“Lukka,” Kudro said, precise as always. Not “Captain Lukka.” Traitors don’t have ranks. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Only what you’ve forced me to do,” Lukka said. “All I wanted was to serve Drannith.”
“If you wanted to serve Drannith, then you wouldn’t have rebelled against legitimate authority,” Kudro said. “You wouldn’t have taken my daughter hostage to escape.”
“I would have let you execute me, out of patriotic duty?” Lukka laughed. “How does that help the city? How does that serve anyone?”
“It is not your decision to make,” Kudro grated. “Drannith asks everything of those of us who take the oath of service. Everything. If the city needs our lives, we should give them up gladly.”
“Gedra and Gox and Nik gave up their lives for the city,” Lukka said. “I would have died there, if it would have changed anything. But I’m not going to just give up, not when there’s something that could be done.” He spread his arms. “And I was right!”
Kudro snorted. “You’ve fallen deeper into treason, you mean.”
“I mean I’ve gained a power that could change the entire history of our city, General. Imagine monsters fighting at our side, instead of against us. A ring of living weapons around the city, all ready to die before a single human life has to be endangered. We wouldn’t even need walls. Do you have any idea how that would change things?”
“I suspect that I do,” Kudro said. “Perhaps more than you. If your monsters are going to protect us from the wilds, who will protect us from your monsters?”
“You–” Lukka glared at Kudro, biting back his words.
Jirina stepped forward, with a glance at her father. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and she kept moving until she stood directly in front of Lukka. Their eyes met, and for a long time they said nothing, only stared.
“I searched for you, at the Ozolith,” Lukka said quietly. “I thought… I thought you were dead.”
“Your monster saved me,” Jirina said. “The winged cat.”
“I know. I felt it.” Lukka’s face hardened. “I saw what your father did.”
“My father…is trying to do his best for Drannith.” Jirina shook her head. “This isn’t the way, Lukka. You know our city. The people will never accept the monsters, not like this.”
“So what, then?” Lukka said. “I should just slit my throat and be done?”
“No!” Jirina stepped closer, close enough to kiss. “Send the monsters away. Come back with us.”
“And you’ll make everything right with your father, is that it?” Lukka said.
Jirina’s cheeks reddened. “I’ve done everything I can–”
“I know you have,” Lukka said. “But you don’t see what he is. A stubborn old man too in love with his own image to realize he’s made a mistake. He’d rather let thousands die than change his mind.” Lukka cocked his head. “He didn’t ask you to say this, did he? To make this offer.”
“No.” Jirina put her hand on her dagger, then took a deep breath and let it fall. Her voice was a whisper. “He wants me to kill you.”
“Of course he does.” Lukka looked up at Kudro and the waiting guards. “Just stay close to me.”
“Why?” Jirina grabbed his shoulder as he turned away. “Lukka, what are you doing?”
Lukka’s eyes glowed orange, and the ground began to shake.
***
Several crossbows went off, whether on purpose or by accident Jirina couldn’t tell, but the bolts all went wild. The island was swaying hard enough that it was difficult to keep her feet, and the water all around it was foaming wildly. For a mad moment she thought the whole thing was about to break free of the ground and ascend into the air like a skyship. Then the earth mounded up and blew apart, and the first monster emerged from underground.
It was beast-clade, a mole the size of a cart, with a star-like protrusion at the end of its snout like a spread of curling, grasping tentacles. Beneath it had wide jaws with comically oversized incisors, and there were massive, dirt-shifting claws on its front feet. These hooked into the body of the closest guard, and with a brief moment of effort, the mole tore the man in half, sending a spray of blood into the air and broken bits of flesh flying in every direction.
Behind the guards, another creature emerged. This one was elemental-clade, shaped like an octopus but formed out of groaning, rumbling boulders that clattered and shifted against one another as it moved. It came up smoothly from the earth, flowing through it without disturbing a pebble, and wrapped the nearest pair of guards in its tentacles. A woman’s screams were quickly choked off into a series of crunching sounds as stone pressed against stone.
“Fall back!” Kudro shouted. “The boats—form a perimeter–”
The Citadel Guard tried their best, long training winning out over blind terror. A volley of crossbow bolts slammed into the mole, rocking it back long enough for the guards to draw their swords and engage. Jirina could tell at once they were outmatched, their short weapons only cutting into its blubbery hide. The Citadel Guard might be the elite of the Coppercoats, but they were equipped mostly to protect against human treachery. We should have brought Mzed’s hunters, or the Specials–
Her thoughts felt disjointed, detached. She watched as the mole disemboweled another guard, then grabbed a blade with its nose-tendrils before biting a woman’s arm off. The stone octopus grabbed soldiers one after another, popping them like bloody grapes against its rocky hide. Kudro fled through the carnage, and Lukka followed, drawing his ugly hooked blade.
“You’re dead,” Kudro said turning at bay near the boats. “You’ll never get off this island. There are a dozen ballistae trained on your monsters–”
“Odd, that,” Lukka said, with a half-smile. “Shouldn’t they have fired already?”
Jirina raised her eyes to the army camp, and the bottom fell out of her stomach. Fires were raging everywhere, whole lines of tents burning, and soldiers ran in every direction as enormous figures rampaged through the chaos. Dozens of monsters—cats, mostly, soft silent stalkers that could steal up unawares—were on the loose, and no one was organizing a defense. The ballistae had been turned to fire at the more immediate threat, then abandoned as the flames threatened.
Gods above. Jirina’s mouth was dry. Lukka, what have you done?
“You think you’ve won.” Kudro drew himself up, mustache bristling. “But you’ll never take Drannith. The city will stand, whatever happens here. I don’t matter–”
“I quite agree,” Lukka said. “And I’m frankly sick of listening to you.”
He stabbed the General in the chest, and Jirina screamed.
Kudro gaped at the sword that had slid between his ribs, steel cutting through flesh with no regard for rank or status. He tried to say something, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was blood. Lukka ripped the hook free, and the old General staggered backward a step, then toppled into the sand, one arm trailing out into the water.
“Father!” Jirina said, rushing forward.
“Like I said, a stubborn old man.” Lukka turned away from the corpse and grabbed her arm. “I know it’s a shock. But this will be over soon. I meant what I said, about helping Drannith. They’ll see what I can do for the city, and soon enough we’ll come to an accommodation.” His smile widened. “I’ll go home, and I’ll take command. Why not? And you’ll be with me, Jirina, we can finally be together again–”
Lukka was a captain of the Specials, one of the most highly-trained fighters the Coppercoats had ever produced. And Jirina, in spite of everything, found it hard to commit to the blow. So Lukka had a moment’s warning to lurch backward, and the swing of her dagger left a shallow cut down his cheek and across his chin instead of a slash across his throat. As he staggered back, slapping a hand against the wound, she turned from him and ran into the surf, then threw
herself into the water, letting the current sweep her downstream.
“Jirina!” Lukka’s hoarse voice reached her as she swam. “You can die with the rest, you godsdamned traitor!”
Jirina was focused on swimming. The river wasn’t swift, and she made good headway against the current, finally touching the southern bank near one edge of the camp. She hauled herself out of the water, uniform hanging heavy from her shoulders and drooling onto the sand. The closest ballista was in ruins, smashed by some monster’s assault, and the once-neat lines of tents, horses, and wagons looked as though a tornado had hit them. Bodies were everywhere, and parts of bodies, torn to pieces in a hundred inventive ways. Nothing seemed to be moving.
They can’t have killed everyone. There weren’t enough bodies for that. After the initial surprise, someone will have taken command, gotten the survivors together. They were doubtless heading south, which was the only sensible course. Back to Drannith. Back to the walls. A fight in the city might be dangerous, but after this disaster they no longer had any choice.
The only question was how she was supposed to join them, with gods-knew-how-many monsters between here and there. They can’t have gotten far yet. She walked along the perimeter of the camp, heading south herself and looking for evidence of where the survivors had gone. Maybe I can slip though.
A deep, sonorous growl made her hair stand on end. Maybe not.
A cat-clade monster unfolded itself from the ruins of some nearby tents. As she watched, colors shifted and danced across its far, matching its surroundings and making it nearly impossible to spot until it moved. A tuft of wild hair ran down the center of its back, flanked by spiked ridges around its shoulders. The thing padded forward, sensing an easy kill, splotches of brown and red rippling along its flanks. Its eyes, a brilliant green, bored into her.
Jirina knew she was about to die. Whether Lukka knew she was here, was riding behind this monster’s eyes, or it was just doing what came naturally was beside the point. Either way, though, she didn’t plan on dying without a weapon in her hand. She shuffled backward, not breaking eye contact, until her heel came up against the torn body of a Coppercoat lying in the dirt. Bending at the knees, Jirina scrabbled for the dead woman’s sword, which lay drawn but unbloodied beside her.
The cat took another step forward, tensing itself to pounce. Jirina raised the blade. Duck underneath it, go for the throat. Not much of a chance, but–
Something large and pink hit the cat from one side, ricocheting off like a child’s ball and spinning high into the air. It landed with a thump, legs splayed, and Jirina recognized the pink raccoon from the battle at the Ozolith. The girl who’d called herself Brin was behind it, sling whirling, sending a pointed rock to crack against the cat’s skull as it regained its feet. It shook itself, patterns rippling through its fur, and the raccoon lowered its head and growled.
“Captain Jirina!” Vivien appeared from behind a tent, arrow nocked. She let fly, and green energy crackled around the shaft, expanding outward into the form of an enormous bear charging at full tilt. The translucent energy-creature hit the cat, their jaws clashing, claws tearing at one another with sprays of blood and brilliant green energy.
Jirina tossed the sword aside and ran for Vivien’s side. Brin and her pink raccoon joined her. Vivien gestured for them to keep going, sheathing her bow and falling in beside them.
“I take it,” Vivien said, “that negotiations were not successful.”
“It was a trap,” Jirina gasped. “Lukka had the monsters waiting.”
“I guessed,” Vivien said. “He is alive, then?”
“He is. And General Kudro…my father…” Jirina swallowed hard.
“I’m sorry,” Vivien said. Brin gave Jirina a sympathetic frown.
“What happened to the rest of the Coppercoats?” Jirina said. “The army must be trying to reach the city.”
“They are,” Vivien said. “A large column set out south not long ago.”
But who is in command? Colonel Bryd had seniority, if he hadn’t died in the attack. If he’s taken charge, we’re all in deep trouble.
“I need to get back to Drannith before they do,” Jirina said, the beginnings of a plan coming together in her mind. “You offered to help us stop Lukka. Is that offer still open?”
“It is,” Vivien said. “I cannot allow this to continue.”
“I’ll help,” Brin said. “He’s a jerk to his monsters and everyone else.”
“Barrow will assist as well,” Vivien said. “And there may be others who can reach Drannith in time.” She frowned, considering. “Narset would aid us, I’m sure. But she could be anywhere. If only…”
“We’ll have to do the best with what we’ve got,” Jirina said. She let out a breath and turned to Brin. “Thanks, by the way. You saved me back there.”
“You should thank Rol,” Brin said severely. “He’s the one who did it. I just asked him to.”
Jirina turned to the pink raccoon. As monsters went, she had to admit, it was decidedly non-threatening, although when it had hissed at the cat she’d seen a mouthful of nasty teeth.
“Thank you…Rol,” she said, awkward, then flinched when the thing opened its mouth and yipped.
“He says it’s no problem,” Brin says. “I think he likes you!”
Chapter Eight
If Jirina hadn’t already done it once, riding back to Drannith on a monster would have been the strangest experience of her life.
They’d met Barrow and his monster, Zeph, well away from the wrecked Coppercoat camp, and Vivien had made hurried introductions. Barrow was odd enough, with his horned helmet and grave demeanor, but Jirina found herself a little taken aback by Zeph. The monster’s sheer size was unnerving; Rol was as big as a bear, and the winged cat had been larger still, but Zeph dwarfed both of them. His eyes were bigger than Jirina’s head, and his fangs were the size of a greatsword. She remembered him from the battle at the Ozolith, where he’d fought to a standstill the nightmare snake that had destroyed Vermilion.
Once they climbed aboard, though, the white cat’s enormity made for a peaceful ride, and his long stride ate up the ground, even when he kept to a pace Rol could match. Jirina slept for a while, exhausted, nestled amid downy white fur while Vivien kept watch.
She’d hoped to beat the survivors of the army back to Drannith, but in spite of the monster’s speed it quickly became clear that wasn’t going to happen. At first they had to circle out of their way to avoid Lukka’s monsters, who were spread out in a wide arc following the Coppercoats. Then, as they reached the Fourth Ring, they started encountering Drannith farmers and shepherds, who naturally fled screaming at the sight of Zeph.
This made Jirina rethink her approach. The last time she’d approached Drannith on monster-back, it hadn’t ended well. At her urging, Zeph had hidden amid some woods to wait for nightfall. Once it was dark, they’d started for the city again, threading their way through the Third Ring’s scattered towns and the Second Ring’s forts. Fortunately, the crystal detectors the defenders usually relied on to warn them of monsters were useless, since Lukka’s oncoming horde had pegged them all off the scale.
Several hours before dawn, therefore, Jirina once again found herself approaching the secondary wall, the outer boundary of the First Ring and the first unavoidable layer of Drannith’s defenses. This time, she’d devoted some thought to it and came up alone and on foot, with Zeph hunkered down in the darkness out of sight.
In spite of the late hour, the wall bristled with crossbow troops. They were out of the direct path of Lukka’s horde, but Jirina had no doubt every Coppercoat was on edge. She came into the light of the wall’s torches and glowing crystals at a slow walk, with her arms over her head.
“Halt!” someone shouted at her. “Who’s there?”
“Captain Jirina of the Citadel staff!” she shouted back. “General Kudro’s dau
ghter. May I approach?”
There was a moment of confusion and barely audible bickering on the wall. Then the voice called back, “Come on, then! I’ll open the gate.”
Jirina lowered her hands and walked the last few yards as the iron-banded gate swung open with a deep creak. A Coppercoat sergeant and two rankers appeared, offering her stiff salutes. The sergeant, an older man with a mustache that reminded her of her father’s, looked her over with a worried expression.
“Had a hard time of it, have you?” the man said.
Jirina imagined she didn’t look her best—the river swim and subsequent flight hadn’t left her uniform clean, and her hair was a horror. She nodded. “You’ve had the news from the city?”
“About the tactical withdrawal?” the sergeant said. “We had a runner. There’s supposed to be an army of monsters coming at the city.”
Tactical withdrawal. That’s one way of putting it. “Let me guess,” Jirina said. “Colonel Bryd is in command.”
“Yes, sir. Apparently the General is away on a special assignment.”
Bryd hasn’t told everyone my father is dead. That was…interesting. Jirina shoved down the surge of emotion the thought carried with it and tried to focus on the present.
“Sergeant,” she said. “I’m going to need you and your men to unload their weapons. I’m bringing some new allies to help with the city’s defense, and I don’t want any incidents. You understand?”
“Ah… yes, sir, but that violates our standing orders–”
“I’m overriding your orders, in the name of the General.”
The sergeant blinked, then snapped to attention. “Yes, sir! I’ll attend to it at once.”
He turned around stiffly and started barking commands to his men. The crossbows on the wall were lowered and their bolts removed. Jirina waited a few minutes, then turned and whistled, high and long.
“Now, sergeant,” she shouted up to the wall. “Tell your men not to panic. Everything is under control.”
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