Secret of the Sunstones, Part 1: The Wanton Kingdom

Chapter XLII : Infiltration

Latemorn of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon

After a few days in civilian clothes, Bram was finally back to donning his Gnostic armor. Matthias altered his face to look like Luke Baron, the Knight he once knew. The scholar darkened his hair to match a medium blond and grew it out to shoulder-length. Bram tied it back in what he remembered to be Luke’s style. Matthias then faded his irises to an icy-blue and caused a thin blond beard to sprout across his face. He even lightened his complexion by a few shades. The disguise wasn’t perfect. Bram still looked like Bram underneath. But it would fool anyone looking for a clean-shaven, copper-skinned, silver-haired youth.

As before, Géorg stayed behind to watch over Rosa, Yuri, and the sandskipper. Given the size of the risk that Bram was about to undertake, he gave the one-armed man some instructions, in case he didn’t return. He was to travel east to a wooded thicket and wait for two days. At that point, he was to flee further east in search of food and shelter. Bram knew not to expect too much from Géorg. If the worst should happen, Rosa’s and Yuri’s chances of survival were low. Bram would be leaving them behind with no protection, and it would most assuredly lead to a tragic end for both of them. Somehow, Bram needed to keep a strict timeline. Failure was not an option.

As he strapped on his cuirass and greaves, he basked in the irony that he, a Gnostic Knight, was turning to his longtime enemy for succor against his former homeland. Sure, he had good reason to flee, but his defection from Angkor was about more than just moral indignity. His priority was to ensure the survival of the ones he loved.

His mission had become clearer than ever, producing yet another irony. In order to save Rosa and Yuri, he had to first put them and himself at great risk. Otherwise, if he were to flee to safety, he’d never save Rosa from the magical illness. Not by himself. Nor could he protect Yuri from those who wanted her dead, who would come for her no matter how far he ran. His only hope was to find allies, and that meant getting inside the city, no matter how dangerous it was.

He gazed upon his enchanted, darksteel sword. During The War, it had caused the loss of countless lives. Yet, he used it gladly, believing that cutting down his enemy would keep his homeland safe. But now, his perception had changed. He no longer wanted to take another man’s life, when that man could be a father, husband, brother, or son. He had already taken so many, and the memories of his deeds now haunted him. If he could somehow take back his sins, he wouldn’t hesitate. The darkened blade had once been like a venomous extension of his own flesh. But if he could, he would have gone back and amputated it.

At last, he pulled out the helm, the hideous mask of a Gnostic. Folks in Angkor believe it represented merciless justice. But for Angkor’s king, it served another purpose. Long ago, Bram learned why the smithies had forged the mask into its gruesome shape. The horns symbolized a beast, while the skull meant death. While some might think this served to intimidate the enemy, the truth was that it was meant to remove the humanity of anyone who wore it.

Human fighters tended to think, but Richard wanted his beasts to slay. The mask was meant to put the wearer in that frame of mind. Gnostics were naught but weapons for the king of Angkor to wield. And their purpose was to do what weapons did best. Looking now, at the deep, soulless wells it had for eyes, Bram was repulsed.

Nevertheless, his garb was fully assembled. At one time, he felt strong and confident inside. He believed in the reputation of the Knights as Defenders of Angkor. But now, he knew what they truly stood for. And he wanted to cast the garb away for good. Hopefully, he would have that opportunity soon.

As for his civilian clothes, he tore them into strips to bind Matthias’s arms, mouth, and eyes. Such was the Knights’ official procedure for escorting captive scholars. He dabbed the remaining rags into a puddle to wipe the dirt and smudges from his armor. In order for his disguise to pass, he had to look as authentic as possible.

Having no more use for rags, he buried them under a bush. He didn’t want to leave anything behind, no matter how slim a chance that someone might find it. He then took Matthias by the shoulder and led him on the path to Rungholt’s southern gate.

The city was centuries old, with mighty walls surrounding it on all sides. The south gate had two adjoining towers, each with archers or armsmen ready to fire projectiles from a distance. As Bram approached, the guards stirred. Others would be hidden and ready inside, likely with the specialized Kitezhian weapons known as firearms.

The devices took years of research from Kitezh’s top scientists. They used long metal barrels to launch steel pellets with lethal force. An explosive powder placed in the chamber accelerated the projectiles. The weapons were lighter and smaller than longbows with better range and accuracy. Best of all, they required no magic. The only downside was the lengthy reloading process. Angkor tried for years to replicate the technology using magic, but the results weren’t yet ready for production.

As Bram marched down the hillside, he assessed his position. The city’s defenses were among the finest in the Northern Continent. Now that he crossed within range of arms fire, there was no turning back. At his height and distance, he saw the streets of the city teeming with soldiers. Even though Angkor’s air force had departed, they left behind a sizable occupation. If Bram’s disguise failed, he was as good as dead.

By now, he was certain the sunstone was already in Angkor’s possession, so there had to be a different reason why they left such a large force behind. Kitezh’s military strength was sizably reduced after The War, and most of their army was housed inside their capital. Angkor had already destroyed the barracks, so there was little chance that Kitezh could retake the city. It would have made more sense if Richard withdrew his ships to prepare for a second attack on Koba. Bram’s instincts told him that solving this mystery would help him determine Angkor’s weakness.

The guards watched him closely as he approached. As he suspected, they were equipped with firearms that they must have stolen from the armories. As protocol demanded, they stood tall and saluted.

“Sir!” they spoke in unison.

He also spoke loud and clear, in a manner befitting a superior officer. “Open the gates.”

The guards shared an uneasy glance.

One of them stepped forward. “Could you remove your helm, please.”

Bram did so while the guard inspected him and his prisoner. “I beg forgiveness, Sir, but it appears you have a captive scholar.”

Bram sneered. “What of it? I caught him sneaking around, and I’ll be taking him inside for questioning.”

The guard shrank back. “Surely you’re aware of General Blair’s orders. Scholars are to be killed on the spot. We can’t allow them to enter. Even bound and blindfolded, they’re far too big a risk.”

Bram crossed his arms. “State your names and ranks.”

The guard responded hesitantly. “Corporal Higgins, Sir. And this is Private First Class Fry.” The smaller man nodded in agreement, though his gaze never left Matthias.

Bram glared at the guards, keeping his voice low and intimidating. “My name is Luke Baron, and I answer to no man, other than King Richard in the flesh. Blair’s orders don’t pertain to me. Remind me, Corporal, the punishment when a soldier disregards the orders of a Knight.”

A drop of sweat slowly rolled down Higgins’ forehead. His eyes strayed, unable to meet Bram’s venerable gaze. Nevertheless, he mustered the courage to respond.

Standing an inch taller, he spoke the textbook response. “Insubordination, Sir, is grounds for a court martial. If convicted, I would face demotion or even removal from service. In severe cases, I could be disciplined with a year in prison.”

Though he said it with confidence, his lips trembled. Private First Class Fry looked equally uncomfortable, but he turned to his commander and whispered something in his ear. Bram didn’t hear every word, but he caught the drift. Fry suggested that they avoid a possible career-limiting confrontation with the Gnostic Knight and let him proceed. They could then inform the general later. It was precisely what Bram wanted.

Higgins appeared to agree with Fry’s suggestion, and with a final salute, he motioned for the gatekeeper to open the portcullis.

Bram strutted past the guards without looking back, a perfectly arrogant behavior befitting his ruse. For added theatrical effect, he tugged briskly on the rope around Matthias’ neck, causing the scholar to trip over himself to keep up. He hoped the gag was tied securely enough to stifle what he expected to be some profoundly bitter curses.

At last, Bram was inside the Kitezhian capital for the first time in his life. The old buildings and cobblestone streets looked different from modern, Angkorian cities. They were made from stone quarried from the mountains, which had also been used to construct monuments at every intersection.

He could see now that the airstrikes had focused on the northern districts containing the castle, which lay in ruins. However, he found little evidence of damage farther south. Dozens of soldiers patrolled the streets, while the rest of the city—including its residents—performed their daily activities. Families shopped for food and supplies, while merchants still opened their shops.

Bram needed to find a quiet space. As soon as he was sure no one was watching, he ducked into an alleyway and dragged Matthias behind some tall, wooden crates. Based on the stench, he figured it came from the remains of fish. The adjacent building was a tavern, and they likely used the alley to store their empty food parcels. No one would have a reason to enter so early in the morn, and the smell discouraged passersby.

Bram retrieved his knife and cut Matthias’ restraints. Once free of the bonds, the old man rubbed his wrists and neck. He might have given Bram permission to play the part of an aggressive captor, but it didn’t stop him from giving out dirty looks.

Bram tried to stay positive. “What did I tell you? We made it without a hitch.”

There wasn’t a single note of cheeriness in the old man’s voice. “Don’t celebrate, yet. You probably noticed the troops at every corner. Angkor has this city in the palm of its hand. It’ll still be difficult to get anywhere in this city, and Gaia forbid if we need to go north.”

The Knight wasn’t about to get overconfident. “Then let’s proceed carefully. Do you have a better idea where we can find Angela?”

Matthias pulled at a chain that he wore around his neck. An opal hung at the end of it, which he rubbed softly with his thumb.

“Thanks be to Gaia.” He let out a pent up breath. “She’s not in the direction o’ the castle.” He closed his eyes, seemingly deep in concentration. “She … appears to be to th’ west. Possibly in th’ Altestadt.”

Matthias referred to the region known as “old city”. Rungholt was already a very old city, but one district predated all others by centuries. Long ago, the structures became too expensive to maintain, and the area was abandoned. Buildings grew derelict, many collapsed, and now only empty shells remained. No one went there, except for occasional transients. Angela had no reason to be there, either, but if the old scholar’s pendent said so, it had to be their first destination. Bram hoped to find her quickly, then proceed to look for survivors of the Kitezhian government, including King Henrich.

Bram was ready to begin the next stage of his plan. “Change clothes, and we’ll go our separate routes, like we discussed.”

Matthias called upon some enchantments he had prepared earlier. With a few spoken words, his gray robes turned dark and thickened into wool, in the style of local residents. It included a hood, which he pulled to cover his face. His walking stick changed into a cane, and he hunched his shoulders to look feebler. The transformation added a dozen years to his age. His disguise made it unlikely to attract attention. The enchantment also served as a magical loophole, limiting detection from other scholars. If close enough, a scholar might still sense a very small magical signal coming from the clothes, but far less than if Matthias had cast a newly formed spell.

“Ah’ll go over the route once, so listen carefully,” the old man instructed.

Bram leaned close.

“Folla the main street t’ the harbor, then turn north at the fisheries. Ah’ll take th’ eastern route, so we’re not seen t’gether. There’s a park about a hundred spans farther north. We’ll meet there. Then, follow my lead from a distance, ‘till we’re far from pryin’ eyes.”

Bram nodded and left the alleyway. Judging from the behavior of the townsfolk, Angkor’s occupation was surprisingly successful. There was no sign of resistance, as if Kitezh’s military had been completely eradicated. Bram figured the city must have harbored ten thousand soldiers or more, some of which had to have survived the attack. Yet he saw no sign of them, nor were there graves, ditches, or blood-stained streets. In fact, broad sections of the city had no signs of battle at all. It was as if the city had simply capitulated, and its military disappeared. If they had somehow escaped or went into hiding, the question was where. It wasn’t easy to hide ten thousand men while dozens of Angkorian soldiers patrolled the streets. Something didn’t add up.

Bram’s nose caught the briny scent of sea air as he passed by the harbor. Cobblestone streets transitioned to sand-blown pathways, leading to wooden piers. The air felt cool and damp as it blew off the ocean. The boats were all docked, empty and abandoned since the harbor had shut down. Even the waves seemingly capitulated, as they languidly lapped upon the shore.

A few hundred spans past the harbor, Bram found the park that Matthias described. It was small, consisting of a few benches, some greenspace, and a contraption for children to play on. It wasn’t as clean or pristine as the eastern city, but it suited the industrial side of town. Matthias arrived first. He sat on a bench and threw breadcrumbs at a gathering flock of gulls. He must have noticed Bram’s approach, because he rose and headed up the hill without looking back. He did a fine job of keeping just out of reach, but not out of sight.

The Altestadt was large compared to Rungholt’s other districts, representing about a sixth of the city. It was easy to imagine how it might have looked, centuries ago. Wide pillars welcomed visitors like open arms. Some of them had broken and tumbled over, but the beauty somehow remained. The architecture was noble in its simplicity, with rounded corners and elegant carvings. Stone statues stood at key intersections, though time had weathered their features considerably. Only a few still had their limbs attached, and many suffered from vandalism or theft.

Once Matthias and Bram were far enough out of sight, the old scholar motioned for the Knight to catch up. “Angela’s close. Ah can sense her!”

Bram looked up. “It’s already lateday. We need to move quickly. There will be curfews after dark, and we can’t be wandering about.”

Matthias pointed to a row of dilapidated buildings. “She’s in one o’ those. Ah’m sure of it!”

Bram reached for his sword. “I see movement.”

Matthias lowered his hood. “Where?”

“It came from the side of that building—there!” Bram pointed to an area in between two collapsed towers. One building’s upper floors had slid into the other, creating a space underneath. Rubble was piled in front, but Bram swore he saw someone duck behind.

Matthias shed his disguise and morphed back into his former self. He stood taller and more magnificent than Bram remembered. His cane became his familiar staff, which he pointed toward the building. He mumbled words of magic with eyes shut and nose wrinkled. “Seven men inside, maybe more. Ah’m goin’ in!”

Bram tried to stop him, but the old man brazenly marched ahead. From the corner of his eye, Bram caught sight of a man sneaking along the side, ready to aim his firearm.

“Matthias—look out!” he yelled, before realizing that another assailant had already approached from his flank. The man was quick to slip a shiv between his plates of armor, close to his ribs. He could stab through at any moment.

“Drop your sword, Gnostic.”

Three more men appeared from their hiding places. Each held a firearm, ready to shoot.

Bram figured his armor could absorb a few direct hits, but nothing would stop a shiv from being shoved between the seams. He dropped his sword, as instructed. One of the Kitezhians bent over to pick it up.

“Careful!” he warned. “Gnostic swords are poisonous. I’m immune, but even a scratch is lethal to anyone else.”

The Kitezhian nodded, looking grateful. He used his cloak to delicately grasp the sword by its shaft.

“Ah come peacefully,” Matthias pleaded. “All Ah want is my daughter. Her name’s Angela Deleuze. The Gnostic’s an ally. He supports King Brandt, not Angkor.”

A small, scrawny man emerged from a door on the side of a building. He was five and a half feet tall and appeared in his mid-thirties, with light-brown hair and a face that was thin and cleanly shaven. He was unarmed.

Despite his small stature, his voice sounded educated and commanding. “Why should we believe you?”

Matthias grinned. “If Ah’d wished ya harm, Ah’d have rendered your puny weapons useless the moment ya first exposed yurselves.”

The old scholar waved his hand and whispered a few words. The Kitezhians dropped their firearms in unison, shaking their hands in pain. The metal weapons turned red-hot by the time they hit the ground.

The scrawny man smirked. “Matthias, the Ambisanguinous, I presume.”

His eyes beheld cunning and intelligence. While his comrades still grasped their wounded hands, the scrawny man’s decision to come unarmed now seemed like a wise move.

“Ah am he,” Matthias confirmed.

“Good. My name is Konrad Rommel, and I represent His Majesty.”

Bram wondered if he was any relation to Friedrich Rommel, the late Kitezhian general and strategist.

Konrad continued. “The King is expecting you. I can take you to him, and your daughter, too. Please, join us inside.”

Bram felt hopeful. It was a risk to trust these men, but no riskier than the rest of his mission. If Angela and Henrich were both inside, it would solve two problems at once.

Matthias nodded hesitantly. Konrad beckoned the old scholar to the collapsed buildings and held open the door. On the other side, a set of stairs led to an underground passage.

“The Gnostic comes, too,” Matthias demanded.

Konrad nodded in agreement.

One of the Kitezhians gave Bram back his sword, but he was asked to keep it sheathed. Meanwhile, Konrad watched him closely. There were many unanswered questions, but Bram hoped the answers awaited below.