the decisive blow to the Tendu Raj.             The Skyman’s confidence was further boosted by the knowledge that his attack would not only arrive by air.             His ship came to a halt within sight of Barargabad. There was no need to intimidate or psychologically undermine the city, as they would have no ability to resist what was about to happen to them. The Skyman told himself he was making sure to take every possible advantage before attacking, and he tried to ignore the pleasure he took in flaunting his power over the Tendu. He was correct about everything, and now they would be forced to acknowledge that.             The lens in his eyes zoomed in on the ground below, magnifying it over and over until he could see the individual pebbles. He watched as they began to tremble. His vision pulled back to take in the wider scene, as the shaking grew in intensity. A flock of vasps was disturbed by the shaking and flew away from their perches amongst a stand of trees.

            The rumbling grew louder and louder until it could be heard clearly in the airship floating above.             The Tolpish crew looked around in concern, uncertain what was about to happen.

            The Skyman did not waste time explaining himself to his underlings. Everything would become undeniably clear to even the simplest minds.             A moment later the ground broke apart below them, and the massive tunnelling machine exploded to the surface before tipping down to lay on its side. It was a huge metal cylinder, with a glowing engine at the back and a drill infused with fearsome technomancy at its front.             It had arrived exactly on schedule and precisely where the Skyman had intended to meet with it. As well as assisting in the attack, this would give the airship the ability to refuel for the return journey (though this would likely now be in the West rather than the Knarl Empire).             The sides of the drill opened and Tolpish within started to unload their equipment.             As the Skyman watched he felt just a moment of doubt as he realised the other two drilling machines had not arrived and had likely broken down during the long journey under the sea, dooming their crews to a slow, painful death in the darkness.             It was not the sacrifice of their lives that unsettled him, but the fallibility of his machines. Wondrous as they were, and incredible as his enhanced technomancy was… there were still flaws that would be revealed with enough stress.

“Father,” said Prince Mashul, rushing to the Maharajas side, “I have returned.”             “Troublesome child,” grumbled the Maharaja, moving his eyes but not turning his head. “You arrive here at the one time it would be better you had stayed away.”             “Are you ill?” Mashul ignored his father’s scorn. “Have you been hurt?”

            Ganabarro was as good as his word, and transported Quinn-Tain and his allies directly to Barargabad, the Tendu Capital. After this, his crew wished the travellers well before departing for the Eslum Home Islands.             The mood in the city was far different from when Quinn-Tain had been there before. Everywhere people were in a panic. The markets were crowded with people desperately buying essential food and supplies, the streets were blocked with wagons trying to leave, and soldiers were everywhere, trying to maintain some semblance of order.             Ferrix snarled in irritation and pushed his way through the crowds, allowing the group to make slow progress towards the Maharaja’s Palace.

“It took me a little while to figure out what they were,” said Ganabarro, refilling his pipe. “The crew spoke of strange clouds, but those were no clouds. Flying machines…remarkable.”

            Before them, the Eslum were reloading their ship to set sail again.

            They had been initially cheerful, joking about Quinn-Tain’s seeming ability to summon Ganabarro whenever he was needed, but the mood had soon darkened as the situation became clear.             “You are certain you saw one crashing?” asked Quinn-Tain, watching the crew carry out their work.

            “Oh definitely,” said Ganabarro, taking the stem of his pipe in his teeth. “But there was little left by the time we got there.”

            “Xan’s work,” said Shalem. “The Al-Saigal’s warrior king did not go down easily.”             “They had Xan on board?” said Ganabarro, chewing the end of his pipe. “Well no wonder they crashed! You keep impressive company, wizard. But even Xan can’t fly, so I think he’s done all he can for us. Do you know any way to stop them?”

            “We must warn the Maharaja of the threat,” said Quinn-Tain.             “That isn’t what I asked,” said Ganabarro.             “They are headed in the direction of the Al-Saigal Sultanate. That will be their first target,” explained Quinn-Tain. “Fast as they are, we may be able to arrive before them.”             “You aren’t a very good dancer,” said Ganabarro, “especially around my question. Is there anything we can do against those machines?”             “There…” Quinn-Tain hesitated. “There is. But we must exhaust all of our options.”             “You can stop them?” said Shalem. “How?”             “I must think on this. These are decisions I cannot make lightly.”             “Is this really the time for more crtypic games?” Shalem became frustrated. “My nation--all of Jaydia--is under threat. Can you or can’t you do anything?”             “You do not understand what you are asking,” Quinn-Tain became uncharacteristically emotional. “There are magics…there are things you do not know. Fundamental things.”             “What does that mean?” said Shalem, frustrated.             “I hope you do not have to find out,” said Quinn-Tain, walking away.

            “I grow tired of him,” muttered Shalem. “There is a time for manners and clever words. We are long past it.”             “I can take you across the sea,” explained Ganabarro, “but then I must return home. Prince Tremenzo has called on me.  I cannot refuse his summons. I’m delaying as it is.”             “Do you trust Quinn-Tain?” asked Shalem.             “I don’t trust anyone entirely,” said Ganabarro, adjusting his hat. “Except perhaps my tailor. But Quinn-Tain? I trust his goals. He is above all our petty politics and feuds. His mission is completely honest and clear; to save us all from the West.”             “You trust his goals,” mused Shalem. “So what don’t you trust about him?”

            Despite the dangers they had faced, the original journey across the Tendu Sea had been in mostly high spirits with a sense of camaraderie.             Even the difficult march to reach the secret worksite had been undertaken with a strong sense of purpose and shared goal.             The return journey was a far more grim and sombre affair.             There was nothing they could do to prevent the Skyman’s terrible flying machines already in transit, and nothing could be done for the lives that had been lost.             Shalem in particular seemed very distant and quiet. Without Raeeda as his foil to trade barbs with, he became introspective and morose.             They rationed what little water and food they had left, though it was stretched even further with the freed Cansaibe accompanying them.             Briefly it seemed that spirits might be lifted when they encountered Cansaibe scouts, but more terrible news came as they learned that Craggarg had been captured and a great many of his warriors slain.

            The former Cansaibe slaves seemed utterly crushed at this news, their liberation and return rendered meaningless in the face of such a loss.

The royal family was so central to the Cansaibe culture and heritage that the loss of their king was a crippling blow. The king’s capture meant no heir could inherit the throne, and the Knarl Empire now had him as a hostage.

For the Cansaibe people, so defiant in their resistance to their oppressors, it seemed all hope was finally lost.

            Xan clung onto the outside of the burning airship as it fell with increasing speed.               Explosions erupted around him and he saw only one escape route.             With tremendous strength he leapt away from the falling craft and dived towards the ocean below.                Xan put his arms against his sides and he fell like an arrow, the wind whipping past him but not throwing him off course.             As the water drew close, he put his palms together in front of himself and executed a perfect dive into the cold water.             When he broke the surface again he tried to swim away, knowing the burning wreck of the destroyed airship would be following him.

            The wake from the impact of the huge ship sent him tumbling through the water. He was unable to tell which direction was up or down as the waves battered his body and flooded his mouth and nose.             As he struggled from this initial wave, Xan found himself caught in the powerful pull of the airship as it descended into the depths, dragging him under.

            Through the dark water, Xan could see the broken pieces of the ship moving past him, huge chunks of metal and wood sinking inexorably downward.

            Many Tolpish were dragged down with the wreckage, and most were already dead. A few were still alive and struggling futilely to reach the surface.

            The sight of the wreckage below him let Xan recover his sense of direction and he swam upwards with all his strength.

            The Captain of Airship Number Three was extremely shocked when The Skyman, with his clothes torn and his armoured body covered in scratches, stepped onto the flying machine’s bridge.             The Skyman walked directly up to the captain and stopped stock-still three feet from him.             “Sir, how did you…?” asked the Captain, confused. “What is…?”             “Open f-f-fire on Airship Number One immediately,” said The Skyman in his strange, monotone voice.

            Xan and The Skyman both tried to steady themselves as the room they were in began to tip to the side, turning it into an increasingly sharp slope.             Xan managed to quickly grab onto a pipe on the wall, while The Skyman forcefully drove his mechanical fingers into the room’s floor to hold himself in place. He then lashed at Xan with his mechanical tail, but the Warrior King was able to swing on the pipework to pull his body out of the way.             Shocked and confused at what was happening, the Tolpish crew throughout the airship’s gondola were grabbing onto whatever they could to try to save themselves. The airship itself was listing badly and beginning to lose altitude.

            The Skyman, still digging into the floor with one hand, used the other to tear off a floor panel and throw it at Xan. Xan pulled his body up and let the panel fly past him.             “You don’t understand w-w-what you’ve done here, you primitive thug,” said The Skyman, as the airship’s list became more extreme. “By which I…bzzt… mean, of course, you have accomplished nothing.”             The airship was now tipped to the side, making the floor virtually vertical, with Xan dangling from the pipes on the wall that was now the ceiling.             The Skyman clambered quickly up the vertical floor and smashed through a window to emerge onto the side of the tipped over gondola.             Surprised and concerned, Xan manoeuvred along the pipes and flipped up out of the gondola after his opponent.             The wind was whipping around the outside of the airship and he held on with one hand to keep himself in place while he held up the other to shield his face to try to see.             The Skyman was standing stock still, the wind not moving him even slightly, facing away from Xan.

Xan darted forward, slashing with both weapons. His blows sliced through The Skyman’s coat and waistcoat but deflected off the metallic torso within, doing no damage.             For a few moments The Skyman did not move, standing statue still as Xan attacked. Only the spinning tip of his tail remained in motion.             Suddenly, The Skyman sprang to life.             He did not fight skilfully, but he was extremely fast. His arms swung in wide arcs, in an attempt to swat Xan aside.             Xan weaved and dodged around the rapid blows, striking back when he saw an opening.             The Skyman was relentless, not tiring or pausing, heedless of any returned blows.             His speed actually began to increase, and then his torso began to twist, spinning entirely around as if unmoored from his pelvis, and allowing him to swipe with his tail.             With sudden jerks, The Skyman’s motions would stop and he would jab furiously with the tail’s spinning tip before starting up again.             Even for a supernaturally skilled warrior like Xan, this onslaught was too furious to oppose and he was clipped by a blow that sent him flying across the cabin.             He hit against the command console, using it to steady himself as he wheezed from the blow. The Skyman’s strength was as fearsome as his speed, and Xan had no doubt a direct blow would be fatal, even to a warrior as robust him. While The Skyman’s swinging attacks were extremely fast, his reactions were actually quite slow. He didn’t really respond to what Xan was doing against him, but just kept swiping furiously in his general direction. But that mattered little when he could simply over whelm his opponent with blows.

            “I hope you realise this is a waste of t-t-time,” said The Skyman, staring at Xan with expressionless, round, black eyes. “Yours and mine. But mine is…bzzt…a lot more valuable.” The tattered remains of his clothes hung from his arms and torso. This revealed his full mechanical nature, with interlocking plates of metal armour covering his body. These showed only the slightest scratches despite the many blows Xan had inflicted. The only small gaps were at his joints, revealing a tiny glimpse of the gears and hinges within.

            The Skyman stood motionless again, the spinning of his tail starting to slow. Then, a second later he charged forward, his torso spinning, swiping with his tail and fists.             Xan dropped to the ground and rolled past his charging opponent.             The Skyman stopped moving abruptly and turned to face him. “This dance can o-o-only…” The Skyman stopped speaking as his body jerked, as something was pulling him back.             The Skyman looked back and saw his mechanical tail had smashed through the control console and was wedged deeply inside it.

            The tail tensed and pulled: once, twice, three times before ripping itself free, tearing out a great amount of the console’s workings.