The Black Sovereign's court had a passion for exotic mounts, from tame cave spiders to riding lizards, and they were stabled together (though far enough apart to keep from killing each other) on the other side of the palace. The League preferred arcane vehicles, including sedan chairs that traveled on countless spindly tentacles and thrones that hovered on cushions of poisonous yellow light, along with more practical items like Zernebeth's walker with its strange engine.

  But no kingdom can run without horses, so there was a sizable stable, too, and that's where Alaeron emerged. The League didn't have much use for horses—the animals tended to shy away from the more interesting wrecks in the landscape, and what status was there in using the same mount a slave might harness to pull a cart? Alaeron was no great horseman, but he knew how to ride, and he'd spent the past few months here making friends with the stable slaves—amazing what a few small gifts of food could do—and getting to know the stock. One horse in particular, a black gelding named Shuri, was lean, fit, and responsive. None of the stable-slaves were around at the moment, so Alaeron fetched his own saddle and bridle and got Shuri ready to ride.

  A Gearsman stepped into the stable. It stopped and stared at Alaeron, its alien face unreadable. Shuri shied away, tugging the bridle lead out of the alchemist's hands.

  "Ah," Alaeron said, fingering the vials in his pockets. Would ice or flame even hurt something like this? "Can I help you?"

  The Gearsman abruptly turned and walked away, and Alaeron sagged against Shuri in relief. "It's all right, boy," he murmured. The metal men came and went at will, often with no apparent purpose. But its appearance was a good reminder that he needed to move, and quickly.

  He mounted, clucked his tongue, tugged the reins, and set out along a track leading north, away from the palace and out of the city. The League would expect him to flee south or east, he thought, so he'd head in the direction of the Worldwound first for a while before cutting east to meet the Sellen River. The route along the river was long and heavily traveled, and he'd be able to lose himself in the traffic there. The Silver Mount loomed on his right as he rode, and he shuddered, recalling Zernebeth's death. The road dipped down into a valley, and he slowed Shuri for a safer descent. The horse stepping in a hole and breaking a leg was the worst thing that could happen to him just now.

  Or so he thought until he emerged from the valley, crested the hill, and found a dozen Gearsmen spread out across the road in a line, with Gannix in the middle, his crackling whip squirming in his hand like a live thing. The captain had a bulky bandage over his damaged eye, but his gaze fixed on Alaeron nonetheless, the prosthetic lens glittering. "Capture him!" Gannix shouted.

  The Gearsmen looked at one another, their odd heads swiveling soundlessly. Maybe they won't, Alaeron thought. Zernebeth had said the Gearsmen sometimes disobeyed, following their own whims, and the one in the stable had let him leave—

  The Gearsmen advanced, armed with nothing but their own hands, which would be more than sufficient to their task.

  Alaeron slid down off Shuri, putting the horse's body between him and the metal men. He only had seconds. He had a few bombs, but not enough for all of them, if they even had an effect. A mutagen might make him tougher and stronger, but even in beastly form he'd be no match for the Gearsmen. He was out of invisibility extract, and none of the other vials he'd prepared seemed likely to help him—being able to scale a wall like a spider was no good on the cracked plain, and the power to detect hidden doors or breathe water were likewise useless.

  But he had other things. The most powerful items in Numeria were relics salvaged from the Silver Mount and the other wrecks littering the region. He had no idea what the things he'd taken from the Mount might do ...but that didn't mean they wouldn't do anything.

  He pulled them out of his pockets and put them on the ground, picking them up one after another. The golden chain? It squirmed around his wrist, but had no obvious martial application. The strange egg? Showed no sign of hatching into anything useful. The red loop of metal, not quite big enough to be a bracelet, likewise gave no indication of being anything other than metal. Nothing here looked like a sword, or a crossbow, or even a cannon-in-miniature. Nothing screamed its destructive potential, or any potential at all—

  He picked up the white-and-gold relic, the one that looked like a toy spinning top. Something to twirl for a child's amusement. It seemed unlikely that spinning the top would do him any good, but it had tried to spin of its own accord, it seemed, back in the Mount, and short of throwing his relics at the Gearsmen and hoping one of them would turn out to be a high explosive, he didn't have any better ideas.

  So Alaeron set the top on the hard-packed dirt of the road and gave it a spin, making it turn swiftly, balanced on its point.

  The world began to turn with it. Or so it seemed to Alaeron. Chunks of soil lifted up from the ground and began to first roll, then lift up in the air and fly, all hurtling in the same direction the top was spinning, forming a dusty vortex around Alaeron. At first the Gearsmen kept stepping gamely forward, but then they started to list and bump into one another, until they too lost their feet.

  Alaeron gaped. The movement was like water swirling around a drain, but instead of water, it was everything. The air filled with clouds of black dust torn from the ground, and the Gearsmen spun and twirled in midair, round and round. The force the spinning top produced picked up Gannix, too, and slammed him howling into one of the Gearsmen with tremendous force. It didn't hurt the metal man, but Gannix stopped screaming, and a mist of blood and bone joined the rest of the debris in the whirling field.

  Shuri was spooked, but didn't try to dart out of the charmed circle where Alaeron crouched by the top. The movement of the cloud of death encircling Alaeron got faster and faster until a wall of metal, rock, and dead Technic League captain spun around Alaeron in a blur, the tornado towering easily twenty feet into the air. Alaeron realized his mouth had been hanging open, and he closed it with a snap. The top itself showed no sign of slowing down. This must be what it was like at the center of the great permanent hurricane called the Eye of Abendego: a circle of calm surrounded by impassable destruction. No one could penetrate that barrier of wind—and anyone who lived in the eye of that hurricane would be there forever, unable to escape.

  Alaeron feared he might be in a similar situation. The Dust Devil of Abendego, they could call it, a tornado on the Numerian plain, where Alaeron could perish in the calm, still center of the devastation.

  Well. That was unacceptable. And if you're trying to figure out what to do, why not begin with the direct approach?

  He touched the tip of his index finger to the upper point of the spinning top.

  The friction of his finger stopped it spinning instantly. Whatever titanic forces it might produce, the relic acted like any ordinary toy.

  The affect on the whirling maelstrom was equally instantaneous, but more dramatic. Instead of continuing to spin around, everything spun out. Chunks of dirt and dust sprayed outward with tremendous force, then pattered down. The Gearsmen and Gannix's remains hurled through the air in all directions, landing so far away Alaeron couldn't even see the metal men glint in the distance. They would be standing up soon, though. Maybe with Gannix dead, they wouldn't bother to pursue him. Or maybe they would.

  Alaeron cooed at Shuri for a few moments until the horse calmed enough for Alaeron to mount again. They made their way over the broken ground until they reached an unmarred stretch of road. The top's winds seemed to have made a perfect circle, perhaps fifty feet across. The offensive potential was obvious. Sneak an unassuming agent with this relic into, say, the heart of the Great Andoran Fair, and hundreds or thousands could be killed, along with incalculable property damage. The League couldn't be allowed to have a weapon like this.

  Especially, Alaeron thought as he sped east toward the Sellen and freedom, since it's probably not meant to be a weapon at all. He wondered if the relic might in fact be part of some gyroscopic balancing system, or a device to produce the sort of unimaginable torque you'd need to power an engine that might send a ship the size of a city through the depths between the stars. Those were much more interesting possibilities than just having some weapon to level the castles of your enemies.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Land of Sand and Scorpions

  I had that in my hands?" Skiver said, appalled. "What if I'd taken it into my head to give it a spin?"

  "Then we probably wouldn't be having this conversation," Alaeron said, "though it depends on where and when you decided to give it a spin. This is why you shouldn't play with my toys, as you call them."

  Skiver took the gearwheel from a pocket and looked at it as if it were a live asp. "And what in Hell does this thing do, then?"

  Alaeron shrugged. "Nothing, as far as I can tell, except turn, sometimes, by itself. No hurricanes then, though. Just a grinding noise." He took the gearwheel when Skiver offered it, and sighed in relief. All six relics, together again. It felt like having a lost limb restored.

  "Such power," Jaya said. "And you didn't think to use it for your own profit? Something like that spinning top you could sell to any number of warlords or rebels. Even your own Eagle Knights of Andoran could find a use for such a thing. Take it into the heart of a slave market—"

  "It would kill all the slaves," Alaeron said dryly. "Not exactly what we're trying to accomplish."

  She waved her hand. "Fine, to some government building in Cheliax, then. Level the place."

  "Places like that are protected," Alaeron said. Though he didn't know if they would stand against the relic, despite their magical safeguards—who knew how spells would react to artifacts from the Silver Mount? "And, anyway, I don't care about weapons, I care about truth, and secrets."

  "I can't decide if you're a wonderful man or a very foolish one," Jaya said, her beauty not at all impaired by the frown line marring her forehead.

  "Too much weapon for me," Skiver said. "Give me a couple of knives and I can get most jobs done. Knives are manageable." He scratched his chin. "Funny, though. After all that, killing a captain and such, flinging their metal men all hither-and-yonder, you'd think the Technic League would have come after you. Hard to believe you got away clean."

  Alaeron shrugged, trying not to let his discomfort show. "Numeria is very far away. And getting farther with every passing moment." He stood up and stretched. "I've been sitting too long. I think I'll take a walk around the deck."

  "You go right ahead," Skiver said, voice cheerful. "And I'll just tell Jaya about the great big bastard of a Kellid who tried to kill us back in Almas. You know, the one I'm dead sure the Technic League sent to drag you back."

  Alaeron paused for a moment, looking at the ocean. Jumping into the water and drowning suddenly seemed like a fairly good idea. Instead, he sat back down. "All right," he said. "I admit, I wasn't completely forthcoming, but it's my business, and nothing to do with either of you."

  "What are you two talking about?" Jaya demanded.

  "Big bastard of a Kellid," Skiver said. "Tried to kill Alaeron, or at least catch hold of him, in our scholar's workshop back in Almas. I tried to stab the bastard and broke my knife on his coat. He weren't wearing plate or mail underneath, either. Just looked like an ordinary coat. Sort of thing the Technic League might have, seems to me now. And then someone blowed up the scholar's lab. I half thought it might be Ralen Vadim making a point, but it's not Vadim's style to do something like that without letting you know he did it. And Alaeron's just been talking about how the League likes their bombs and explosions. Now, Alaeron told me the fella I fought was there to collect a nasty debt, but I know all the enforcers who work roundabout the city, so that never rang quite true to me. Should've put it together before now, maybe. The question is, are we clear of this Kellid, or is he going to make trouble for us again?"

  Alaeron put his face in his hands for a moment. "Kormak," he said, looking up. "The man's name is Kormak. If I ever met him at Starfall, I don't remember, but there were always great big savage men around, the Black Sovereign's old friends and warriors from the days when he was a fighter instead of an addict. Kormak works for the League now, anyway. He confronted me the same day Vadim's men kidnapped me. I escaped him, just in time to run into Vadim's thugs."

  "So that's why you agreed to this expedition," Jaya said. "You had a reason to flee Almas too." She smiled suddenly, like lightning in a blue sky. "And here I thought you just wanted to spend more time in my company."

  "Both were factors."

  "All right," Skiver said. "But is this Kormak still after us? And don't say ‘he's after me,' scholar. We're all together, and I doubt he'd scruple overmuch at killing Jaya and me to get at you."

  Alaeron considered. He didn't trust Skiver at all, and though he was growing fond of Jaya, he had precious little reason to trust her, either. But it was unfair to leave them ignorant of their danger, even if, as he devoutly hoped, that danger was past. "The pirates," he said. "I thought I saw Kormak on the deck of the ship when it sank."

  "That's him done for then," Jaya said. "I don't imagine Kellids have much cause for learning to swim."

  Alaeron shook his head. "The Dagger and the Coin, the tavern where Skiver gambled away my artifact? I went back that way before we left Absalom, and there was nothing left but ashes, and people said a Kellid had come in and called down some fiery magic to destroy the place ..." He shook his head. "I'm sure it's Kormak."

  "Wonderful," Skiver said. "A mad bastard from the north who likes burning things down, chasing us across the whole Inner Sea."

  Alaeron lifted his hands. "Wait. I figured out how he was tracking me. He only went to places where I used the artifacts, so I think he has some way to sense them when they're activated. I haven't used them since last night, and I won't use them again. At least, not until I'm ready to lure Kormak into a trap even his Technic League weapons won't enable him to escape."

  "You should have told us," Jaya said. "You've put us all in danger."

  Alaeron nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. But I think we're safe now."

  "Good we cleared the air," Skiver said. "Now we all know where we stand. If the ruins of Kho don't kill us, Alaeron's Kellid friend will. I like to have options." He pulled his filthy hat down over his eyes and went to sleep leaning against the rail.

  "He'll be snoring in a minute," Alaeron said. "You don't want to be here for that."

  Jaya shook her head. "I don't much want to be around either of you right now. Shame this ship is so small." She rose gracefully and strode away.

  Alaeron sighed. "That went well."

  "Still hoping for a love match, then?" Skiver said, voice muffled by the hat over his face.

  "I suppose so."

  "Infatuation's a terrible thing," Skiver said. "I probably shouldn't say, but ...she tried to seduce me, you know, back at Vadim's. Wanted me to free her brother and help her escape. Promised me rewards of various sorts. One sort, mostly, truth to tell. You can imagine what I mean. Turned her down, of course. She's got nothing to offer me along those lines. Her brother, on the other hand ...I still wouldn't have done it, but I might've been tempted. She was ready to do whatever she needed to in order to get away, though. Not what you expected from your not-so-fair lady, is it? She does like to play at being good."

  Alaeron shifted uncomfortably on the deck. "Well. She was desperate."

  "Oh, I don't think less of her for making the effort. Use any tool you've got to get the job done, I say. But don't forget she got herself into this mess. She's no victim. She tried to cheat Vadim, and now she's paying the fine. And you're here helping her pay it."

  "What are you saying?" Alaeron asked, though he knew it was nothing Skiver hadn't tried to tell him before: don't trust her. Which should have been funny, coming from someone as obviously untrustworthy as Skiver himself. But somehow, it wasn't funny.

  Skiver didn't answer. A moment later, he started to snore.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The rest of the voyage was a hell of boredom, though no one seemed to mind but Alaeron. Skiver and Jaya both largely ignored him as he brooded over the artifacts he couldn't test, or even dare to touch. His alchemical researches were likewise difficult to pursue—he did what was necessary to keep his extracts, mutagens, and bombs prepared using his little field kit, but without at least a room, and a table, he couldn't work on anything more complex, or experiment. He could feel himself on the verge of some great epiphany—perhaps related to the artifacts, perhaps not—but whenever he attempted to turn his attention to it, it skittered out of his mind.

  Skiver taught Jaya some game involving little stones and a board marked with stripes, but when Alaeron asked if he could play, Jaya coldly told him it was a game for two, and they were enjoying themselves just fine without him. So Alaeron was left with only his thoughts. Normally that wasn't a problem—the mind was a cathedral—but his attention returned relentlessly to all the things he couldn't do.

  Finally, after too many long days and warm nights, the ship arrived in sight of land, and the three stood near the front of the ship, watching the southern continent approach. "A bit beige, innit?" Skiver said.

  "The heart of Osirion is a desert so vast it can swallow armies," Jaya said. "The remnants of one of the oldest kingdoms in the world."

  Skiver grunted. "Big beach, most with no ocean. Lovely."

  The ship eventually moved into the harbor, a bay connected by a series of canals to the River Sphinx, one of the great waterways of the world, and the lifeblood of Osirion. Most of the country's major settlements were spaced out along that river, and they'd be traveling its full length upriver, into the tributary called the Crook, and then on to that river's source in the east, something like five hundred miles in all if the maps were to be believed. Which meant more ships. Alaeron was extremely tired of ships.