undying legion 01 - unbound man (58 page)

Arandras squinted at the stand. Its angle shielded it from the light streaming in from the rear wall, leaving it shrouded in shadow. He ran a hand along its smooth, slightly powdery surface, halting when his fingers came to an indentation. The hole was round, about the width of an eggcup at the mouth but narrowing abruptly, making it barely as deep as it was wide. Arandras traced its rim, pressing his fingertip around the familiar shape. It felt just like the urn…

The urn.
He reached into his pouch and pulled the bundle free, pushing aside its wrappings and tracing the circle of its lip.
The same. They’re the same size.
His hand found the lid, twining it between his fingers.
I wonder…

He held up the small metal cap, studying it as best he could in the dim light. Then he lowered it to the stand, sliding it across the smooth surface until it dropped into the hole.

The golems stood frozen in place. Arandras scanned the assembled figures, willing one of them to move; but the only motion came from the Quill roaming between them, and the play of light from lamps and sparkers.

Oh, well. It was worth a try.
He felt around the indentation.
How do I get this thing back out?

Someone in the room chuckled. Then came a gasp, and a cry of surprise. Arandras looked up.

The eyes of the golems were glowing.

Tiny points of light filled the dim room like stars reflected in a pool of water, their luminescence as low and steady as a monk’s candle. Their tones were earthen: reds and yellows, browns and whites. Yet there was something in the still pinpricks that spoke of distance, as though the minute glints were in truth mere byproducts of some other, entirely unseen phenomenon.

“Nobody move!” The voice was Narvi’s. “Did anyone touch something or say something? Anything that might have activated a binding?”

They’re not here. Not yet.
Arandras wasn’t sure how he knew, but the thought felt right.
This is something else. A semi-dormant state, maybe. At rest, but awaiting orders.

Perhaps I should give them some.

“Everyone move back to the entrance,” Narvi called. “Do it now.”

Arandras turned his attention to the nearest golem. It held a great mace in its outstretched hand, the weapon upright as though being presented to a general.
Lower your arm, golem,
he thought, pushing the words outward. The book in the Quill library had suggested they could hear thoughts. Now, having seen them, it seemed almost irreverent to imagine they couldn’t.
Lower your arm.

The golem stood motionless, unresponsive. The remote amber glint in its eyes stared at him, through him, past him to nothing at all.

I need its attention.
He grasped the edges of the reading stand and leaned forward, projecting his words as best he could toward the golem’s upturned face.
Hear me, golem. My name is Arandras Kanthesi. Hear me.
A sea of pinprick lights hung before him, and he raised his gaze.
All of you. I am Arandras. Hear me. Know me.

“Where’s Arandras?” Narvi sounded harried, uneasy. “Arandras! Where are you? Are you all right?”

Arandras ignored him. The golems had been there for millennia. They were hardly going to know Yaran, or Kharjik, or any other present-day tongue.
I need to find a language they understand.

He took a breath, shifting his thoughts to Old Valdori.
Hear me. Know me. I am Arandras Kanthesi. Know me as your master.
He pressed the words outward, offering them to each figure in the cavern, every pair of glittering eyes.

It felt almost as though he were praying.

Know me. Know me.

A grinding, tearing sound filled the cavern like an avalanche. Every golem in the room stood and turned to Arandras.

WE KNOW YOU.

The words struck him like a blow. Arandras reeled back, stumbling off the dais and collapsing against the wall.

The golems all dropped to one knee with a single tremendous thud. Arandras felt the floor shake beneath him.

ARANDRAS KANTHESI.

MASTER.

Chapter 23

We fight with such weapons as we have: steel, sorcery, artifice, and a hundred more besides. When wielded deftly, any one of them may triumph over any other. Even a lamb may slay a dragon on its day.

Nonetheless, only a fool bets against a dragon.

— Giarvanno do Salin I
Meditations on Power

They buzzed at the edge of his consciousness like bees. Arandras could hear the low drone in a corner of his mind, as though his awareness had been invaded by thousands of the humming, whirring creatures.
A vast swarm of insects, each one capable of crushing a house. And all of them awaiting my command.

Rough hands grasped his shoulders. “What in the hundred hells are you doing?” Fas’s angry face hove into view. “For the Dreamer’s sake, how hard is it to
not touch anything?
”

“Hey, let him go!” Mara shoved Fas backward, interposing herself between them. Fas’s face darkened and he shoved back, eyes pinched in fury. She absorbed the blow with a twist of her torso and grinned, raising a cocked fist. “This what you want?”

“Mara, please.” Narvi stepped between them, hands raised in a pacifying gesture. “Fas. Let’s stay calm, shall we? Yes? Yes.”

Fas stepped back, breathing hard, and fixed Arandras with an enraged glare. “
What did you do?
”

Arandras shook his head. There were words in the buzzing whispers.
A cavern. My brothers and sisters all around. A man argues with the master. Stone and stone and stone.
He clasped his hands uselessly over his ears. The chatter was ceaseless, relentless. It was too much.

Be quiet!

The buzz vanished, leaving blessed silence in its wake. He exhaled softly, probing at the place where it had been. The presence in his mind remained, but softer now, like the faintest touch of gossamer on the back of his hand.
Thank you.

“Arandras. Can you hear me? Arandras.” Narvi’s voice was muffled, distant. Arandras blinked at him, lowered his hands. “What happened?”

Laughter bubbled up within. “I bound them, Narvi,” he whispered, as though saying it aloud might rob it of its truth. “I bound the golems.”

Fas snarled and turned away.

“You bound them,” Narvi said, staring at Arandras as though he’d just admitted selling his child. “How could you do that?”

“What?” Arandras shook his head, his euphoria fading. “But this is what we —”

“This is a
Quill
operation, Arandras! Weeper’s cry!” He threw up his hands. “Do you have any idea what this means to us? Or the assurances I made just this morning to get you in here? Gods!”

Arandras pushed himself to his feet. “Do you really think the Quill are the best people to control these things?”

“I work for the Quill, Arandras! Maybe you haven’t noticed that!”

“And if you didn’t?” Arandras jabbed a finger in the air. “Look what they did to Isaias. Give the Quill the golems and that’ll multiply a thousandfold! Don’t you see that?”

“You think you’re any better?” Narvi gave a sick laugh. “Gods, Arandras. Look at yourself. What happened to you?”

“The Quill use people, Narvi. It’s in their blood.”

“Funny. The only person I feel used by is you.”

The words struck home. Arandras slumped against the wall, his stomach lurching; but Narvi was already stalking away, back to where Fas stood glaring at the reading stand. Before them knelt the golems, motionless once more, their massive heads still bowed.

The Quill use people.
It was true. That was what they did.

And now, so did he.

It was not some faceless collective that had threatened Isaias, it was Fas, and Narvi, and Arandras himself. When everything else was stripped away, that was all the Quill were. People. Altered, yes — moulded into a form better suited to serve the interests of their masters — but people nonetheless. Narvi and Bannard, Halli and Ienn — they were victims as much as Isaias, even if they didn’t realise it. They deserved pity, even compassion. Opponents or no, they were entitled to the same respect he would afford anyone else.

Instead, he had turned around and used them all over again. As though what had been done to them already wasn’t bad enough. As if he could use the Quill’s own weapon against them without becoming the very thing he despised.

Weeper have mercy.
He buried his face in his hands.
I am just like them. Gods forgive me.

“It’s the lid of the urn,” Narvi said from the dais, his back to Arandras. “See? There must be some kind of depression there.”

“Maybe we can remove the binding if we take it out,” Fas said. “If I can just get a hold of it…”

Arandras listened without caring. The golems meant nothing.
Let the Quill take them. Let them kill Clade, or not. I’m done.

“Got it!” The metal cap flashed in Fas’s hand. “Anything?”

The golems remained kneeling, heads bowed, the faint light in their eyes still visible among those nearest the front. Arandras reached for the gossamer presence in his mind and found it undisturbed.

“Nothing,” Narvi said.

Fas shrieked in frustration, hurling the lid into the corner of the room. “Out,” he snapped, striding off the dais, Narvi hopping at his heels to keep up. “Everyone out. No talk until we’re away from
them.
”

The Quill dispersed, leaving Arandras and Mara alone. Mara picked up the pewter lid, handed it back to Arandras. “Congratulations,” she said. “You did it.”

He nodded dully. “So it would seem.”

She looked close, a questioning smile on her face. “What? You’re not going to let Narvi’s little tantrum get to you, are you? They’re ours, fair and square.”

Yeah. Fair and square.
Arandras looked up, noting her choice of words.
Ours.
He sighed. “I bound them, Mara. To me.”

Mara shrugged. “So?”

“So I don’t know how to unbind them, or bind them to someone else. I mean, I’m sure it’s possible — hells, one of the Quill could probably tell me.” Not that any of them would speak to him just now. “But it might take a while for me to figure it out myself.” He watched as the implications sank in.
And until I do…

“We can’t sell them,” Mara said. “Yet.”

“Yeah.”

She exhaled, setting her torch on the ground and leaning against the wall beside him. They stood there side by side, looking out on the congregation of kneeling golems.

“Impressive, aren’t they,” Mara said eventually.

“Yeah.”

“Can you make one do something? Walk around the room, maybe?”

Arandras sighed. “Probably. But it seems a little…” He trailed off, searching for the right word.
Petty? Pointless?
“I don’t know. Something.”

Mara waved dismissively. “You need to be confident about controlling them before Clade gets here. Go on, make one of them walk.”

Right. Clade.
Arandras squared his shoulders. He’d come this far. And Clade would be arriving soon, whether Arandras was ready or not.
Might as well be prepared.

He scanned the front row. An empty-handed golem caught his eye, about half a dozen places from the end.
Is that one a bit shorter than the others? Could make it easier to speak to when it gets up.
He focused his attention on the chosen figure, doing his best to exclude all the others from his command.

Golem, stand up.

With a grinding rumble and the almost-smooth motion of a novice dancer, the golem rose.

Arandras stood back and pointed away from the dais.
Golem, walk to the corner of the room.

It set off immediately, its stride long and heavy. When it reached the corner it halted and turned to face the cavern, its weight shifting as it settled into place.

Mara laughed. “Did you see that? It’s like a sentry assuming his position.”

Arandras nodded, warming to the exercise despite himself. The golem was truly a thing of wonder.
Let’s try something a little more complex.
He thought for a moment.
Golem, walk through the portal on your right to the room beyond, and stop beside the shackles you see there.

The golem rumbled away, Arandras and Mara following behind. It covered the distance at surprising speed, and they entered the chamber to find it already at rest beside the slender restraints.

“Ha, I was right.” Mara held a circlet against the golem’s wrist. “Big enough to fit over its wrist, small enough that the hand can’t slide through.”

Arandras nodded again, his interest already fading. The sight of the shackles reminded him oddly of Narvi, and the hurt in his eyes when Arandras told him what he’d done.

No, not hurt.

Betrayal.

We were friends, once. He thought we still were.

The hells with it.

“I have to go,” Arandras said, turning toward the exit. “I have to find Narvi.”

“What?” Mara grasped his elbow, pulling him to a halt. “Forget it. You don’t have to explain yourself to any of them.”

Explain myself?
He gave a hollow laugh. What could he explain that Narvi didn’t already see? “I should never have left Spyridon —”

“No.” Her grip tightened. “This needs doing. You won’t ever be free of what happened until you look Clade in the eye and —”

“Mara. Listen to me.” He held her gaze, imploring her to understand. “How many people has this cost me already? Druce and Jensine. Isaias, probably. Weeper only knows why you haven’t walked away yet.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to lose Narvi too.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. “All right,” she said. “Fine. Let’s go.”

He hesitated. “You don’t have to come.”