The X Thief

Prologue

The only sounds in the dead city were his feet slapping on the stone. An eerie silence called from the dark, and somewhere high above loomed the stone. So much stone.

He had once thought that the stone was infinite and stable, stretching out in all directions. He now knew better.

The city had been destroyed by a cave in. Great boulders and chasms sliced through the ancient districts. Thick grey dust had billowed everywhere. His own City was older than record and myth. How ancient must this forgotten metropolis be?

He passed more metal rivets on the outsides of buildings. Some sort of electrical lights perhaps? He had learned so much. Yet the priests in his City hoarded electricity like misers. How much more might have been possible, if he was actually returning home to spread the truth?

Another sound carried through the dark. His pursuers had spotted his flame.

Their spiked metal armour would slow them down, unless one of their commanders had the sense to order disrobing. It wasn't as if he was escaping hastily, not with his broken leg.

He limped on and held the burning torch high, guided by his one good eye. He was tempted to prick it, and attempt a scrying. But there was always the risk that it wouldn't heal, not this time. He was already one eye down.

A chill warned him. He lowered his torch, and could not see the bottom. The chasm which he had told the prisoner of. Perhaps as deep as the cavern was tall. Millions must have died, yet even legends had forgotten such events.

The gods knew. They did not tell their priests however.

The Scryer licked his lips. The answer was obvious. The inhabitants had found the ones who slept beneath. Divine jealousy had been unleashed. Fear of a power which he might one day play parasite to.

Even now, he felt a smile of mad glee.

"I see a flame!"

The air changed. Ominous and shrill. Spears and shields scraping over stone. The sick foreigners were closing.

"Psychopaths," he spat, stumbling right and into a broken stone building. The walls would cover him, but they had his direction.

The chasm had claimed half of the house, and he stuck to the other side.

He just hoped that the escaped prisoner had relayed his message. The foreigners didn't care if another disappeared. Presumed lost in the dark.

He stumbled into a stone courtyard, nestled between broken walls.

 A small balloon ship waited as instructed. Sleek and rickety, lit dangerously by several torches.

"Captain!" he hissed.

The brute looked up. Torchlight pooled in scars like cracked stone. Beside them, the chasm howled mournfully.

"What cursed city have you brought me to old man? How does this place even exist?"

"Damn your questions, we don't have time. Foreigners are coming. An army."

"Foreigners are a fairy tale!"

"Would my leg look this because of a fairy tale?"

The scarred man looked down, then sneered.

"I thought flying through the mines was madness enough. Where is my money?"

"Look! A gold bar. Ancient."

The captain's eyes widened.

"Yes, more than you could have asked for. But you must promise!"

"I never fail."

"The nobles control the mines. They might shoot at you. If they saw you on the way in."

"I never fail. I'll be rising faster than they can aim."

The Scryer paused. Perhaps the captain was in league with them. Or the academics who had derided him. Or a guild. It wouldn't matter. He just needed to get his cargo to the city. It would do the rest.

"Here."

He shoved the gold bar forward, along with a bundle of pages, and a strange cube.

"Is there... More of this gold here?"

The Scryer found himself shaking. This man could ruin everything if he didn't leave soon. Why couldn't anybody do as they were told!

"The foreigners are picking over this half of the city. Don't come back."

The fool wasted time by weighing the gold. He began glancing at the darkness, as if more treasure might lay just beyond. He didn't even know what treasure he now carried.

"Idiot!" the Scryer hissed, "They come. The foreigners, with their creed against magic."

The brute waved him off, then finally thought to look down at the cargo.

"This?"

He paused as he noticed a gem on the side of the cube, pulsing like a heartbeat.

The Scryer panicked. Could he break the box? It was as old as magic.

"Go!" the Scryer insisted, his eye-wrap beginning to itch with desperation. He would be tortured again for this. It didn't matter, so long as the cargo was underway.

"Hurry! I'll give you the push."

The Scryer rushed around the ship, cursing that they couldn't lift themselves. Still, the captain had landed well, right on the edge of the chasm.

"Go!" he hissed.

They could hear soldiers within the building.

The smuggler didn't need to be told again.

"Mad scryers," he spat, leaping into the ship and hurling his weight against the front of the craft. It heaved, wood scraping on stone, lighter than it should have been thanks to the balloon.

It froze on the edge for a moment, then began to sail gently through the air.

With that, the darkness quickly engulfed him. The torches left behind could not penetrate the endless gloom.

"Stop him!" came a shriek.

The Scryer turned just in time to see a soldier charging.

They went down together, metal armour piercing skin as they hit the stone.

"Bind him! Restrain him!"

The Scryer cried out as rope tugged at his broken leg.

He wondered if the Captain could still hear them, and would think that he was putting on a show of imaginary outsiders.

The Scryer was hauled to his feet, blinking and bleeding. Yet, he was shivering with excitement.

"What have you done?"

It was a deep, calm voice.

He tried to focus.

It was their general. Decked in golden armour. Powerful eyes glared beside a nose guard. His younger protégé with jet black hair stood not far behind.

The screeching officer seemed to have backed away.

The Scryer licked his lips, tasting blood.

"You got me, I suppose. Better go back now, right?"

He spat to the side, then gave a toothless grin through a stringy grey beard.

The general stared at him for a moment, then looked around at the torches.

"He did not bring these. These are not ours."

"Sir?"

There was a pause. "He met somebody. Perhaps they scaled the cliff. Search for them."

The soldiers sprung into motion.

The Scryer's smile widened. So they didn't know of flight, and hadn't learned from their prisoners. It wasn't widely seen in the City. Few of the dregs captured alongside him would think to bring the topic up.

"Cut off his toes."

The Scryer froze.

"Whoever he met will not escape. The city fool will never escape us again."

A soldier unsheathed his sword, and was already approaching.

"Wait!"

"Do it."

The general turned away, just as the screams began. He stood looking out over the chasm, and the darkness beyond.

His subordinate joined him.

"Something moved out there. When we arrived."

"Yes sir."

There was a sickening crack as metal cut through bone.

"If he found what I suspect..."

"Then we must get it back."

"We would need to find their 'city'. If what they've said is true, it would take several legions to capture."

"The council will despatch them. For this."

"And risk everything."

"We risk everything not by acting. If they have..."

The general held up his hand. Not in front of the soldiers.

Behind them, the sawing and hacking continued.

There were screams.

"Scribes."

Huddling supplicants approached, racing to stand beside the general. Some were slaves, and they were clearly eying the chasm beside the great man. Yet, none would try...

"Prepare a report to the council immediately. And for the captains. We march for exploration. And, likely, war."