Wrath of Storms

by Steven McKinnon

  A pirate spotted her. He charged, raising his shortsword.

  Tiera kicked ice into his eyes and buried a kukri through his chest and up into his heart. He slumped over, his face twisted into a grimace.

  She needed to find a way onto the monstrous tank—if she commandeered the vehicle’s weapon, then she could take out the Queen’s thrusters—she could kill Helena before she had time to land.

  Fool—she doesn’t know you’re here—leave these finisa curs to their fate.

  As much as Tiera wanted to ignore it, Serena’s words back in the palace had stuck with her. What would Fitz think?

  Fitz is dead.

  But that didn’t mean she’d stopped loving him.

  She crept across the dirt road, keeping to cover and striking only when she could kill an enemy without alerting others. She followed the trail of destruction and the sound of the tank’s discharge.

  Pirates raided every structure in the village, every home. They’d raze Frosthaven to the ground before they were done—but still the Frostcloaks fought on. Why didn’t they surrender? Why didn’t they give up?

  Because giving up is worse than death.

  Weaving between ruined bell towers, Tiera crept closer to the tank. A gyrogunner on a Sabretooth cut down fleeing civilians. Bottles smashed against its hull, smearing fire in its wake.

  She shouldered a door open, deafened by the sound of gunfire. They’re making their way to the landing pad. Ventris is going to land.

  She pushed herself, ignored the pain flaring in her legs, kept running and killing in silence. She came to a gatehouse before one of the village’s bigger bridges—the pirates had garrisoned in it, removing civilians to allow the metal behemoth passage.

  Tiera flanked left, keeping a safe distance away and avoiding the rear guard. She inched towards the gate house’s side door, saw the cracks in the red paint, clasped the cold metal of its handle—and flew back as it burst open, sending her to the ground.

  Madyx towered above her, bloodied fists clenched.

  ‘There’s Heinrich.’ The elder Frostcloak retreated along a ridge, covering his companions as they clambered over icy terrain towards the boxy entrance to a shelter.

  Gallows swore. ‘They’re mowing ’em down. Gods… This is our fault—we brought them here.’

  ‘No.’ Serena rolled her shoulders, easing the ache from them. ‘They’re here because Ventris is a lunatic and ’cause Arnault was obsessed with war. All we can do is save the villagers. We have to fight.’

  ‘I agree, but I ain’t going up against a gyrogun with only a sword and good intentions.’

  Serena gazed up at the looming Queen. ‘I have a weapon.’

  The siren-song unwound from her, tentative at first.

  It won’t be like Solassis—I’ll control it.

  It flowed through Frosthaven and into the minds of invading soldiers. Serena kept moving, the song expanding.

  ‘Can you stop people you’re not looking at?’

  Serena frowned. ‘Yeah, but… I can’t tell the difference between the pirates and the Frostcloaks.’

  Her power spun outwards, and Serena commanded everyone to lay down their weapons. In minutes, the silent song spread throughout Frosthaven. Serena sensed threads connect then sever as the fighting raged. I need to spread it out, but how?

  ‘I need to get higher,’ Serena said. With Gallows, she slipped into one of the intact bell towers, the three pirates at its base standing like mannequins.

  Gallows tied them up while Serena climbed the ladder to the upper floor.

  She gazed down on the village; armoured motorcarriages skidded to a halt and gyroguns fell silent at her command.

  This has to be high enough…

  But with every connection she made, the more her grip weakened elsewhere. Gallows spoke to her, but Serena was lost in the song. The magic flowing from her climbed higher and higher, reaching inside the Queen. She had to find Ventris and make the captain order an end to the bloodshed. Once she reached Ventris, she could release everyone else.

  Serena clenched her eyes shut.

  ‘You okay?’ Gallows called.

  ‘Quiet—need to concentrate.’

  The song swam throughout the Queen of the North. Serena visualised golden wisps flowing from her fingertips, as thin as harp strings.

  I can win this war without firing a shot.

  There weren’t many people aboard the colossal airship, but Serena couldn’t tell which one was Ventris. Threads needled through their minds—if she couldn’t identify Ventris, she’d have to force one of the crew to kill her.

  It won’t come to that.

  Serena’s heart raced. Pain crept over her and her muscles grew weary, but she was close—so close.

  Then her song came up against something different—something strong.

  Ventris.

  Serena sensed her—sensed her rage, her decaying grip on sanity—and her fear, burrowing like a stoneroach.

  But something was different about the pirate.

  Like Arnault before, the siren-song hit a brick wall. Serena manoeuvred around it, invisible tendrils feeling for cracks in Helena’s defences—but every time she found her footing, it would push her back. It was like directing a marble through a tilting maze with ever-shifting walls.

  Serena summoned every ounce of strength she had. She severed the connections on the ground, knowing the enemy troops would resume killing. She pushed her song harder, harder than ever before. The song spiralled out from her very core.

  Helena—stop. Bring the ship down. Stop the slaughter. Command your troops to lay down their—

  From an intangible void inside Ventris, something howled at Serena and flayed every thread of the siren-song. Serena screamed, palms digging against her ears.

  She screamed until her throat turned raw.

  Enoch tore the repeater rifle from a Ryndaran’s grip and thundered the butt into his face. Blood and teeth erupted from his mouth.

  Rage drove men to perform great and terrible acts. For some, it was a cancer that poisoned the soul. For others, it afforded them strength and purpose.

  Enemy soldiers stood motionless before him. Enoch took full advantage—he sent half a dozen men to their graves before their senses returned and they took up arms again.

  Enoch soaked up bullet after bullet. He clawed at enemy soldiers, swung them into stone walls, cracking skulls like egg shells. He twisted necks and snapped spines, felt the shards of bone on his knuckles as his fist caved a breastbone in.

  The children of Frosthaven cowered before him, as frightened of Captain Enoch tal Meridian as they were of the Ryndaran menace. So be it—he was a soldier, not a saviour; let the Gods salvage their souls—he was here to fight. A life without purpose was no life at all, and Gods, Enoch was alive.

  Flames rose from blackened homes. Enoch chased the Ryndaran dogs across bridges and through alleyways. One of them latched onto his back, thrusting his knife into Enoch’s neck—he didn’t even feel it. He pulled the bastard off, broke his wrist and threw him against a wall. The coward cried out but his allies were too busy fleeing to hear.

  Enoch gripped the man’s head in his hands. ‘When I send your king to the deepest circle of Hell, give him my regards.’ The neck snapped with all the resistance of a twig.

  He ploughed through an alley. The walls of Palthonheim loomed above the forest peaks, the city’s irradiated mists hanging like a shroud and twisting the firs and spruces into gnarled mockeries of themselves. Things—enemy soldiers? Animals?—flitted behind the tree line, howling and snarling. His own men begged to withdraw and shouted in defiance at his orders—but where was the glory in retreating? Where had they fled to while he was fighting tooth and nail? Where was that insufferable Korvan Swain?

  No matter—Captain tal Meridian alone would bring glory to Prime Councillor Waverley—and should young King Arnault think to strike Dalthea again, Enoch would stand firm, sending his dogs back into their holes.

 
‘There!’ a woman’s voice called.

  Two squads of enemy soldiers, one at each end of the alley—Enoch was caught between them. They opened fire. Bullets struck him, stinging him. He roared and made short work of the enemy.

  The woman was the last to live. Credit to her, she fought back as Enoch pinned her against the wall. His fingers wrapped around her thin neck. ‘Arnault sends women to do his fighting now?’

  She kicked at Enoch, screams gargling in her throat.

  And Palthonheim dissolved around him, like rain ruining a fresh painting.

  He relinquished his grip, and the woman fell into the snow, dragging breath into her lungs.

  Enoch staggered back. ‘What… What is this? I… Frosthaven.’ He reached down to help the woman to her feet. ‘Aerulus above, I—’

  She scrambled away from him, limbs jerking as she fought for purchase in the ice.

  What have I done?

  The ground quaked and the world shook. Churning through the ice and mud, something bigger and heavier than the Sabretooths approached.

  The walls toppled like they were made from hay. The monstrous outline of a mechanical beast resolved from the aftermath, twin barrels protruding like mammoth tusks.

  With a shriek of metal, its turret twisted, stared Enoch down, and roared.

  Tiera rolled, and Madyx’s boot missed her by an inch.

  He tore the rifle from her grip and hurled it to the ground.

  She conjured her knives and circled Madyx, one foot in front of the other.

  The big man’s lips pressed together and he shook his head. ‘Traitor.’

  Tiera flew at him, but he was fast for his size. He seized both of her wrists and twisted. She screamed, and her blades fell to the ground.

  Madyx’s lips twisted—he didn’t enjoy hurting her. ‘Thommo’s killer—where?’

  Tiera winced. ‘Don’t know.’

  Madyx twisted harder, bringing Tiera to one knee. ‘Where?’

  Pain burned through her arms. With one foot sliding on the ice, she tried to stand, but the pirate was as strong as Belios.

  But the environment was as much a hindrance to him as it was to her.

  She kicked out—her leg overreached and her knee wouldn’t thank her in the morning, but it worked—Madyx’s foot rolled and he scrambled for balance, his hands shooting out to keep his face from striking the ice. He didn’t fall, but it was enough—Tiera rolled back and sprang to her feet, almost slipping again. She launched a fist into Madyx’s nose and followed with a ferocious uppercut. He punched back, sending her sprawling to the ground.

  Madyx grabbed her leg and dragged her back—she dug the heel of her boot into his eye once, twice.

  His hands shot up to his face and his scream was the high-pitched howl of a little boy. When he took his hand away, Tiera saw the empty space where his eye used to be.

  She rolled and picked up her kukris. Madyx staggered towards her, panting, blood leaking over his skin and coat.

  Gentle Madyx, guilty of nothing but caring for Thommo.

  She slashed out at him, blades twirling and arcing. He dodged the first strike, and the second—but then the tip sank into his chest.

  Madyx fell atop Tiera, pinning her to the ground, his blood leaking over her face. She bit into his ear and chewed it clean off, stabbed his back over and over with the kukri until he stopped moving.

  His weight settled on her. Like a straitjacket tightening around her heart, his body pushed the breath from her lungs.

  She dropped the knives and pushed, squirming out from beneath his mass.

  Flames stretched to the sky and pillars of black smoke obscured the Queen’s belly. She was bearing down on the landing site, and the roar of her thrusters was enough to quell any embers of hope that may have lingered.

  Enoch reached through rubble, pain seeping through him like rainfall in porous rock.

  Bones beneath his hard skin were broken—two ribs, perhaps three—and his legs refused to obey his commands. He pulled himself from the pit of rubble, crawled across stone and ice and forced himself to stand.

  Frosthaven burned.

  What bell towers still stood tolled their warning. Avenues teemed with enemy troops mowing fleeing Frostcloaks down. The Queen of the North crawled through the sky, settling above the flat of the village’s rough landing site.

  The pirates took pleasure in destroying shrines and ransacking jewellery stalls, of yanking husbands from their wives and executing them.

  The pirate ship concealed the sun. In under an hour, they had destroyed an entire settlement. Enoch fell to one knee.

  How does a man who does not know his own nature protect the lives of others?

  Enoch had no answer, but if he was to die with the people of Frosthaven—before he atoned for his sins—then he would make his last minutes count.

  He hobbled through smoking craters and broken homes, following the trail of destruction left in the vehicle’s wake. He summoned what strength remained and marched towards it, the surrounding fires burning his robes away.

  ‘Stay with me, Serena.’ Gallows’ voice didn’t rise above a whisper. He hauled Serena towards the shelter, over a mound covered in icy scree, his own body aching. He couldn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t stand to see her suffering. ‘Heinrich will know what to do. He’ll get us out.’

  Frostcloaks converged at the entrance of the shelter, exchanging fire with the invaders. The burnt-out husk of a Sabretooth told Gallows they still had some fight left in them.

  But the pirates had the numbers and the weapons—and fighting in the shadows beneath the belly of the Queen was enough to sap anyone’s morale.

  ‘Gallows—it’s Ventris, she…’ Serena’s voice croaked and blood trickled from her nose.

  ‘Save your energy, we gotta keep moving.’

  Every step burned Gallows’ legs more. He had to half-drag Serena to keep her moving.

  ‘Stay with me, we’re almost there. Just over this ridge—we can get behind the defenders.’

  Her fingers dug into Gallows’ arm. ‘I don’t think we can beat it.’

  ‘Sure we will. We’ll hole up and negotiate terms.’ The words sounded as hollow as an empty grave.

  ‘Not Ventris—there’s something inside her… The same thing that was in Arnault… Gallows… It… hates me…’

  Gallows stepped over a man’s body, his eyes wide and stiff fingers coiling around the hilt of a bloodless machete.

  ‘It didn’t just block my siren-song,’ she said. ‘It fought back.’

  Smoke burned in Gallows’ lungs. He heard the strained voices of the fighting Frostcloaks.

  Then the gunfire stopped, and the only sounds were the screams of the dying and the roars of the flames.

  ‘Stay low, we’re making a break for—’

  A salvo rocked the earth, punching ice and mud into the sky. A piercing whine filled Gallows’ head and everything turned black. He tripped and stumbled on the ice, cracking his knee.

  ‘…above and below… Gallows!’

  Like a fog clearing, the piercing died and a low rumble filled its wake, vibrating in Gallows’ chest.

  He got to his feet. A crater expanded where the Frostcloaks had been fighting, leaving no trace of them. The entrance to the shelter had caved in.

  A tank rolled through the centre of the village, bigger than any Gallows had ever seen before.

  ‘What do we do?’ Serena pleaded.

  Gallows’ jaw hardened. The aches in his limbs begged him to just lay down and give up.

  An engine revved nearby, and a Sabretooth got him in its sights.

  ‘Run.’

  The iron beast squatted in the centre of Frosthaven, too heavy to cross all but Frosthaven’s strongest bridges.

  Tiera stuck to concealing herself in the ruins, prowling to maintain stealth. Gunfire still rattled in the distance. This isn’t a fight—it’s a slaughter.

  The rest of Frosthaven fell silent. Less than an hour ago, the village th
rived. An hour from now, it wouldn’t even exist.

  Jasper and a few other stragglers retreated into an alley. Tiera followed them—if was going to take the fight to Ventris, she’d need help.

  It was a powerful thing, to be surrounded by so much death and to keep living. Tiera resolved to make it count; she’d never been one to appreciate chess, but she liked that a pawn could walk up to the queen and knife her in the heart—and Tiera Martelo was more lethal than any pawn.

  Bullets chased Gallows’ heels.

  His feet pounded the hardened mud as he and Serena raced through the centre of Frosthaven. Bodies littered the inner streets and blood washed upon the stones.

  ‘Through that window,’ Serena urged. Her strength was returning.

  They darted through a bombed-out shop, the Sabretooth in close pursuit. Bullets drilled through the walls, chipping brick and scorching metal.

  ‘There!’ Gallows charged the shop’s rear exit once, twice, before it burst open. ‘Outside! Go!’

  The Sabretooth revved, spewing ignium into the air and circling the building.

  ‘Move!’ Gallows kept running, no idea where he was going.

  A winding path branched off from the back of the shop. Gallows motioned to it. ‘Too narrow for it to follow.’

  They kept low, passing upturned carts. A dead pirate hung head-first over a well, two long slash marks blazing across his back. Chickens roamed the dirt path, repeating sharp trills like a serrated blade on a violin string.

  Gallows took cover behind the well, signalling to Serena to follow. The rumble of the Sabretooth’s engines roamed nearby, but it hadn’t followed them down.

  Two voices emerged from someone’s home. Gallows peeked over the edge; they carried wads of aerons and handfuls of jewels.

  Gallows took his chance.

  He charged forward and opened the first one’s throat with his knife, and then rammed it into the second’s gut. Money and jewels fell to the ground, covered in blood. Gallows kept plunging his knife into the soldier’s belly, pressing his hand over his mouth and bringing him to the ground.