The Philosopher's Daughter
an excerpt

They headed toward the City’s bow, as Yezzy had said, but Adran found it peculiar how far down-Tier their travel was taking them. “What’s down here?” he said, nudging Garn with an elbow. “Is there going to be a contest or something?” He supposed Yezzy was involved with one of the thrill seeking groups that took dangerous risks in acrobatic feats. Adran himself had earned praise for a daring leap across a corridor with a broken grid, a jump that he now thought was a little stupid of him to try. But such risks made him remember being back home climbing rocks and trees. He indulged himself in crazy antics sometimes because it hurt more not to.

“Contest? Yeah, a race,” Garn laughed. “Yezzy’s going to bet on the winner. So listen to him when he points out the right one,” he said knowingly.

Adran laughed. “All right.” Apparently Yezzy wasn’t going to be competing in this race. Adran wondered if it was fixed ahead of time or if the race would be a fair one. As he was soon to find out, it was neither.

They came to a tricky set of passages that Yezzy navigated with effortless ease. Adran hesitated long enough to be sure that he could find his way back through them by himself, then followed. They really were coming up to the City’s edge. Adran wondered if there would be enough room for any sort of a race. Or was it a race along the edge? Adran couldn’t quite suppress a shudder at the thought of running along a narrow rail with such a drop on one side.

They came out into an open space where many people were already waiting and jostling here and there for a better position. Adran trailed behind Garn, who followed Yezzy confidently, but while Garn watched Yezzy and the others, Adran watched the crowd. There were certainly a lot of students from the various schools here, and some older groups, mostly soldiers and scouts on their rest schedule, he thought. The air was expectant, charged with an electric emotion that was hard to resist. Adran felt energized and a little anxious that the race might begin without him being in a position to see anything. Then Garn was pulling him ahead into a spot right by the edge, where a wide window opened out directly to the wild air of the outside environment. The fresh blast of wind washed away the general stink of the crowd, carrying a hint of stormy weather and rain, even a touch of acrid smoke, which made Adran think of the oil refineries briefly. For a moment or two Adran just looked up and out at the clouds gathering, watching the way they spread and billowed. The sun was arcing low in the sky, sending light at an angle through the darker masses of water vapor here and there along the horizon. Then Adran craned his neck to see below them, where the City’s edge met the ground, creating the Course.

To his surprise, the ground, merely a Tier below them, was burning where the City touched it. The intense heat at the lowest level licked out at the dry grass and scattered scrub bushes and torched them instantly before the endless grind of the City moved over it and obliterated it from sight and existence. Nothing could survive the City’s touch, Adran thought with a pang of regret. Whatever arcane mechanism kept it moving also generated a tremendous amount of heat energy. That, plus the incomprehensible weight of the City, compacted the Course into a slab of glasslike rock that no human tool could break. Now Adran understood what his teachers had meant when they said that the City was a dragon. He’d foolishly thought only of a scaly hide that protected everything within like the toughest armor; the truth was that the City had a fire burning within it at all times. It did explain the constant heat that permeated the lowest habitable levels.

Below them, a small ledge jutted out far enough for Adran to see a small knot of soldiers grouped halfway down the Tier, on the City’s outer wall. He was not surprised to see that a few military types had secured the best seats in the house, as he supposed. Whatever happened out here was clearly going to occur in the wide bowl of land half encircled by the City’s forward-moving bulk. If Adran looked to the left and right, he could make out the sentry towers at either end of the bowl’s lip. The points were ideal lookout positions and served the dual purpose of monitoring the Course’s direction and preventing unauthorized exit or approach anywhere near the course-ward promontories. They were the only sentries needed on this side of the City, since most of the trading and scouting activity naturally tended to drift along the City’s aft portion, where security was ten times as strong.

The soldiers on the ledge were not alone. They were keeping guard around a smaller group of people who were most definitely not soldiers. Politicians, Adran said to himself. Or clan leaders with the rank to pull to get themselves in the center of the action. Just then, a soldier yanked the shoulder of one of the civilians roughly, and the abused man jerked with a motion that was far from indignant. Adran gasped silently. The man was afraid.

Yezzy poked him in the side. “Hurry up - you going to bet or stare? Don’t bother putting money on that one,” he added, following Adran’s gaze. “He’s hurt. Won’t last long.”

Adran could hardly find the words to speak. “You mean this is what everyone’s betting on? They’re going to force them to duel? That’s not right!”

Garn leaned back from his seat to reassure Adran. “No one’s dueling. Didn’t I tell you it was a race? Them against the City.” When Adran only stared at him, he said patronizingly, “This is their big chance, you know. They’re renegades. Dutiless for real. But if they can keep the Course, they won’t be hunted down or anything. All they have to do is keep the pace.” He sounded earnest and reasonable. But Adran couldn’t help looking at the sick expression on the prisoner’s face and hearing Yezzy’s words echo in his ear. He’s hurt. Won’t last long.

Yezzy looked at Adran contemptuously. “You’re not even going to bet? What’s the matter with you anyway? It’s like you’ve never even seen an Offering before.” He hawked and spat over the side. “Fine then. You’ll want to lay some aur in the end, but the odds are worse the longer you wait, believe me. If you change your mind, go with the one in the torn cloak. Ex-Silverspring by the looks of him.” Yezzy, done with offering advice, moved back to his seat along the wall for a better spot to observe. Garn followed suit, avoiding Adran’s eye.

There was a rustle and sigh among the crowd as some signal Adran hadn’t picked up on was passed. The stronger-looking prisoners were being led to their casting-off point first, evidently to allow the weaker ones more of a chance to last. Most of them were free of restraints, but Adran noticed one had his hands bound behind his back. Dread rose in Adran’s throat as the soldiers kicked him off first. He fell, trying to hit the ground in a way that would let him gain his feet again as soon as possible, but the impact was a bad one. Shouts and groans filled the spectators as they realized he was not going to stand up. An angered minority trickled away from the wall, cursing as they went, but Adran, still staring at the body, uttered a silent and desperate hope that the man was already dead or fully unconscious as the licking flames reached him.