Plome helped him get his pack off his back, then shooed him away when Crake offered to return the favour. ‘I can take care of myself. It’s down to you two now. Go on.’
Crake went over to the oscillator, rolling his shoulders and stretching his back. It was a pleasurable agony. His muscles had stiffened and he hurt in two dozen places, and he still couldn’t hear properly. A great tiredness had settled on him. After this, he planned to sleep for a week.
After this, he thought. He could finally believe there would be an afterwards. A time where he might find himself in Samandra’s arms again.
The sound of gunfire outside filtered in through the grey windows and the whistling in his ears. Best not to think about that yet. There was still the matter of the battle outside. And even if he survived, Samandra might not.
No. She’ll win through. She’s like a force of nature. Nothing can stop her.
He told himself that, but the thought of her out there made his stomach knot, and he put it from his mind as best he could.
He knelt down gingerly in front of the oscillator and recorded the Imperator’s primary resonances. Halfway through scribbling them down, he stopped as the enormity of the information in his hand hit him. This was the key to defeating the Imperators. To the population at large they were beings of supernatural power, divine enforcers like the will of the old gods made flesh. But the daemonists would show them otherwise.
He finished jotting down the frequencies and put them in his pocket. ‘Got them,’ he called over his shoulder. It seemed a weak line for an occasion so momentous.
Kyne, meanwhile, had finished his preparations. The Imperator was facing Plome and staring at him with an unwavering gaze, as if calculating the amount of pain he’d visit upon the politician when he got out of there. Kyne walked up behind the Imperator, reached into the summoning circle, and in one quick movement he seized the Imperator’s wrist and snapped a manacle on it. The Imperator, surprised, tried to turn, but Kyne grabbed the other arm, twisted it behind his back, and secured the other wrist.
Crake was amazed that Kyne dared to reach into a summoning circle that way. Even though the daemon’s power was nullified by the walls of the summoning circle, it seemed a reckless thing to do.
But Kyne wasn’t finished. He grabbed a fold of the Imperator’s mask in his fist. With one quick jerk he pulled it free, and the face of the Imperator was revealed.
Crake had seen one before, but it did little to prepare him. There was something instinctively repellent about them. Their cadaverous, pinched features and white skin made them corpselike. Their eyes had yellow irises like a bird of prey. Rancid gums and jagged teeth guarded a black lipless cave of a mouth. No tongue moved within.
‘Spit and blood,’ Plome gasped, and turned away.
This was where Kyne’s expertise came to the fore. Crake had devised the method to catch the Imperator, but there was still one question remaining: how did you interrogate a creature who couldn’t speak? Imperators had no tongues; they’d seen that in the past. Perhaps the Awakeners cut them out to preserve their secrets, or perhaps to keep them servile: it wouldn’t do to give daemons a voice. Although, judging by what Crake had seen of the Lord High Cryptographer, it appeared they’d gained one anyway.
Kyne provided the answer to the question. A collar that made men speak the truth. It was something like Crake’s golden tooth, but more powerful and focused. Kyne had used it in interrogations before; now he’d adapted it, thralling in a daemon that could read the vibrations of vocal cords and make them understandable. Once more, Crake was filled with admiration at the Century Knight’s skill with daemonism. But then he remembered that his own rough artistry had done what even Kyne could not, and he felt a swell of pride.
‘Now,’ said Kyne. ‘Let’s see what he has to say for himself.’
Kyne picked up the collar, a simple loop of metal with a hinge and a clasp, and held it open as he approached the circle. The Imperator snapped his teeth, struggling against the manacles. Unmasked, trapped, he’d lost some of his dark grandeur. Kyne waited for the right moment, then with one assured movement he darted forward and snapped the collar shut around the Imperator’s scrawny throat.
The Imperator immediately went rigid. Kyne stepped back and crossed his arms over his armoured chest. His eyes glowed piercingly beneath his hood.
‘The Awakeners intend to launch an attack on the Coalition in the near future,’ he said. ‘You will tell me when and where. You will tell me the size and nature of their forces. You will tell me everything you know about it.’
The Imperator opened his mouth, gaped soundlessly, and shut it again.
‘You will speak,’ Kyne said, and suddenly the gloom felt heavier, and Kyne seemed to grow, to become menacing and dreadful. Crake almost spoke himself, such was the force of the command. He felt a powerful need to do as he was told.
His voice, Crake thought, as the words skittered away into silence and the harmonic echoes died. He’s thralled the mouthpiece of his mask. Samandra was right: he’s crawling with daemons!
The Imperator trembled with the effort of resistance. ‘Speak!’ Kyne said again.
The Imperator shuddered. A line of red trickled from the corner of his mouth, shocking against the dead white skin of his face.
‘Speak!’ Kyne commanded.
The Imperator began to twitch and spasm. His mouth moved without sound. Drops of blood ran from his rotted nose.
‘What’s happening to it?’ Plome cried.
‘It’s the same thing that happened to Condred,’ said Crake. He should have anticipated this. ‘The daemon’s trying to destroy its host.’
‘Speak!’ thundered Kyne, and he loomed so large in Crake’s mind that Crake took a step back in fear.
‘Thessssk . . .’ The words wheezed out of the Imperator like a slow breath through a harmonica, dragged from his lungs. ‘Attack Thesssk . . . whole . . . fleet . . .’
Thesk, the capital. They were planning an attack on the capital, the seat of the Archduke’s power.
‘When?’ demanded Kyne.
The Imperator coughed up a gout of dark blood. It spattered Kyne’s chest and masked face, and drooled down the Imperator’s chin. Kyne didn’t flinch. The Imperator was wavering on his feet, but the power of the collar and the summoning circle kept him upright.
‘When?’ Kyne said again.
‘Tomorrow . . .’ the Imperator said. ‘TomoooooaaaccCKKK . . .’
The Imperator’s final word dried up into a rattling choke. Another flood of red spilled over his lips, his eyes rolled back, and he fell to his knees and tipped sideways, out of the circle, knocking aside rods and spheres as he fell. An unearthly screech sounded in their heads as his body passed through the protective flux, the last howl of the daemon as it was torn apart by the sonics. Then the Imperator hit the floor, lifeless and still.
Crake stared at the corpse, his chest heaving from the tension of the last few moments. Plome had his hand over his mouth. Kyne turned his head slowly towards them, green eyes like lamps in the dark. Outside, the sound of rifles cut through the silence.
Tomorrow. The Awakeners were going to attack the capital with all their strength, carrying an Azryx device capable of destroying the entire Coalition fleet. And they only had until tomorrow to stop it.
Thirty-Three
Holding the Line – Hand to Hand – A Last Stand – P-12s
Silo backed off through the ruined room, Malvery at his side, both with shotguns held ready. All around them was the sound of movement: feet scraped, glass tinkled. An Awakener in a thick brown coat came lumbering through a doorway, carrying a rifle. Malvery fired, and he spun away in a cloud of blood and fabric.
Debris crunched underfoot, threatening to turn their ankles as they retreated. A section of the ceiling had caved in and boards hung down. To their left were jagged window frames that had once held glass. They were on the ground floor, and all Silo could see through the windows was the slope leading up to t
he meadows. That, and the man climbing in.
The Awakener was caught halfway in and halfway out. He’d got himself snagged on something and was frantically trying to pull his arm free. He looked up as Silo turned the barrel of his weapon on him, and Silo saw that he had wild black hair, and young terrified eyes. Then hair and eyes alike disappeared in the roar of Silo’s shotgun.
‘Swarmin’ all over us down here!’ Malvery said, still backing away.
Silo went to the doorway at the other side of the room and looked through. At the end of a short passageway, a door to the courtyard stood open, snow piling up against it. Malvery was right. They would have to abandon the buildings on the south side of the hamlet, facing the meadows where the lander had come down. Jez and Pelaru were nowhere to be found, Ashua had abandoned her post, and he’d sent Harkins to watch the trees to the north. They probably couldn’t have held the south side anyway, not against this number.
‘Awakeners keen on havin’ us dead, that’s for damn sure,’ he said.
‘Must’ve really got ’em worried,’ Malvery replied, with a grim smile.
‘Come on. Back to the others. We gonna hold that house, at least.’
They stopped for a moment in the doorway to the courtyard, to check that the coast was clear. The hamlet had been reduced to a warzone. The buildings were bullet-gnawed, roofs slumped and windows smashed. Snow had invaded them eagerly, and now gathered in cheerless living rooms and garages. The fountain in the centre of the courtyard had collapsed amid a tangle of metal that seeped black smoke: the remains of the gunship Grudge had taken down.
The wind picked up again, blowing a stinging flurry. Silo narrowed his eyes and ran for it. It was as good a time as any.
Somewhere to their left, past the burning wreckage of the gunship, was the bridge, the chasm, and the mansion beyond. All of that was lost to sight in the blizzard. To their right was a gap between the buildings where the road led away to the landing pad. The Awakeners had taken the pad and were pushing down the road, but they hadn’t dared to enter the courtyard while the defenders held both sides of the hamlet.
Silo could hear the dull roar of engines nearby, an insidious reminder that another gunship still lurked out there. Grudge had made the pilot wary, and his autocannon was another reason the foot soldiers wouldn’t enter the courtyard. He was hidden on the first floor of one of the buildings on the north side, covering the area from an elevated position. Silo approved of his tactics. The threat he posed kept the enemy off their backs more effectively than a dozen shotguns.
Somebody fired at them from the direction of the road, but the bullets were past and gone before they heard the shots, and they ignored them. They ran through the doorway of a stout stone house which had weathered the assault better than its neighbours. Inside was a short gloomy corridor with a doorway off to the left and narrow stairs heading up.
Malvery ran on while Silo paused and looked back, searching for signs of the gunship. Over the buildings on the south side of the courtyard, black smoke was billowing. The generator’s fuel tanks had gone up. Something to do with Jez? Perhaps. He hoped she was keeping them busy out there.
He assessed his options, and found them meagre. It was only a matter of time before the enemy took up positions in the houses across the courtyard and started shooting at them. One of the houses had caught fire, either because of the explosion or because a burning log had spilled from its grate in the chaos. If the fire spread fast, it would make a more effective barrier of those houses than armed defenders ever could. But Silo didn’t think they’d be around long enough for that to happen. Grudge could only hold the Awakeners back for so long, and by the sounds of the gunfire in the house behind him, their attackers were coming through the trees to the north as well.
They were surrounded, reduced to holding a single house. They needed help, and fast.
He shut the door and turned the key to lock it, then followed Malvery. The house had a similar layout to others in the hamlet. There were two rooms taking up the ground floor. At the front was a small living-space with a stove and a table; another doorway led to a bedroom in the back. Upstairs was a separate and larger apartment, with a kitchen and living room, and bedrooms above that. Simple accommodation for the servants and staff.
‘We gotta get out of here!’ Ashua called as he entered. She was in the back room, shooting through the windows.
‘We ain’t goin’ anywhere!’ he snapped. ‘You already left one post, you ain’t leavin’ another!’
She didn’t reply to that, but he could sense her resentment. Silo didn’t care: he was angry at her for running. He’d been the one to vouch for her when the Cap’n wanted to kick her off the crew back in Samarla, and some part of him felt responsible for her behaviour. But much as she seemed intent on staying, he’d always had the sense that she’d drop them if it suited her. She hadn’t the loyalty to the Cap’n that the others did. That made her unreliable.
‘Comin’ up the road!’ called Malvery, who squatted by a window facing the courtyard.
Silo took position at the window next to him. The sight of the defenders abandoning the houses on the south side had encouraged the Awakeners. He could see their blurred shapes moving closer, sticking near the snowdrifts on either side of the road. A few speculative bullets came their way.
‘Save your ammo,’ said Silo. ‘Won’t hit anythin’ at this range.’
‘Right-o,’ said Malvery. He patted the pockets of his coat, to check they were still bulging with shells. Silo glanced back at Ashua, who was covering the rear of the house with Harkins. They had a small ammo box between them. How long would that last, if the Awakeners came at them in force?
‘You heard from the Cap’n?’ he asked Malvery.
‘He doesn’t have his earcuff in, naturally,’ said Malvery. He ducked away as a bullet ricocheted off the stone near his head. ‘Might be in his pocket, but I can’t hear bugger all over the sound of the wind and these pesky bastards trying to kill us.’ He popped up and fired off a round.
‘Ammo, Doc,’ Silo reminded him.
‘Sorry,’ said Malvery. ‘They’re gathering out there.’
Silo cursed in Murthian. Where was the Cap’n? He could understand Frey’s reluctance to use the earcuffs – like Frey, Silo hated the distraction in a gunfight, though it didn’t appear to bother Malvery – but right now he needed to know when, or if, help was coming.
Suppose it don’t matter, he told himself. Ain’t no place to run, anyways. Gonna hold this house as long as we can, and hope that’s long enough.
He heard fresh gunfire from the bedroom. Harkins and Ashua. ‘Watch the road,’ he told Malvery as he hurried through to the back.
‘What in rot’s name are we still doing here?’ Ashua cried. She had her pistol steadied with both hands, and was firing into the trees. ‘We need to fall back!’
Silo pressed himself up against the wall on the other side of the window, leaned out, and took a shot at a ghostly shape out there in the white world beyond. ‘You gonna hold the damn line till I say otherwise,’ he said.
‘I didn’t join this bloody crew to die in some frozen hole in the mountains!’
‘Me neither. But here we are.’
There was a lull in the shooting. Neither of them could see a target. Ashua opened her mouth to protest further, but Silo got in first.
‘Where you gonna go, huh? The mansion? Imperators there. That’s if the gunship don’t shoot us to pieces crossin’ the bridge. The Cap’n’s comin’. You might not believe it, but I do. So stay put.’
Ashua glared at him, a sullen fire in her eyes. Her defiance didn’t fool him. She was afraid. She might be tough, but she’d never been in a war, never been under such sustained fire for so long. You never knew how someone might react when they were pinned down with no way out, not knowing if the next bullet coming would be the one to take them in the skull. She was on edge, liable to do something stupid.
He looked over at Harkins, who was at the n
ext window, furiously concentrating on his task. Ashua needed something more than orders to steady her. Silo took a gamble.
‘How about you, Harkins?’ he called. ‘You wanna run for it?’
‘No, sir!’ Harkins replied, without taking his eyes off the trees. Ashua looked startled.
‘Why not?’ Silo said.
Harkins turned his head. He was addressing Silo, but looking straight at Ashua. ‘Because I’m no chickenshit,’ he said levelly. ‘Sir.’
Ashua spat on the floor and hunkered down to watch the trees again. Shame would keep her where she was. Silo gave Harkins a nod of respect and headed back to Malvery.
He’d seen something in Harkins these last few days. A new distance in his gaze, something firmer in his eye. He snapped to attention when spoken to, he didn’t gripe or bitch like the others as he went about his work. He’d found a way to prop up his courage, and damn if he wasn’t turning out to be useful in a gunfight at last. He still couldn’t hit much with his pistol, but the Awakeners didn’t know that.
Silo crouched next to Malvery, who was looking narrowly out at the road. Silo saw figures moving behind the windows across the courtyard.
‘Don’t like this,’ said Malvery. ‘They’re waiting for something. Could do with getting Grudge to send a few shots their way, keep ’em on their toes.’
‘That feller don’t take no orders from me,’ said Silo.
Malvery glanced at him. ‘Heard what you did back there with Ashua,’ he said. ‘Cap’n made a smart pick having you as first mate. Ain’t anyone else on the crew we’d listen to at a time like this.’
Silo shrugged a shoulder. ‘You my people,’ he said.
The bellow of engines alerted them a moment before the gunship came sweeping out of the blizzard, its cannons pointed right at them. Silo and Malvery scrambled away from the windows and flailed back towards cover as the front of the house was torn up. Splinters and powdered stone and plaster filled the air; the clatter of rotary cannons battered their ears. Silo hunkered in behind the stove. Malvery, having no better option, dived behind the sofa and made himself as small a target as his generous frame would allow.
The Ace of Skulls Page 38