‘Bloodlung was the most efficient way to kill on a mass scale,’ said Thackeray. ‘One Three Seven provided all the raw material we needed to spread the disease, and to inoculate my agents. Every person it claimed is now a soldier in an army immune to the Idari’s magics. They will neutralise the Idari threat and bring peace to the world. It is a great honour.’
‘You knew I’d seal Dustwynd,’ said Fallon.
‘It’s the textbook response… And you lack imagination. Dustwynd is a haven of despondency… But from that despondency sprang hope. With the government leaving the people to their fate, where but the Lightbearers could they turn? Tristan and I offered them a better death—a death that meant something.’
‘You son of a bitch.’ Valentine shoved her Vindicator into Thackeray’s face. ‘You infected them with bloodlung on purpose.’
‘What lives do the people of Dustwynd live? Like footprints upon the shore, they are swept away by an inevitable tide. What I mean to accomplish will preserve our kingdom for a thousand years. The few die today, so the many can live tomorrow. As a soldier, surely you agree. I spared them suffering—and the Wraith army will be the sword with which the Idari are vanquished. And thanks to General Fallon, my agents had an entire district to use as their laboratory.’
‘Adaryn Kayn, Alspeth tal Simara…’ Fallon’s words dripped with venom. ‘Any time someone offers the people better’n what you can give ’em, you kill them.’
‘Democracy is a luxury for peace time, General. We are at war. People die.’
Valentine’s finger curled around the trigger. ‘Korvan—how can you work with that monster?’
‘I will use any tool at my disposal to ensure our kingdom is kept safe.’
Valentine opened her mouth to say something—but shadows flitted throughout the Gravehold and stole the words from her.
‘Boss,’ she said. ‘Incoming!’
A Wraith peeled from the shadows of the Gravehold. Its blade glinted as it descended—Valentine spun around and opened fire, felling it—but more were coming.
‘Boss, we gotta go.’
Fallon swore and shoved Thackeray against the wall.
‘Boss!’ She pulled Fallon away from the prisoner. The Wraiths’ scuttling grew louder.
Valentine climbed to the next level, and the next. With Fallon, she kept running and climbing, the darkness preventing her from getting a read on enemy numbers. Was there movement within the ceiling, the stalagmites, the walls…?
A Wraith leapt from the shadows and tackled her to the ground—her Vindicator fired but the bullets hit the wall.
The Wraith gripped her neck with one hand, and raised a dagger with the other. She seized its wrist, but the Wraith was strong; the tip of the dagger pressed lower, lower. Her forearm hurt, threatening to break. The blade scraped against her teeth.
Then the dagger fell. Fallon kicked the Wraith from her and mashed its head into rock again and again. Brownish blood leaked from it.
Valentine scrambled away and massaged her neck, dragging in a breath.
He held out a hand. ‘Even with one eye, I still see better’n you—’
From behind, the tip of a short sword pierced his chest.
‘No!’ On shaking legs, Valentine got to her feet and whipped her repeater around.
Fallon stumbled, the sword still protruding from him.
Valentine’s repeater roared, and the Wraith toppled back.
Fallon collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. More Wraiths converged all around, their scurrying rising to a cacophony.
‘Boss!’ Valentine kept shooting, driving the enemy back. The stench of dried blood filled her nostrils. ‘Can you walk?’
Fallon crawled towards her, blood welling through his uniform. ‘Forget about me… Get Catryn!’
She reached down to Fallon. ‘On your feet, boss.’
He batted her hand away. ‘I’m done, Sergeant. Should’ve… never froze you out.’
‘Plenty time to get sappy later,’ said Valentine.
Fallon’s calloused fingers seized her. Even in the darkness, Valentine saw the colour drain from him.
‘Find Catryn,’ he croaked. ‘She has… the ignerium… the Lightning Harness…’
Valentine’s eyes burned. ‘The hell did you keep that thing for, anyway?’
‘Because… Thackeray’s right, Valentine—the war with Idaris ain’t over… And we need an edge.’
More Wraiths spilled from the foundations of Castle Rochefort, climbing from the centre of the pit. Reverberations echoed throughout the cavern, like the tremble that heralds an earthquake—and they were growing louder, filling the Gravehold.
‘C’mon, we gotta move,’ Valentine pleaded.
‘I ain’t going anywhere. Listen to me… Thackeray don’t matter. I don’t matter. Get Catryn before Tristan does.’
‘I ain’t leaving you, boss.’
‘We all die some day, Sergeant—and you’re the last person I want to see me go. Now move your ass—I gave you an order.’
‘Gods damn it…’ Valentine pulled herself away, and ran.
Catryn’s calloused fingers glided over the smooth casing of the contraption. She wasn’t one for sentiment, but with a portable Lightning Spire, clean water would soon be available for the entire kingdom. She’d crack the enigmas of ignerium in time—if her smoking habit let her live that long.
She extinguished all but one of the ignium lamps and retreated to the chair next to her bed. The servomotors in her leg brace needed replacing, her throat begged for water, and damn, she should probably step outdoors one of these days.
Whatever sins she’d committed assisting the cruel minds of One Three Seven, she’d atone for with this. She didn’t want the recognition or the glory, but knowing the kingdom was a step closer to thriving—knowing Angelo and the other kids at the orphanage wouldn’t die of thirst—was better than any glory. Wasn’t that what drew her to science in the first place?
She eased an ache from her shoulder. If her mind stopped calculating, stopped whirring faster than the motors in her leg brace, then she might even enjoy the luxury of sleep.
And the Songstress might gift me with a rendition of the Raincatcher’s Ballad.
A frantic knock pounded at her door, and with some effort, Catryn stood.
She drew the bolt back, the smooth steel cold against her hand. With a creak, the sliding door inched open. ‘Yeah, General, come by whenever, I exist to obey your every comm—’
A force hurled Catryn to the ground.
‘Prefer the term king.’ The chalk-white flesh across Korvan’s face was curled and peeled, and his voice resonated like a church bell at a funeral.
Catryn crawled back, her bad leg dragging on the concrete floor.
‘I like your little hovel, Doctor. You’re unique, with your genius brain and funny crippled leg. I like unique people! I like to pull their brains apart, see what makes them tick. Call it a hobby. Like old Sadie Abernathy! No matter how much bloodlung we pumped into her, it never took—and her insides didn’t reveal how. Gods, the trouble we went to faking it.’ The monster placed his hands on his hips and gazed at the ceiling. ‘That woman may well have been the only person in the world with a natural immunity to bloodlung.’ Korvan clapped his hands. ‘Ah, well.’
Catryn scurried back on her elbows, pain reverberating through her. All sound evaporated from the room, but for the whine of her servomotors.
Korvan leered down at her leg brace. ‘Tell me the truth: Are you some kind of automaton?’
Behind the monster, clad in the black coat and trousers of the Confessors, was Constable Tristan. His palm rested on the pommel of his Watch blade. ‘Korvan, take the Lightning Harness, if you please. Pol, apprehend the doctor—kill her only if you need to.’
Korvan flitted to the worktable, his smooth, marble-white fingers tracing the concealed Lightning Harness.
‘Korvan,’ Tristan repeated. ‘Secure the weapon—our sources in the RSF indicate t
he Prime Councillor will be with us soon. Thank you.’
Korvan carried the device under his arm. ‘As you wish.’
Catryn struggled to her feet. It was subtle, but she caught Tristan flinch as the monster passed him.
‘You’re under arrest,’ said Pol.
Catryn turned, but her bad leg slowed her down—Pol leapt and pinned her to the wall, wrenching the brace from her leg and throwing Catryn to the ground. ‘Still reckon you can run?’
‘Enough,’ cried Tristan.
Catryn crawled across the floor, discarded screws and metal filings burning her palms. On her knees, and fingers digging into a table, she hauled herself onto her feet. Her right leg bent inwards when she put weight onto it. She screamed but forced herself to stand.
‘Well, points for effort,’ mocked Pol. She stomped closer to Catryn.
Catryn had always intended on dying in her favourite chair with a bottle of Glenfortoshan in one hand and a cigarette in the other—she’d be damned if this asshole traitor robbed her of that.
She pulled open a drawer, revealing wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers—and an ignium-fuelled drill. She grabbed the drill, dived towards Pol and buried it in her chest. Then she activated it.
Pol screamed. The drill bit chewed through her leather Watch armour, boring through bone. Blood bubbled through the hole and she screamed—Catryn pushed forward, shoving Pol towards her towering bandsaw. Catryn punched its red power switch—the bandsaw rumbled into life just in time for Pol’s grip to wrap around the vibrating, serrated blade.
Pol howled as the saw took four, five fingers—then, finally, her whole hand. She dropped to her knees, the colour draining from her skin, beady eyes staring at the bloody stump.
Tristan stiffened, unable to take his eyes off the watchwoman. ‘What have you done?’
Ashen-faced, he unsheathed his blade and walked towards Catryn.
She stumbled to her rear storeroom, Tristan’s footsteps close behind her.
Run, run, run…
Catryn half-fell and half-threw herself into the storeroom, yanking its steel cage door shut and locking it from the inside. She stepped back to evade the point of Tristan’s blade through the bars and tripped to the floor, her eyes frozen open.
Tristan yelled in frustration, grabbing the cage and rattling it. A bitter smile played across his lips, his eyes closing and his head resting against the cage. ‘This was to be a peaceful revolution.’
Then, with a last look at the doctor, he left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
‘Whoa!’
Serena’s fingers tightened around the arms of the chair.
‘You okay?’ Gallows asked.
‘Yeah, I… I dreamt I was falling.’
‘One of your visions?’
Serena stretched and yawned. ‘No, just a normal dream. How long was I asleep?’
‘Couple of hours. We’re almost there—we’d get there a lot quicker if I could tell where the damn ground ends and the sky begins.’
‘Keep an eye out for the bell towers.’ Serena patted her new wrench, tucked into her coat pocket. It was no replacement for Flicker.
‘Do you think we’ll make it into Palthonheim?’ she asked.
‘The city’s a ruin and its surroundings are a wasteland. The radiation will burn your skin before you even see the city walls.’
‘Could’ve just said “no”.’
Serena had never given it much thought before; everyone knew that Palthonheim was a ruin, but no-one knew exactly how it had been destroyed. Most people believed that the city’s ignicite mining went too far and ruptured a hazardous vein. That was the thing with ignicite—it regenerated over time, but that didn’t mean you could take as much as you wanted.
‘It was full of geniuses, right?’ Serena asked.
‘Palthonheim? Yeah, it was founded by the leading scholars of the world—elders from Dalthea, Aludan, Mercuria, Phadros—even Idaris.’
‘The Idari were there?’
‘Hard to believe, but yeah—wasn’t so long ago that the Idari were our friends. Everyone flocked to Palthonheim—it had the largest library in the world, the biggest collection of wonders.’
‘Didn’t stop them from rupturing an ignicite vein and destroying their city.’
‘Yeah, well, when the Calamity came—’
‘The Calamity?’
‘It’s what people call the destruction of Palthonheim. And when it happened, some of ’em escaped, took bits and pieces with them. I’ve tracked down more than one trinket from Palthonheim.’ Gallows took a deep breath before he spoke again. ‘Gods, I’d love to have seen it in its day.’
‘What I don’t get is how all those smart people managed to destroy it.’
Gallows raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s a fine line between insanity and ingenuity.’
Serena fidgeted with the dial of the Bride’s Code receiver. ‘Too smart for their own good… Jozef used to say that about me.’
Myriel will know about Palthonheim. She’ll have answers. Serena shifted close to the bridge’s port-side skyglass. The sky struggled for dominance behind tumultuous, ash-grey clouds. ‘Hey… Do you reckon Heinrich and the others will be pissed at me for stealing supplies?’
Gallows laughed. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Not the reassurance I was looking for.’
‘Something tells me you’ll persevere.’
The closer they got to Frosthaven, the wider the pit opened in Serena’s chest. Would Myriel be angry at her? Disappointed?
As long as she’s ali—
Something in the distance caught her eye. ‘Hey—what’s that?’
When Gallows answered, his voice sounded as heavy as plummeting hail. ‘Smoke.’
Myriel lay as still as a figure in an oil painting, the rise and fall of her chest almost imperceptible.
For all his strength, Enoch couldn’t do a thing. You brought me back when I needed help, and I cannot return the favour.
What good was immortality if it condemned you to look on as the people you loved disappeared?
Scruff lay on the floor by his feet, breaking the silence with a low whine. Then the dog’s head snapped up.
‘What is it, boy?’
Scruff barked twice in quick succession, short and sharp.
‘What’s wrong, b—’
Something thumped against the wall outside. A wooden beam in the ceiling split, showering Enoch in dust.
Then something else hit the wall and the ceiling cracked. The wooden beam plummeted and cleaved through the old medical machines.
Enoch shielded Myriel with his arms and called for help.
Lyani flung the door open. ‘Something’s coming—follow me to the shelter!’
Enoch lifted Myriel and followed the Frostcloak outside. The mage didn’t stir in his arms.
Frosthaven burst with panic. The frantic toll of bells rolled across the entire settlement, doors and windows slammed shut, and people fled in every direction.
Scruff kept barking, high-pitched and intense.
‘This way,’ Lyani called back, finding Heinrich amidst the chaos.
The elder Frostcloak barked orders and loaded bullets into an old bolt-action rifle. ‘Petra, get whatever weapons you have and set up a perimeter around the shelter. Once everyone is inside, raise the bridge. Bjarno, go with Lyani—find my son and daughter and take them to the shelters. You, you and you—evacuate the towers and cease the damn bells—it’s too late to do any good, so get the men stationed inside to safety.’
‘Heinrich!’ Enoch roared. ‘Have your men take Myriel to the shelter.’
‘Do as he says,’ the elder barked.
Enoch handed Myriel over to two young men. The colour had drained from their faces and their fingers trembled. ‘Scruff, go with them.’
The dog whined but obeyed.
Jasper, the young man who assisted Heinrich in the clinic, climbed over a low stone wall and tumbled to the ground. ‘Heinrich!’ Sweat rolled down his s
oft face. ‘They have motorcarriages, gyroguns.’
‘Tanya and Yvan?’
Jasper shook his head, then fell to his knees and vomited.
‘Jasper, I know it’s hard,’ Heinrich started, ‘but I need you to tell me—did you see who they are? What colours did the raiders wear?’
Jasper rinsed his mouth and shook his head. ‘Not raiders—Ryndaran soldiers. They’ve already destroyed the train station.’
Enoch glanced northward, but all he could see was smoke. ‘Why would they strike neutral territory?’
Heinrich glared at him. ‘Because someone brought them here.’
More Frostcloaks converged to the western side of the village, setting up a perimeter around the entrance to the underground shelters. Jasper got to his feet and planted his legs shoulder-width apart, raised his rifle and took aim at Enoch. ‘Why should we risk our lives when we can give the raiders what they want?’
Heinrich nudged the barrel of the rifle down. ‘This is a safe haven for all—we take no sides—that is sacred, Jasper. Now go, prepare the defence.’
‘This is your domain,’ Enoch pointed out. ‘You know this land better than the raiders—use it to your advantage. The narrow confines and dead ends are ideal for traps and chokepoints.’
The wrinkles in Heinrich’s face deepened. ‘We are a peaceful people, not soldiers.’
A hail of bullets churned through the clinic at his back. The ground quaked and the din of machinery growled in his ears.
‘The motorcarriages,’ Jasper yelled. ‘They’re coming!’
‘Fall back!’ Heinrich ordered.
Frostcloaks dispersed through the village, climbing over low walls and crossing Frosthaven’s numerous bridges. Heinrich and Jasper withdrew towards an abandoned home.
Enoch followed them, the ground rumbling beneath him. Heralded by a wave of ploughing snow, armoured vehicles on continuous tracks rolled over Frosthaven. Gunners operating roof-mounted gyroguns crowned their roofs, drilling bullets into everything they passed.
In the distance, by the eastern slopes forming into icefjords, a bell tower toppled.
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