22 Heart of Atlantis

COLOURFUL TRANSLUCENT STONES paved the floors inside the main entrance hall of the citadel. As the group moved further in past the towering golden doors, Threadfin realised not everyone was following. Both Grudge and Vilt stood still, staring at their reflections in the floor.

‘Oh, yeah, forgot about that,’ said Pole. ‘Took me days to get used to it.’

‘Oh,’ muttered Dessa, before stepping up to them and slapping each on the back of the head, hard.

Grudge whirled with a dagger in his grip, but his expression softened in seconds. Vilt stumbled and turned with a scowl rubbing the back of her skull. ‘What is wrong with you?’

Dessa shrugged. ‘Had my entire city murdered and my family torn from me. Why?’

‘Not what I meant.’

‘Oh, you should be specific. Atlantian artisans designed these floors. They’ve been known to leave newcomers in a trance. The rolling waves are an illusion though they can muddle your brain. You’ll get used to them.’

Threadfin nudged his Darken who was looking down and had begun to sway. When it didn’t work, he shoved him.

Pole glanced at him with a sheepish grin. ‘Gotta say I forgot how relaxing it was.’

‘Yeah,’ Grudge agreed as he joined them. ‘It’s like when I stared into my Ma’s eyes after she died, afore we tossed her naked body over the city wall. Mesmerizing, that was the word my sis used. Yeah.’

All of them stared at the scout and after a moment, Threadfin shook himself. He didn’t know which was more disturbing, the image the scout conjured or the fact he knew such a big word.

The others fidgeted or grumbled, except for the scout who seemed lost, drooling at the floor again. ‘Alright,’ said the mage, leaving Grudge for Vilt to handle. ‘Where do we go now? This place is huge.’

Dessa appeared lost, her face ashen. Pole stepped up to her and gently took her hand. At first, she resisted, but he didn’t let up, stroking her fingers. She looked up at him in surprise and anguish, and Threadfin’s heart broke for them. They’d never stood a chance, and now, when it seemed they might bridge the invisible gulf between them, she had made a choice that did not involve Podral.

‘Where do we find him?’ the Darken asked in a quiet voice. ‘Just lead us. We’re with you all the way, Dess. I’m with you.’

She searched his face for a few seconds and whatever she found there satisfied her. She nodded and turned away. Threadfin didn’t miss the clouded look which smothered her features afterward.

They walked on into the silent heart of Atlantis.

‡

AFTER OVER A MONTH of constant marching, the Cipius legions had camped on the edge of the Artaca Plains, north of the River Noy. A fierce wind threatened the camp, tugging at wooden tent pegs, collapsing some of the tents.

There was a dearth of grolg and skunks, which normally carried supplies for the army. The denizens of Byrsa had eaten most of those, along with the sydarags, forcing the army to search further out for what it needed. Tents were hard to come by too since most of those were grolg or bull hide. Feeding the rebellion had proven a difficult task, but so far no one was starving.

‘What are we still doing here?’ demanded Tame Vara, who with a sour expression used a bronze knife to clean the mud from her studded boots. ‘I’m sick of this Grim-forsaken marsh. Why is he marching north? Tystria? Makes no sense to me.’ The tent’s thin leather rippled and snapped, but the wind smothered their conversation from prying ears. Tame had taken to remaining at her friend’s side, since Sarscha’s face had changed twice already. As Tame had numerous friends among the squads, no one took notice. She had periodically spent time with others to dispel any suspicion.

‘What makes you think you can dirty the inside of my tent?’ Sarscha demanded. She knew her friend was right and she’d been wondering the same thing. It didn’t matter in the end. They had one job, to undermine the rebellion from within.

Although, she thought, we haven’t made much progress on that front. Considering they weren’t marching to Icarthya there wasn’t any need for haste. She’d move on Cipius when the time came. Him and Rove both. Cut the head off the rebellion and it would wilt away. She hoped.

‘You’re nothing but another recruit,’ her friend growled, working out the mud with the knife tip. ‘Like the rest of us. This is hardly what I’d call a tent anyway. There’s barely room for two in here. And it’s plenty dirty already.’

‘My point exactly. No need adding to it.’

‘Well, I do apologise dear sister.’

Sarscha pointed at her own face. ‘Not anymore, remember?’

‘Oh, yeah right. You’re now too ugly to be my sister.’

Sarscha threw a boot at her, catching Tame on the shoulder. ‘You know there’s soldiers out under the stars every night. You’re lucky we got this tent at all.’

‘I think Vitus had taken a right shine to you before your face changed. He thinks you deserted. Kiss a few polished asses to get this? His maybe?’

Sarscha shuddered. ‘Nah, I just stabbed someone repeatedly. Always works.’

‘Wasn’t Vitus, was it? Haven’t seen him for days come to think of it. Thought he was ill or something.’ Tame’s tone became serious. ‘This sickness going through camp. It’s unnatural. All the squads are talking about it and nothing else. Might be we don’t need do anything. If the entire rebellion gets ill, well, that’s job done right?’

Sarscha gave her a long stare.

Tame nodded, her face reddening. ‘Right. Wanna take a walk?’ She shoved her boots back on. Sarscha checked her swals and then reached for her own. The ordinary soldier wasn’t worth the cost of leg armour and the leather wrappings were at least some protection.

Outside the wind tore at them in a frenzy, tents billowing. Smoky fires set in holes in the wet earth were visible all along the foothills. Here along the edge of the plains was the best place to camp. Further into the plains and to the north, the marshland grew so boggy the few sydarags the army had would have to remain behind.

Walking some distance from camp, but careful not to approach the sentries on the perimeter, they chatted in hushed tones. Just friends from separate squads catching up. Sarscha had managed to locate several of her people scattered throughout the legions and had over the weeks begun to make contact through Tame. As usual, Tame was popular and made friends left and right.

‘Any word from Pittle?’ She’d had him desert and infiltrate north into Tystria to find out the situation there.

Tame nodded. ‘Made contact a few days ago. They know what’s coming and they’re doing their best.’

‘Who commands.’

‘You won’t believe it. Your old weapon’s master.’

‘Domon Avitus?’ The man was nothing like his daughter thank the Spectrum for small mercies. She had thought him dead. He’d gone with her to Tystria, but word had come for his arrest during his daughter’s coup. He had vanished without a word. ‘He must be seventy-eight or nine, by now?’

Tame nodded. ‘At least, and those he’s got with him aren’t much better. Soldiers with either too much experience or too little. Besides, they’ve got similar troubles with primes there too. Domon’s managed to bring some of those on side and they’ve formed militias. He’s set about murderin’ the rest.’

‘Can he hold if Cipius attacks?’ There was no concern Avitus might join the rebellion considering he hadn’t supported his own daughter.

The wind rifled through Tame’s green cloak. ‘Pittle doesn’t think so and Domon doesn’t either, I’d imagine. He’d never admit it though. What they got amounts to four cohorts at best and most aren’t veterans. I doubt they’ll hold longer than a couple of days. Which brings me back to why bother with Tystria, at all?’

‘Cipius doesn’t want any legions at his back when he takes Icarthya,’ said Sarscha. ‘Makes sense if he sees Tystria as a threat. He might not realise how weakened its force is or he might not like trusting to luck. He knows Avitus and he knows the man is a sound tactician.’

‘Huh,’ grunted Tame. ‘Looks like he’s stalling to me. Why couldn’t he send a small force to besiege Tystria, while the main army moves on the capital. He’s got enough cohorts to manage it.’

‘Not professional ones he doesn’t, or at least not enough. If Tystria still has a good fighting force, they could rout untrained besiegers easily. If he sends veterans then he heads to the capital city with a weakened force. No, he is doing what I would. Secure Tystria first and then move on without concern for his rear and flanks. The forces at the Gulley are too far away to worry about. I’d imagine he is also hoping to turn Tystrian legions to his side. He’ll besiege the city and then negotiate.’

‘No, I don’t buy it. Something smells off about the whole thing.’

‘It’s a rebellion, which we’re against. Of course, it smells off.’

‘Not what I meant, and you know it.’

Sarscha halted, touching Tame’s elbow in warning. She’d spotted someone moving between the tents. Markus Cipius. She hadn’t expected to see him in this part of camp and alone too. Not to mention, he moved like he didn’t wish to be seen. A great commander though he wouldn’t make much of a spy.

‘Something else,’ her friend whispered as they watched him. ‘There’s rumours doing the rounds that you are in command in Tystria.’

‘I know,’ Sarscha whispered back. ‘I heard it twice yesterday.’

‘They think you escaped Byrsa. Cipius is determined to destroy you, but again it makes no sense. What are we doing here? I mean, you and I. We can’t stop this rebellion. So far, we’ve done nothing. Why are we stuck in a marshland scraping mud off our boots while soldiers are getting sick?’

‘That’s just you. The rest of us can live with mud on our boots and I’ve never been ill in my life.’

‘I’m serious.’

Sarscha glanced at her friend. ‘When can you desert?’

‘Tomorrow night. You know, I never thought I’d hear you give that order.’

‘Make your way to Tystria and join Pint. Wait for me there. We can do this, but you’re right, something is going on. This illness stinks of magic to me and I mean to understand what is happening first.’ The truth of it was, she wanted her friends out of harm’s way. They had insisted on remaining with her, but she believed they would be safer in Tystria. Something was very wrong with these legions. Tame Vara’s instincts were never wrong.

Cipius vanished inside a tent, the owner of whom they both knew, which confirmed her fears.

‘Do you trust that paladin of yours?’ asked Tame. ‘That, Raziel whoever he is?’ Tame knew what the others did, which was precious little. They’d accepted the changes in her features was down to magic and that a strange Paladin was involved. The less they knew, Sarscha decided, the better.

‘As far as I trust anyone,’ she answered, still staring at the tent. It belonged to Krasta Remus, a man she had trusted. ‘Tame? Don’t wait until tomorrow. Go tonight. Something tells me time is no longer on our side.’