The Kinnon Gate ( a short story) Read online

The Kinnon Gate

  (short)

  by

  Neil Shooter

  Copyright 2013

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. This ebook may be reproduced, copied, and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the ebook remains in its complete original form. Thank you for your support.

  Part of the Battle of Ebulon collaborative project (coming soon)

  The Causality Sequence:

  1. Causality

  2. Probability

  3. Gravity (coming soon)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 1.

  As he stepped through the shimmering vortex, the elation, the purpose, the emotion that had called him suddenly faded away, leaving him confused, and disoriented. And cold.

  "Ebulon! Ebulon!" the voice inside his head had seemed to say, but what was Ebulon? Was it this place? This wintry city?

  The crowded square was bustling with angry men and women, and he recognized nationalities from all over the Kinnon, and some from beyond. Snow swirled intermittently around them all.

  It didn't make any sense. A few minutes ago, he had seemed so sure about everything. There had been a fire burning inside him, his heart throbbing with desire to save, to protect, and he had gone out into the night, until he found the thing that was pulling him, the vortex, shining and dancing with magical light in the dark alley. It was as though he had been drunk on the finest Aristian white one moment, and then suffering the blasted hangover from it the next. Someone stumbled into him, and his arms went up reflexively.

  It was a young woman with clear blue eyes, and she held her hands up in a poor attempt at defence.

  "Apologies," he mumbled, and took a step back. She didn't respond, as though she didn't understand his words, but she staggered away from him, afraid of what he might do to her.

  The vortex swirled in the air just a few feet from him, and as he looked, a middle aged woman appeared, in little more than a bathing robe. The disoriented woman launched herself towards him, and he barely had time to react to the attack. He grabbed her wrists, and managed to hold her back, despite his wiry frame, and her enthusiasm. She was furious.

  "What wouldst thou from me?" she demanded. "Sorrow mightest thou know for this!"

  He understood her, but it took him a moment to realize that she had spoken to him in Maynari, the lay dialect of the capital city of the Kinnon. In the same language, he replied, "Not I, lady-fair. Look about: come are we are all, alike, and 'gainst path. Becalm thyself, and together shine light we shall."

  She freed herself from his loosening grip, and looked about, taking in the scene. "Name thyself." She seemed a woman accustomed to making commands, despite her state of relative undress.

  "Kalummenon, lady-fair. And thine...?"

  She was startled by the impertinence of his tone, but answered, "Mayadawanna. Off let us, then, and find light promised."

  Together they took a few steps into the crowd, and it became clear that many languages were being spoken, from all over the Kinnon. Kalummenon knew several of them, but by no means all. He searched out words he knew, but all the while, Mayadawanna was calling out, in her own Maynari, and courtly Abrilian, attempted greetings.

  An armoured man rushed towards her, and they spoke hurriedly, on the edge of Kalummenon's awareness. He sensed no ill intent from the man, and listened instead to the cacophony of strange words.

  Mayadawanna called to him, "Found am I. Fare thee well to kindred thine!" She smiled briefly, acknowledging his assistance, and set off through the crowd with her new friend.

  A roar from the vortex drew his attention. A bear of a man stood, framed by the magical light, raging uselessly. Few in the crowd paid him any attention, until he drew his long sword, and called down a splendid curse on those who had afflicted him thus. The man looked around, desperately trying to decide who was deserving of his wrath.

  One man pushed through the crowd towards the bear, and Kalummenon turned to watch the exchange.

  The bear-man seemed surprised that someone had dared approach, but it was obvious that the richly dressed man was not coming to fight him. The nobleman spread out empty hands, and said in the courtly language, "Friend, we have not done this to you, but are fellow victims. Please, Friend, put back your sword, and join us in council. Help us discern the true cause of this."

  The bear-like man returned his sword to its scabbard, and began speaking quietly to the nobleman. This noble looking gentleman seemed to be a Lord or general, and in times of uncertainty people flocked to perceived power. Kalummenon decided that for now he should be a bird of that flock, and pushed through the crowd towards them.

  The crowd had seemed completely disorganized at first, but now he noticed that small groups of a certain nationality or region seemed to have already gathered. Several other people were pushing through the crowd as Kalummenon was, seemingly drawn to the apparent centre of power, or else to the courtly words.

  The noble began to speak to the tightening knot of men and women around him, just as Kalummenon reached them. "Friends, I am Vardan of Tarakal." Kalummenon knew that Tarakal was a close ally of the politically dominant Abrilians, and he thought this Vardan seemed to have a charming way about him.

  Vardan continued, "I do not know who has brought us here, but it seems that each of us has followed the call of our heart, heard a whispered name, and each of us has been brought here from our own lands to this place. We are all men and women of the Kinnon, and though we may be far from home, I believe that keeping to the principles we hold dear will only help us through this ordeal. So please, try to calm your fellows, try to find shared languages for those who are not able to understand the courtly tongue, and help calm those newly arrived like Chirath here," gesturing to the newly arrived bear of a man. "Meanwhile, I would suggest that we send out scouts to determine the nature of the city we find ourselves in, this Ebulon."

  Murmurs of assent passed through the crowd. It all sounded so reasonable.

  Vardan spoke up again, "I see that many of you represent different nations, so please return to your groups, spread my words, and send some of your kind to be close to the portal. Meanwhile, if any would like to help explore and help us get our bearings, then please - "

  Kalummenon interrupted. "I would."

  Vardan looked down his nose at Kalummenon's simple and drab clothing, but seemed perplexed by his impeccable Abrilian accent. "And you are?"

  "I am Kalummenon, of Peledar."

  Someone snorted nearby, and Kalummenon turned to look at him. The young blonde haired man waved his hands, as if in apology. "Forgive me," he said, "it's just that your name doesn't sound at all Peledarri

  "It isn't. My father was a sailor, and he named me as such."

  "A pirate! Of course, that makes-"

  "I am not a pirate, and I don't -"

  "In fact, your name sounds like -"

  "I know what it sounds like in the old language, and I am not a dog, but," turning his attention back to Vardan, "I do have a good nose for sniffing things out, and I am used to keeping a low profile..."

  "Excellent," said Vardan. "And you, lad?" Vardan turned a piercing gaze towards the young man.

  Blushing quickly and fully, the young man spoke up proudly, "I am Pereg of Peledar, and a cadet in the King's Academy."

  "And are you volunteering as well, lad?" asked Vardan. When Pereg hesitated, Vardan went on, "It will give you a chance to make peace with your fellow countryman here."

  Pereg nodded. "I
would be happy to volunteer."

  "Good man. Anyone else?" There were a few. Wegri of Kire styled himself a poet, but looked more like a thief, with tight lips and furtive eyes that seemed to note the whereabouts of anything valuable. Rysil of Eilinnar was an older man, slim, white haired, but bright eyed and enthusiastic. Khendam of Brenave was strong and serious, and seemed to carry a heavy burden of pain or regret despite his relative youth. Tulacha of Chel could not be called beautiful, but her smile took you by surprise, transforming her earnest features with a sultriness and playfulness that would be irresistible to the right person, and managed to be appealing to the rest.

  The knot of men and women dispersed, and Vardan was left with the six scouts, and Chirath. He split them into pairs, with the intention that if one of the pair fell into trouble, the other could bring back warning to the rest of them gathered in the square.

  "Behind me," Vardan said, "the square stretches into a wide street, and you can see a gate at the end of it. Chirath and I will scout the gate and try to climb the wall for a wider view of the city. Wegri and Tulacha, please scout the area to the right of us, and Khendam and Rysil, the left side. The Peledarri pair will scout into what we assume to be the heart of the city, away from the gate. Do not engage those you meet. Be gone no more than a few hours. Stay out of trouble, and report back. If you do manage to find trouble, bring warning."

  Chapter 2.

  Snow drifted out of alleyways between the stone buildings. There were fading tracks here and there in the snow, softened by the working of the wind, but there had been no substantial snowfall since they arrived some hours ago.

  "It's so desolate," Tulacha said. She disapproved of emptiness, or loneliness. She thrived in the company of others, and seeing a place so devoid of life or warmth was unnerving. "Where did all the people go?"

  Wegri snorted. He gazed up and down the massive stone buildings as they walked. "Thousands of people could live here. I wonder what they left behind..."

  Tulacha thought for a moment, taking his question seriously. "There's no sign of death or destruction, just decay. They might have been able to take everything with them, if it was an orderly evacuation."

  Wegri sighed. "I'm going to find out."

  "What?"

  "Let me know if you see anyone coming," he added, and disappeared into the shadows of the building.

  A gust of wind howled around Tulacha's head, and she shivered in the creeping cold, feeling the lack of warmth all the more for standing still. She jumped up and down, and wiggled her toes in her boots, doing her best to keep warm. She scanned the street, first one direction, then the other, but she saw no one. The stonework was simple, and unadorned. The lower levels were made up of larger blocks, especially at the corners and over doorways and windows. Smaller blocks formed the main parts of the walls. The buildings were packed tightly together, and some reached 3 or 4 storeys high. All were capped by sloping tiled roofs, parts of which were piled with blown snow, and other parts blown clear.

  There was no sign of life. No birds. No creatures. It was the dead of winter here.

  She heard a bang in the distance, and looked nervously from side to side. There was no one. But now she looked from window to window, suddenly certain that one of them would reveal a face.

  "They left everything," Wegri said from right behind her.

  "Argh!" Tulacha couldn't help herself. "You startled me..."

  "Apparently. There's no sign of looting, no breakage, no bodies. It was an orderly departure, but a speedy one. They weren't allowed to take very much with them."

  "Did you find anything interesting?" she asked.

  "No, not really," replied Wegri, innocently. "Let's get moving, you must be freezing standing here."

  She nodded, distracted from her momentary suspicion.

  Chapter 3.

  "No sign of damage here." Khendam looked about the great storefront. "And no bodies."

  "It doesn't make any sense," Rysil said. "Why would everyone just leave, and then not come back for their things?"

  "I don't know." Khendam led them out of the immense building, and back into the windswept street. "I don't like it at all. There's no sign of anyone, or anything living."

  "Beautiful architecture," said Rysil. "Simple and well-proportioned. They must have been a very sensible people. Dependable."

  "You can tell that from stonework?" Khendam was not convinced.

  "You can tell a lot of things, from a lot of things. Their window panes are often large, which speaks of a certain skill or technology level. There are sconces in the walls, as if for candles, but they have glass balls fixed into them. They must have used magic to light their way. Just imagine magical light filling all these buildings! We haven't seen fireplaces, so perhaps they heated themselves by magic as well."

  "Why do you think they have all this magic?"

  "Magic brought us here, didn't it?"

  "Yes," Khendam admitted, "but we don't know if the same people who lived here brought us here." He sighed. "I don't like winter."

  "Oh, I do," said Rysil. The freshness, the stark beauty. The purity of it."

  "You must never have wanted for anything then. My family is not poor, but the winter is a tough time for every family in Brenave. Taxes bite like the frigid winter wind." Khendam wondered what his family were thinking. Had they noticed he was missing yet? Were they worried? How would they manage if he never returned? He shuddered to think.

  "When you reach my age, when you've been what I've been through, you're either weighed down by all that has happened to you, or you have learned to face life as it comes."

  "You're enjoying yourself trudging through the snow in a deserted city? You're happy to have been abducted from your home? And you don't care about whether or not you'll ever return to it?"

  "Now, now. We came willingly, didn't we?"

  "It was a lie! A charm! An illusion that evaporated the moment we arrived!"

  "All magic relies on belief to some degree. If we'd wanted to, we could've fought off the charm, whatever it was. No magic can compel you to do something you truly abhor."

  "I didn't ask to come here and abandon all those I love."

  "You were a willing accessory to the magic. Didn't it make you feel like you were going to serve some grand purpose, make a difference, be a hero?"

  Khendam blushed, and lost some of his bluster. "I suppose it was something like that. But we aren't serving any great purpose. We're just trudging through the snow in a deserted city because some rich foreigner asked us to."

  Chapter 4.

  The gate reared up before them, hewn from gigantic planks of strange wood. Beside it, on either side, dark doorways suggested ways to reach the top of the wall.

  They were closest to the left hand door, and as Vardan began to lead them towards it, Chirath tugged at his shoulder.

  "Please, let us choose the other gatehouse," Chirath muttered urgently.

  Vardan stopped, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"

  Chirath looked embarrassed to have to explain himself. "Among my people, the left hand side is a bad omen. Let us choose the right side, Friend Vardan."

  Vardan smiled. "If we were beyond the gate, wouldn't the left one be the right, and the right be the left?"

  Chirath nodded, uncertainly.

  "So surely, if right can so easily become left, similarly a bad omen can become good?" Chirath nodded. Vardan continued, "So if bad omens are so fleeting, let us chase it away with our ascent." Vardan strode confidently towards the nearest doorway, on the left side of the gateway, and Chirath trudged sullenly after him.

  The gatehouse was dark on the lower levels, and the immense chain mechanism stretched through floors and ceilings as they climbed. Everywhere the snow had drifted, and nowhere did they see any bodies, or any clue as to why the city was deserted.

  The higher levels had small windows, but these were as narrow as slits on the outer face of the wall and wide hollows in the inner face. The
y would have allowed defenders to launch a ranged attack while staying mostly hidden.

  "These windows face only into the city," Chirath said. "Why would they defend against their own people?"

  "Perhaps it is rather that they are prepared for the taking of the gate?"

  "Aye, and such windows in the outer wall would be a weakness against bombardment."

  They continued upwards, the stone staircase folding back on itself with each successive level. The snow began to drift more heavily as they climbed, and a light came from above showing them their climb was almost concluded.

  The sky gaped as they climbed the final set of stairs, and they had to fight their way through the drifting snow and take care not to lose their footing.

  They came out into the open, and the cold wind blasted them. The city was spread out before them, immense, stretching into the distance, the far edge hidden by fog, or by falling snow. The great stone walls reached out in either direction, holding the city in their embrace. The central part of the city rose up with taller, grander buildings, but much closer than the distant core was a small square bustling with little figures and a shimmering light-filled maelstrom, the thing which had delivered them here.

  Vardan thought of the warm fires of home, and the warm women, bundled in furs, that were his to call upon as he pleased. His stomach grumbled. He was more interested in food than women right now.

  Chirath called out to him, and he turned. Another storey of stonework covered the gate, and would offer an even greater vantage point than the level of the walls where they now stood. But Chirath was at the outer face of the wall, where the castellation offered periodic protection from the bitter gusts of wind.

  It was what lay beyond Chirath that took Vardan's breath away.

  "By all the gods of Manar and Alfar..." Vardan murmured as he approached Chirath, as if in a trance.

  "The Alfar have no gods," Chirath pointed out.

  "Yet they will offer the same protection as those of men."

  A great range of snow-capped mountains encircled the horizon, enclosing a nest of hills and a rough plain. The sight was majestic, and would have been more beautiful in fairer weather. But it wasn't the natural beauty of the scene that awed him. It was the shuffling horde of dark shapes that covered the ground like a world-filling nest of ants, a teeming mass of living beings, as numerous as the leaves in a summer forest.