12 Miles Below

“General Zaang, we have confirmation that the sword saint has currently left the civil hub on errands.” The voice on the speaker squeaked. “She’s been spotted at the marketplace. Now’s your chance.”

Zaang sighed deeply. The kind of sigh that came with knowledge of the scrapstorm about to blow. The sword saint would be deeply unhappy once she found out what he was up to, but the girl wasn’t going to do anything worse than see him as a more slippery snake than she already did. In his opinion, she had been far too doting.

The old general stood, turning off the calming music and tossing his stack of papers to an aid with a few banal pleasantries about skipping work, while signaling for an escort team to assemble. The administration staff might crack a few jokes at his expense about his allergy to paperwork, but he’d take that blasted paperwork over what he had to do next.

He had been avoiding this. Dreading it even. And it had to get done inevitably. The politicians were terrified, for very understandable reasons, and had not so subtly tossed the whole thing down his road.

They had a massive unknown hanging out right in the center of their city. It could be a black sheep, a rabid monster hiding under wool, or anything in between. Nobody knew, and it had been standing still for the past week, like a sleeping bear.

And now he had to poke it with a stick to see what the fuss was about.

The escort was assembled and waiting for him outside. He made sure his armor looked good and had the pins and fabric correctly set up and meticulous for the mission. As in, he made them all look sloppy. Today he had to pass as a tired and careless general, just doing the daily rounds.

Ever since To’Wrathh had returned to the city, carried in looking more like a half-broken doll, Kidra and her band of rebels had relaxed the opposition. To’Wrathh was busy both repairing herself and plumbing through the machine archives in order to eliminate logs sent by her deceased mentor. She hadn’t been seen outside her sanctum since.

On the machine side, straight from her sickbed, lady To’Wrathh had waived the requirements to join the Chosen along with a general withdrawal of machine forces as a show of good faith to the rebels. The clankers still walked around and owned the city, that part hadn’t changed, only that enforcement had been left to the city guards again. They even recovered some of the armor lost in the campaign. That was the good news.

Bad news was that the machines were outright skittish. As if all waiting for the other boot to drop on their heads.

If there were any time to really escape the city, his instincts screamed out that it was now. His adjutant had drafted out all the logistics issues, deals, and supplies required, along with a neat timetable for when he and his forces could extract at the earliest.

One problem: The earliest was not now.

The damn consuls had all guessed he’d be trying to weasel away, given they’d done everything to foil his logistics officers from getting the right supplies together. They knew he wouldn’t leave without his troops.

Bloody infuriating, felt like the universe was conspiring against him, really.

A Feather that betrayed the machines was something unprecedented and would likely see a retaliation that could shake the continent. Far above anyone’s paygrade unless they had immortality or the skills with a blade gifted by the imperial goddess. Of which, he had exactly neither. Bad luck, that.

Deep in his thoughts, accompanied by the synced footsteps of the knights surrounding him as escorts, he now found himself before the doorframe of a workshop within the civic hub center. Where the new figure in this whole convoluted story had holed himself inside, a mirror to Lady To’Wrathh’s isolation.

“Identify yourself.” A surface knight said, standing guard before the doorway.

Zaang’s personal guards bristled, clearly upset. “This is General Zaang you speak to, savage. Mind the hand.” One said. The others also had their weapons ready to draw.

The surface knight wasn’t intimidated in the least. “Identification.” He said, as if he hadn’t heard the escorts.

“Now, now, gentlemen.” Zaang said, hands placating to both sides. “The surface guests are entitled to their own methods of security, and this knight came with the sword saint herself. I’m sure a bit of respect is earned, right?” His guards glared, but slowly let go of their weapon handles.

Happy to see the deescalation, Zaang reached into his coat pocket. “As it so happens, I have my ID right here.”

The general wasn’t about to be fooled by Undersider biases. He knew exactly how dangerous the so-called ‘surface savages’ were. This one could easily take on two to three times his number in an open field of combat. His guards would get cut down quite rapidly, even as elites.

The surface knight took the card and inspected it, giving it a closer look with his relic helmet. Then he passed it back. “You’re clear to pass through.” The other two guards each took a step back, leaving room for Zaang to pass.

The doorway opened and inside was a brightly lit workshop. It looked almost divided into two rooms by sheer occupation. One side was filled with machinery, scraps and chaos, while the other side was meticulously organized with colorful silks, sewing needles and penciled out headless portraits with different wardrobes, all filled with curving measurements.

The youth he’d been looking for was hunched over a long workbench in the center of the chaos zone, clearly at ease with the dozens of power tools surrounding him. Scruffy, impish look on his face, focused only on soldering some kind of trinket in front of him. Couldn’t be older than twenty five, from Zaang’s guesses, but the physical tells were making the subject look older. The dark bags under the eyes, dehydration and lack of sleep. Likely all of them put together. Especially damning were all the empty cups of coffee strewn around the shop.

The boy looked outright haunted, twitchy and nervous, all shoved together and squashed into compliance. Like a spring that had been slowly compressed inch by inch over months.

This was the surface dweller who To’Wrathh had taken over an entire city just on the off chance he’d come seeking shelter here.

Zaang coughed politely on his fist, “I take it that you must be the sword saint’s little brother?”

Keith did not look up from his work. “I take it that you must be that general, the big shot in charge here? You’ve got all the pins for it.”

Zaang looked down at his grid of awards and medals on his shirt. Most looked neglected. “Only when I’m caught and forced to do my job.” He said.

“Ahh, a fellow cultured man.” Keith said, smiling. “I hope Locke wasn’t too uptight with you. He’s a little cranky to be serving me right now. Big family feud between his House and mine.”

“The guard was most polite and professional.” Zaang said, politely.

“Figures, he’s minion material through and through.” Keith said, a little too loud. The surface knight on the other side of the door made no move, though Zaang could feel hostility radiating out. “Too bad for the both of us that Ankah’s ordered him to be my guard dog for now. Eh, buddy?” He called out.

The guard outside remained frozen, undisturbed.

Already a difference from the sister who was far more blunt and direct, Zaang thought.

“Talking of which,” the general hastily said before any kind of altercation could happen. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you here and there from others and your sister.” A lie, Kidra had remained tight-lipped about Keith and her escorts had followed her example. There was nobody else that knew who the boy was, only rumors to work with. Hence the complete anomaly that he was.

“All kinds of nice and innocent stories about me?” The boy said, still focused on his work.

“Something of the sort. As a high ranking officer of the city, I’m of course open to bribes on keeping said stories to myself. Bottles of the… tasteful stuff are preferred currency with me.” He turned to his escorts, “Any of you lot heard anything?”

His second in command shook his head. “Didn’t hear a thing General. Was busy daydreaming. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go back to doing that. Let me know if you’re getting stabbed, sir.”

The rest of the escorts politely did the same, playing along.

“I can respect a man that knows how to pick his bodyguards.” Keith said, putting down the iron and lifting the tiny plate to observe the work. Then he drew it closer to the side of his head as if trying to hear something from it. “How tasteful are we talking about here?”

“Used to be picky about that. Not so picky anymore.” Zaang said. “You can probably take a wild guess why.”

“Paperwork?” Keith asked. “Family? Or that minor scuffle with our chrome neighbors?”

“The ‘minor’ scuffle. Which is why I’m here.” Zaang said, drawing one of the unoccupied chairs and sitting down on it. It was a reinforced chair, meaning it was safe for soldiers in armor to sit down on without breaking it. Not usually seen in workshops, but Keith never took off his armor as far as his intel reported. “Looking for some more answers while I’m doing my rounds around here. Sometimes talking to folks face to face gives me more insight than through reports. Also cuts down on how much I have to read.”

Keith hummed, turning back to his work. “Color me surprised. I was almost certain you’d come here to try and kidnap either me or my stuff, given you showed up exactly when my sister isn’t watching over me and with four knights in tow. Odd coincidence that.”

The little bugger was smarter than he gave him credit for, albeit a little paranoid. His attempts to look casual had clearly been seen through, only going way above the belt.

Zaang looked behind him at the four escorts he came with. “I don’t have a death wish, kid. Besides, the other bodyguards that came with your sister all can move as fast as she can, which includes your door guard. Obvious guess to me is that you can too. Four knights and I don’t stand much of a chance against the two of you. Plus, if I won by some miracle, I’d need to deal with logistics and finding a good place to hide you and all that.” He waved his hands with the words. “Pain in my ass that would be. No, kidnapping isn’t on the table. I’m just here to ask questions and get some confirmation on a checklist of items.”

The boy was in armor, minus his helmet that lay on the side of a bench. Zaang considered that odd, the helmet’s internal vision and HUD would likely give Kieth a lot more instructions and tips on what he worked with. “So what kind of questions are we talking about here?” He asked, grabbing a sturdy length of steel and inspecting it. “Mind you, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Mostly I want to know what monsters are currently in my city eating at the table. Your sister has told us next to nothing about you, other than to expect another delegation of surface knights arriving here any day now, walking with Clan Lord Atius of all people. From what I know, you were separated from them at some point. Inquiring minds wants to know what to expect next.”

“You can expect a lot of surface knights who’ll be very surprised to see me walking around.” Keith said, snickering as if he’d told himself an inside joke. “I’m more surprised they haven’t yet made it here by now. They probably got sidetracked. Been a week now.”

If Keith had left with that delegation in the first place, what was taking them so long to arrive? Or had Keith found a faster way here once he was separated?

He knew about the rumored teleportation network a few strata under, but that was far past the civilization green zone. It would have taken more effort to get down there than to just walk the normal way. Not to mention that zone was deep enough only Deathless and grand expeditions ventured there. Rumor was remnants of imperial cities were down there, showing that humanity had once made it that far down.

Of course Zaang was a skeptic. The Imperial Empire was a myth, as much as the Imperial church kept doubling down on it existing. They’d never found any kind of tangible proof so far.

“How many more exactly did you come with?” Five surface knights running around his city had been enough to bury him under work and stress. The little brother had been outright tame in comparison, hardly leaving the workshop, obsessively building things and otherwise being a model citizen. But a clan lord showing up with a small army did not sound as well-behaved. Especially with the current machine occupation and said clan lord being the famous Lord Atius, Deathless and well known friend in the city’s history. Mostly history involving him hunting down and ripping machines apart.

Deathless and machines did not traditionally see eye to eye. This was going to be a disaster the moment the two forces met.

“A few dozen, maybe two.” Keith said, while Zaang felt his stomach fall at the number. “I know I brought my own escorts down here, but a second group was shadowing us to ambush To’Aacar when he’d come sniffing me out. It worked and didn’t work. Long story filled with cliffs.”

A group of knights dispatched to ambush a Feather, and they had at least prepared for possible victory. Zaang already knew these surface knights must have the same technique that the sword saint had. Which meant, in possibly a few days, he’d have a dozen or more mini-sword saints running around and one very angry Deathless leading them.

A headache started on his left side, and he tried to distract himself by peering further into the workshop. Keith was making some kind of small arm guard shield with plates on the arm hold side. The latest of which he attached, bolted into the structure. The other side of the shield looked to be filled with long curved lines of steel running the length.

That looked ominous.

The rest of the walls were filled with mockup blades, with strange shapes. A lot of long hook-like swords, or strange shapes with cuts inside. Some stopped looking like swords entirely, more like crowbars or tools. It all matched up with his current information, nothing new.

“Why was a Feather like To’Aacar hunting after you?” Zaang asked, sticking to the script. Questions that Kidra had specifically avoided when he’d tried to get to the bottom of it with her.

“Trade secret.” Keith said, putting a hole in Zaang’s hopes of getting some answers. Surface dwellers, it seemed, were all ridiculously tight lipped about everything.

“Suppose it was worth a try. How about the Lady To’Wrathh, I’d like to confirm more about her story. Your return was a little dramatic, as was the report your group gave.”

The sister had been dragging To’Aacar’s limp body by the remaining hand, doing so in the most irreverent way possible. Windrunner had a small bag where the rest of the Feather’s other hand lay in dark metal slivers that no longer hovered or threatened to puncture into anyone’s heart. The surface knights were keeping a close watch on that trophy to make sure it didn’t disappear into the dark sides of the city, though Zaang knew the underbelly of the city was equally keeping a distance from the dead Feather’s corpse.

It was one thing to pick a fight with the city government. It was another to piss off the Sword Saint.

To’Wrathh, on the other hand, had been carried in arms since her legs and feet were outright ripped to parts, along with one of her hand, and general shell. Her usual pale white skin and glowing violet eyes had been absent, replaced by a more tan artificial skin and a striking relic armor. At least, what parts of that armor were still intact. She’d gone through about the same amount of damage as her elder brother had in their little dispute.

The city was always prone to gossip, but seeing the sword saint walking back in dragging a dead Feather behind her, while friendly with her past nemesis, was something he’d probably never hear the end of.

“Wrath is telling the truth.” Keith said simply, moving back to the bench to continue his work on another small plate. “She’s no longer working with the machine goddess, and now just cares about the people she knows. Namely, the machines under her command and the people of the city. The machine collective just hasn’t yet noticed it. To’Aacar was onto her, but we killed him during a comms blackout, and I don’t think any of her army are ratting her out. Machines don’t work like humans do, from what I can tell. I’m more worried about the people of the city ratting out the change in loyalty to the machines than machines doing that. Funny how that works.”

“How long do you think until the machine collective finds out? Assuming we keep the city in order.” Zaang asked. There’s no way a ruse of that scale could remain in any kind of stable system. As ironic as it was to consider, humans and machines had contact points where communication could happen now, namely the Chosen. And there certainly were humans out there who would gladly betray everyone and everything for the right price. Which meant it wasn’t a matter of if the city would be found out, but rather when.

The boy shrugged. “Don’t know when the enemy will figure it out. That’s why I’m rushing my projects along while I’ve still got the time to work on them. Not going to be caught knee deep in the snow with my evosuit off again if I can help it.”

Zaang didn’t know that colloquialism, but he could take a guess. Probably the Undersider equivalent of being caught with the gear still in the shop. “What exactly is your project?” He asked, looking over the paper diagrams by his side of the workshop. Flowing writing, precise measurements, and all of it about clothing or ornaments. Meanwhile, Keith looked to be working in the center of destruction incarnate, without a single schematic or diagram near him. Zaang concluded these drawings must be a separate project by a separate owner.

“Trade secret.” Keith said, again.

Zaang took the hint and went with a different question. “Normally surface traders tend to go gawking around the city markets and general parks when they first show up. Surface knights aren’t typically even allowed in most cities to step foot inside, too dangerous. So, with a chance that normal surface dwellers don’t get, you’re holed up here instead. An odd workaholic, Winterscar. Is it a family thing?”

“Trade secret.” He said again, tight lipped. “Mind you, I wouldn’t be opposed to going outside and seeing the sights. And I will. Once I’m done with all this. Three gods strike me down if I’m going to do anything without having at least a basic working defense I can use when my armor’s dead.” He stopped and turned to the discarded helmet, pointing an accusing finger at it. “Not a word from you. We’re in polite company right now.” He nearly hissed, as if already expecting the armor to complain about something.

Zaang didn’t know what the kid was on about, armor didn’t talk unless it was to report something or directly ordered to speak. That said, it was strange enough to tilt the last bit of his doubts.

He knew this boy wasn’t simply a regular surface knight. Building all kinds of strange trinkets almost obsessively, related to the sword saint by blood, hunted down by two Feathers and had the oddity of talking to an armor as if it were a person. Not to mention the armor itself had some kind of cracked glass design etched on the surface that he’d never seen done before. From a distance, it looked like the whole thing was breaking apart, until a closer look revealed it to be intentional.

The front side of the small shield Keith was working on also had the same fractured cracks, around the center, cut right through some of the winding steel lines too, making the lines look like old highways of the golden era, elevated above the land.

And speaking to his armor like that, Zaang felt he was standing near a mite speaker. Or someone close to the edge of madness. Keith had that air of a cat growling, hair standing up, as if expecting a fight to continue at any moment.

Intuition started to make the general’s hair prickle. Zaang turned the comms frequency to isolate only his escorts and himself while he pretended to look over one of the drawings, showcasing some kind of hair ornament. “Did Kidra have him checked into a clinic for decompression when they returned?” He asked.

The escort considered it for a moment, likely looking through his logs while he continued his acting about being disinterested in everything happening here. “Sir, he was handed off to medics after Lady To’Wrathh was dropped into her sanctum.”

Where the Feather remained ever since, slowly rebuilding herself and refusing to leave the city to one of the mite forges that could get the job done faster.

But back to the boy. If he’d been dropped off at the medics and given the standard long-term stress inhibitor rounds along with the rest of the package, why was he still behaving as if he were in a war zone?

“Contact the medical staff, bring up his file.” He spoke to his escorts and switched back to open comms to continue talking. He tried to get some more information, but Keith remained tight-lipped about everything, or deflected the question to Kidra instead. Which was a losing prospect, of course.

The sword saint had only left Keith’s side for two reasons: to buy more silk and other tailoring tools at the markets or to visit To’Wrathh.

As for Kidra and To’Wrathh…. He had no idea what the two former enemies were doing, but Kidra did make a point to bring some new packaged lunch with her each time she visited. Enough for exactly two, so he suspected she was being at least cordial with the current ruler of the city. That and Yrob, the gate guardian camping at the doorway, allowed her to pass without fuss.

He continued to talk to the Winterscar youth, keeping the questions mundane and boring, or otherwise tossing out a few jokes to ease the tension in the air. Keith seemed to respond well to that.

About five minutes later, his helmet pinged a report from the field medic that had treated the boy. He’d allowed all the standard shots but turned down the stress inhibitors, claiming he needed to be fully lucid and felt fine otherwise. The medic hadn’t considered pushing the subject.

Zaang had a growing suspicion in his gut about all this. He needed to verify. “You got seen by a medic before coming into the city, right? On my checklist is to make sure procedures were followed for biohazard possibilities. Can’t have a plague rat running around here.”

Keith nodded without a pause. “Sure did. Friendly bloke. Vaccinations now up to date, and other shots to make sure my system works with the locals. Same boring thing Kidra and company went through.”

Zaang shrugged, leaning back while idly browsing around the room. “For the record, the standard package from returning soldiers should include immune system boosters along with traumatic stress inhibitors, general blood work along with a full body examination. And some chocolate, I think. Had a crackdown on them recently, they’d been caught cutting corners earlier.”

“Snitches get stitches.” Keith said, almost as if on autopilot. “I ain’t gonna rat out my medic. But no, to be serious, he did his job to the letter, if that’s what you wanted to know. I got every shot offered, and they explained each one to me along with potential side effects. Chocolate was great too, compliments to your cooks. Divine.”

That confirmed it. The boy was lying to them all about the stress inhibitors. He’d likely done the same to the sword saint, and Kidra hadn’t the rank or access to get patient info.

That was a problem. He now had a possibly traumatized surface knight obsessively making things in his city. A surface knight that had managed to get the attention of Feathers. And came back with one dead.

And here Zaang was, having to prod this with a stick for more answers.

The general took one more look around the workshop, mouth dry. At least he’d confirmed the Winterscars believed that To’Wrathh defected, and no longer saw humans as enemies. Which meant all the machines in this city did too, given how they all followed behind her like a surface clan would. Small steps.

As for who or what Keith was, that’ll be an enigma that clearly the surface dwellers wanted to hold close to their hearts.

“These diagrams, they’re for dresses?” Zaang asked, eyes roving over some patterns. They really couldn’t be anything other than dresses and fashion of some sort. “One of the surface knights keeping busy while watching over you, I suppose? What’s her name, Anya? Anra? The one that’s a little prissy about appearances and decorum.”

“Ankah. And no, other than to glare at me a few times in passing as any good Shadowsong should, this is all Kidra’s work. Dyes, paints and colors are hard to get up top. Space is limited so only efficient crops are grown, which only have a small range of basic colors we can get. Browns, greens, yellows mostly. Red is a possible, but the most expensive. Purple and blue have to be bought or printed in a chemical printer with the right specs. Our clan doesn’t have one of those.” Keith said nonchalantly. “Colorful clothing and makeup is a display of power. And Kidra’s surrounded by market stalls selling any color she wants for cheap here. Basically paradise for her, ignoring the machines walking around.”

“Didn’t expect that from the sword saint of all people.” Zaang said idly, observing one work in progress. “She seemed a lot more interested in swords, leading rebellions and generally being a pain in my ass. Some of these designs are quite nice.”

Even before To’Wrathh had won the city, the sword saint was already building up political power from the moment she stepped into the city.

Keith shrugged at his seat, paying more attention to bending a piece of metal into the right shape he needed. He’d alternate between blow torching it to make it pliable, and forcing it into the shapes he wanted by any means he had, mostly using his hands to do it. Relic armors used by craftworkers weren’t rare among the cities down here, the different shops usually had a rotation set to share a few armors purchased from the military.

“You should see her room.” Keith said. “Filled with folklore ghost stories on a shelf, a few of her favorite diagrams hung up on her walls, and more stuffed animals than anyone should ever own. Her favorite’s a fox with nine tails. I know because she’d come chase me down if I took it, while she’d let me run off with the others.”

Zaang considered he had no idea where the sword saint called home these days, if she even had a single location where she’d sleep. Even before the occupation, Kidra had always appeared to him as a more regal soldier than anything else, focused on completing her goals and nothing else. She likely was very skilled at separating her personal life from her professional face. Zaang assumed this was just siblings annoying each other with ultimately harmless info trolled out.

“Think of it this way, no minions to boss around, the rebellion on pause, Wrath is behaving and so are the machines.” Keith said. “She’d already looked into repairing the pillar, and even with my help, we couldn’t figure it out, so no more work to be done on that front either. Other than waiting for the Clan Lord to arrive and making sure I don’t get into trouble, she’s got nothing else to do besides spars and meditation. So she’s taking the opportunity to spruce up her wardrobe. I do my stuff, she does hers, it’s good family fun. I’m very sure our Father is rolling in his grave knowing Kidra’s plans for the family armor now that she’s inherited it. Great time all around.”

Zaang nodded absentmindedly. He’d been listening in until Keith had finally let slip something important without noticing.

She’d already looked into repairing the pillar, and even with my help, we couldn’t figure it out.

There’d been a rumor floating around from the darkside of the city, claiming that Keith was a prophet of the goddess. To’Wrathh confirmed directly that she’d taken over the city on the off chance she could catch Kidra and Keith. But that Feather had never filled him in on exactly who Keith was, so interpretation was still on the table.

Hunting down prophets could explain it. That had been what he’d considered the answer.

Zaang considered himself a practical man. And practicality pointed to one thing: Keith was dangerous to the machines in the same way that Kidra had proved herself to be. And he’d implied he could have possibly repaired the pillar heart. Not even a warlock grandmaster could do something of that magnitude. Keith spoke about it with a casual panache, as if it was just unlucky he hadn’t yet figured it out.

Not to mention To’Aacar had shown up maimed and broken to the city, clearly angered by something and wanting nothing more than to get To’Wrathh to mobilize her forces in hunting down Keith, as if he’d been personally slighted. That ornery bastard had left a moment later, likely to do the job himself, and returned as a dead body dragged on the ground.

In his list of most terrifying people of interest running around in his city, Keith took the top spot, right below To’Wrathh.

And said danger was traumatized, refused medical help and possibly building some kind of occult bomb in his city for all he knew. Excellent. The day couldn’t possibly get any better.

A turncoat Feather, a sword saint, a grand warlock, and a Deathless Clan Lord were all soon to be in the same city, probably at the same bar.

He didn’t know what the punchline to that joke would be, but he didn’t want to be within a few hundred miles of it if he could.

He wrapped up the rest of the interview and left while he was still in the clear, before the sword saint returned and caught him red-handed. Walking down the stairs, Zaang once again considered what he was doing here on ground zero, when every sign pointed to an explosion about to happen.

If the machine goddess showed up to wipe this fledgling group of celebrities, at least the paperwork would burn with everything, too. Gold linings, Zaang thought, trying hard not to rip his hair out. There were always gold linings.

He’d almost calmed down when his group entered the main alley outside the civic hub. Crowds had pooled to the entrances, along with calls and shouts going outside, people flocking to the city gates. Zaang took a wild guess that the last missing member had just been spotted on the approach. A call from his lieutenant not even a moment later confirmed it.

The surface knights had been spotted on arrival. He had less than an hour to get dressed and ready before they made it to his gates.

His headache turned into a migraine.

Next chapter - Old friend

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