I couldn’t see much beneath the helm, only bloodshot eyes circled by darker shadows. She was exhausted.
She shrugged. “That wasn’t any trouble, a few arrows is all.” Then she lowered her voice to barely a whisper and answered what I was really asking: “I went for a nap, knotted the blankets and slipped out the window while Layla was reading a book outside my door. She’s safer up there.”
I groaned. “You don’t look well, maybe you should rest here.”
Martain narrowed his eyes as we spoke, but Charra tilted her helm just enough to spit by my feet and then stalk off.
The sanctor snorted. “We are going into battle and you are chasing women? Why am I not surprised? At least that warden has more sense than to have any truck with the likes of you.”
“Maybe I should look elsewhere then,” I said, blowing him a kiss. That shut the prick up. Damn you, Charra, what do you think you are doing here? Trying to save my sorry arse, no doubt.
It was then I noticed another warden had been watching us intently. They flipped a knife up into the air and caught it expertly, and I noted the twisted steel guard was a match to the assassin’s blade Dissever had sheared through atop the Harbourmaster’s roof. I groaned. These two women would be the death of me
Layla sketched me a brief bow.
I guess I couldn’t blame her, I’d not have let my mother do this alone either. The best thing I could do was ignore them both. With any luck she would drag Charra out of harm’s way at the first opportunity.
I approached Eva, my guards sticking to me like flies around horse dung. It seemed as good a chance as any to apologize for almost landing her in a cesspit of trouble. There might not be another opportunity.
“Stop,” she demanded. “Come no closer.”
I did as she asked. “I just wanted to say that I was sorry for the other day. Don’t worry; I’ll stay away from you now.” She was like all the rest – afraid of the corrupt tyrant in their midst.
She sighed, a hiss of air escaping the helmet. “Don’t be a dolt.” Her helm jerked towards Martain. “Do you think I wish to wear siege-breaker armour without the strength granted by my Gift?”
I groaned. A dolt indeed. She was the sort to take people at face value rather than listening to hearsay; of course she had also believed that Harailt was a reformed character so her opinion was suspect. “How do you stay so calm?” I asked, nodding to the wardens and Shadea. “You are about to go into battle.”
Metal plates scraped as she shrugged. “I spent a year with the legions guarding our colonies in the Thousand Kingdoms. War mostly involves a lot of waiting punctuated by periods of brutal violence. You get used to it. After a while you learn to focus on other things. Some wardens busy themselves checking and re-checking straps and buckles, or sharpening their blades. Others clutch charms and pray or share bawdy jokes and boasts about the coming battle.”
“What’s your method?”
Her helm turned to look up at the sky. “I like to watch the birds,” she said, wistful. “They look so free. Sometimes I wonder if they feel pity for earth-bound creatures such as ourselves.”
My thoughts leapt to the corvun with their wicked beaks and cruel black eyes. I didn’t think they had any concept of pity or remorse. “I’ll leave you be then,” I said. “Take care out there.” She didn’t reply, already tracking a flight of swallows darting between buildings, entirely unconcerned with ancient evils, daemons and death.
My hands kept moving to Dissever’s hilt, but each time they did the sanctors tensed and I returned to pacing and worrying at my hangnail until it was bloody. I tried not to look at Charra too much.
“Catch,” Shadea said, tossing me a wineskin.
I frowned, uncorked it and sniffed suspiciously. It smelled like wine.
“Drink, boy,” she said, “or I will take it back.”
I took a swig. A silky texture and the taste of ripe berries bursting in my mouth. I wiped my lips on my sleeve. “It’s good.”
Her eyelids lowered. “That is Bourgasi red, the magus of wine, brewed by an order of silent monks for over five hundred years. It is imported from a delightfully quaint city-state bordering Esban, and each bottle costs twelve gold coins. And you call it ‘good’?”
I took another swig. “Yes, good. I’ve had better. There’s a small vineyard a few leagues south of Port Hellisen that produces the best wine I’ve ever tasted. On my oath as a magus and reputation as an itinerant drunk.”
Her forehead creased. “I suspect the subtleties of quality wine are lost on you.”
“Not at all. Drink is the one thing I’m truly educated in.” I tossed the wineskin back to her. Despite her disdain I would bet good coin she had filed the information away for future investigation.
“Now that you have calmed down, stop that pacing. I find it irritating.” She turned back to surveying the city.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to watch the bulk of the Magash Mora as it slowly gouged a trail of devastation through the Warrens. I ground my teeth, hands shaking. I wanted to tear it apart and lay Lynas’ flesh on the pyre, but what could an ant like me possibly do to that monstrosity?
The wait to do something, anything, was excruciating.
Chapter 29
Finally a sphere of blue light flared bright above the warrens. “That is our signal,” Shadea said.
We ran west. Shadea’s guard ringed her with those massive shields held high while the armoured bulk of the siege-breakers ranged ahead. Our little group kept pace off to one side of the middle of the pack, two coteries on the opposite side keeping a safe distance between them and the sanctors, and the last formed a rearguard.
Cries of ravening hunger and gibbering insanity spewed from the Magash Mora’s mouths, and the ground shook with each lumbering movement it took towards the masses of people trapped between it and the Skallgrim. My stomach churned as I caught glimpses of that mountain of deformed flesh and jutting bone through gaps in the buildings and drifting smoke. Flames scorched my hair as we clambered over debris and followed the road that curved in a crescent following the path of the Seth. We passed several pitched battles: wardens holed up in defensive positions fighting off looters and packs of Skallgrim infiltrators. Home owners and shop keepers had banded together to defend their families and property, and were laying into anybody poorly dressed that came too close.
A man screamed for help, his legs pinned beneath a fallen beam, flames slowly creeping up the wood. Shadea kept running. The distant phwoosh of burning missiles soaring through the air announced an escalation of the Arcanum’s attack.
I was already out of breath and sweating like a pig. I glanced back, scowled at the sight of Martain and all the wardens making it look effortless while I puffed and panted and plodded onwards.
A thousand voices screamed from human and inhuman throats as super-heated rock and metal blasted holes in the Magash Mora’s hide and began burning deeper into flesh. It was about as effective as throwing hot grit at an enraged bull for all the damage they did. But it did get the thing’s attention. It didn’t turn – the amorphous thing didn’t seem to have a front or back – but the writhing mass of flesh and bone slowed its advance on Pauper’s Gate and the masses of panicked people trying to flee the city, then it stopped and flowed in the opposite direction, gradually gathering speed towards the insects stinging it.
“Faster!” Shadea shouted. I didn’t bother muffling my curses as I somehow dredged up enough energy to pick up the pace even with a wounded leg. All we had to do was get to the other side of Westford Bridge and then our job would be done. Charra stumbled, barely righting herself, labouring as much as I was, but I didn’t have any way of sending her back to safety.