He looked up and down the wall. Perhaps there’d be a rope somewhere. Perhaps a fisherman’s net he could fashion into a ladder. As he moved along the walkway he realised Aldrich wasn’t following. Turning he saw the apprentice was staring out to sea.
‘We need to move,’ Waylian whispered, though why he was whispering he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if the mariners on the artillery ships were going to hear him.
Without a word of reply, Aldrich clambered on the wall, gripping the merlons to either side of him.
‘What are you doing?’ said Waylian, panic gripping him.
He rushed to Aldrich’s side, reaching out to pull him back, but with unexpected speed, Aldrich gripped his wrist and pulled him up onto the battlements.
‘What the fu-’ was all he had a chance to say before Aldrich leaned back and pulled them both over the lip of the wall.
There was no time to scream. No time to try and stop himself as he fell into the darkness. The air rushed in his face, his stomach lurched violently. As they fell Aldrich gripped him around the arms and Waylian squeezed his eyes shut, girding himself for the impact.
When he opened them again they were both standing at the base of the wall, Aldrich still holding him in a surprisingly tight grip. They looked at one another as the sea breeze brushed their faces. Aldrich didn’t say a word, letting go and leading the way down to the dock. Waylian stared for a moment, not quite able to believe he was still alive, then followed, on legs like jelly. He had no idea what magicks Aldrich had used to halt their fall but he was thankful for them anyway.
‘Next time, bloody warn me,’ he whispered. If Aldrich heard him he gave no answer.
They made their way down to the waterside and along the great crescent harbour, their shoes making barely a sound on the wood. As they moved through the dark another flaming missile was fired from one of the ships, soaring past them and over the city wall to land with a dull explosion.
Waylian was following his fellow apprentice now, who seemed to have taken the lead. He should have been put out about the sudden change in their dynamic, but if he was honest with himself he didn’t really have a clue what he was going to do when he got to the harbour anyway.
When they were level with the ships, Aldrich stopped, glaring out at the row of vessels anchored in the water.
‘What now?’ asked Waylian. ‘I hope you’ve got something spectacular planned.’
Aldrich turned, smiling now, and he offered his hand to Waylian.
‘Oh indubitably,’ he replied. ‘But your assistance is required.’
‘How so?’ asked Waylian, reluctantly taking Aldrich by the hand.
‘You have tapped the Veil before, haven’t you, Waylian?’
‘Of course I have.’ By mistake, but I’ve still bloody done it.
‘Then let’s try it together. It’s quite the most quickening of experiences.’
Aldrich knelt beside the harbour, laying his palm on the wooden boards at his feet while still gripping Waylian’s hand. At first there was nothing, no incantation, no magickal signs, only the pungent smell of the sea carried on the night breeze.
It was some time before Waylian realised his hand had turned to ice. A cold he’d never felt before crept up his arm where Aldrich gripped him, into his flesh and into his bones. He wanted to call out but he had no voice, wanted to pull away but there was no strength in his limbs.
He looked down to see that where Aldrich’s other hand was touching the planks they had turned to ice, a solid sheet that spread from the young man’s fingers and down the side of the strut on which the crescent harbour stood. The more he stared the more he saw the ice spread out from the base of the harbour and into the sea. Waylian could hear the ice cracking as the sea solidified and all the while he grew colder.
Just as he thought he could stand it no longer and would be turned into a solid block of ice, Aldrich released his hand. Waylian collapsed to the boardwalk, feeling heat instantly flood back into him. Aldrich merely stood, looking out to sea and at the pathway they had both made. Waylian saw it led out into the night, towards the waiting artillery ships in the distance.
‘What now?’ he mumbled through gritted, frozen teeth. ‘Are we supposed to just stroll up and put their fires out?’
‘No,’ Aldrich replied. ‘There is no way we would succeed with such a strategy. But they could.’ He pointed back up towards the city.
Waylian looked, but through the dark he couldn’t see a thing. Then, through his cold-numbed ears, he thought he heard a sound like thunder.
TWENTY-FIVE
They rumbled through the streets on horseback. Twenty of them, fully armoured with shield and sword. This had all seemed like such a good idea at the time — and fact was, they were riding away from the battle that raged to the north — but now Merrick was beginning to see the error of his ways. Just twenty men against a phalanx of ships anchored south of the city. Just twenty men taking on an entire fleet. Granted, they were the meanest, hardest bastards Merrick had ever had the misfortune to meet, but still; they were only human.
The Lord Marshal hadn’t said a word to him as they prepared their destriers for the mission. Merrick had half expected the old man to approach him, demanding that he change his mind, but Tannick said nothing. Maybe deep down he was proud. Maybe some part of him was glad Merrick had volunteered for the most perilous of tasks. Or maybe he just didn’t want to lose face in front of the Wyvern Guard by chastising his son who’d volunteered for such a perilous mission.
Whatever the reason, Merrick was glad of it. There were enough things to think on without arguing with the old man. Things like not getting stabbed or burned or drowned were much higher on his list than worrying about the punishments Tannick Ryder could come up with for his disobedience.
As they made their way further south through the city, Merrick got to see first-hand what carnage the artillery ships had wrought, and for the first time he appreciated the importance of their mission. Dockside and the Warehouse District were in ruins. To the south-east the Temple of Autumn seemed relatively untouched, but that did little to assuage the devastation that had been wreaked on the rest of the city’s southern quarters. Merrick only hoped there had been no one living here when the bombardment began. Deep down he knew there must have been. Deep down he knew most of these houses would have bodies in them, burned and black and clawing at the sky with dead hands.
And that makes you angry, doesn’t it? That makes you want to kill. That moves you and you don’t fucking like it, Ryder.
Merrick gripped his reins tighter, his jaw setting. He tried not to look, not to think, but it was impossible. This wasn’t war, this was murder. For all his selfishness, for all his self-indulgence and arrogance and acting the jester for so many years, this hurt. There needed to be a reckoning for this.
But you’ve never been the vengeance type, Ryder. You’ve never given enough of a shit. Revenge is a waste of time; it just gets in the way. What happened to Merrick Ryder the pragmatist?
‘He’s dead and gone,’ he said through gritted teeth.
Only time will tell, Ryder. Let’s wait and see, shall we? There’s still plenty of time for you to prove you haven’t changed.
The twenty horses gradually made their way to the sea wall. Cormach led the way, the white pelt he wore across his shoulders bobbing in time to the stride of his warhorse. Just before they reached the gate a fireball cut the sky above them, smashing into a street a hundred yards away. It was an unnerving reminder of why they were here, but did little to curb Merrick’s determination.
They reined in, their horses milling before the great portcullis. It was blackened and charred and Merrick wondered if the mechanisms that opened it would still work.