by Tom Lloyd
As he reached the dancing flames that marked the halfway point, something gave and Lynx tripped, flapping madly as his ankle seemed to fold underneath him. He twisted and hopped as momentum carried him forward, then flopped down awkwardly on to one knee before ending up sprawled on his back. Lynx looked up at the darkness above as pain flowered in hot bursts across his knee and he heaved for breath.
Behind him the golantha closed, its attention fixed on the cartridge case he had dropped. It prowled forward and Lynx felt a moment of sheer terror as the monster regarded him with what seemed a wary intelligence. It moved without haste but its long limbs swallowed up the yards as easily as its shroud of darkness blurred the flame-scars marking its body.
He somehow found the strength to get to one knee and fumbled with his gun, pulling a sparker he’d kept back. It was his last one. The rest were just icers, aside from his single earther, but he knew he’d get only one chance.
A sudden sense of calm came over him and his trembling fingers managed to slide the spark-bolt into the breech and close it in one neat movement. The golantha reached the cartridge case and paused, watching Lynx as he stood his ground.
It’s expecting me to run – it’s not used to anything facing it down.
Lynx dismissed the worrying thoughts that accompanied that and eased his gun up. The jangle of fear and simmering anger flowing through him had struck a strange balance and he knew he wouldn’t run any more. If the others didn’t appear he would stand his ground. He had made his choice and nothing would sway him. That resolve had been how he’d survived his years on the road. More than once he’d wanted to end it, to violently escape the crawling personal demons when drink had failed him. It had been obstinacy that had kept him alive, that much he could admit to himself. Not bravery, not strength of character or morals – the simple blinkered refusal to accept defeat that had stayed his hand when his mage-gun seemed so inviting. If this was the day obstinacy killed him rather than kept him alive, so be it.
There was a movement to one side as the others raced towards the bridge, but he kept his focus on the beast as though breaking eye contact would make it attack. In truth he knew it wasn’t interested in him – the couple of dozen cartridges and two grenades in that case before it were far more attractive – but he still felt a surge of hope as it continued to watch him. Even if Toil had abandoned them the rest had appeared behind him and were cautiously making up the ground. If it couldn’t really be hurt, it wouldn’t care – kill him if he attacked it maybe, but otherwise ignore him. That it seemed to notice him, or perhaps his mage-gun, probably meant he was more than just an annoyance.
‘Or mebbe you just guessed there’s a plan here,’ Lynx muttered, sighting down the barrel of his gun. ‘There’s always the cheery option I suppose.’
Slowly the golantha dipped its head, jaws open and snaking trails of tongue reaching for the cartridge case. Lynx let it curl one glowing thread around the case before he pulled the trigger. The mage-gun slammed back into his shoulder and the jagged sparker-trail slammed forward. It hit the cartridge case dead-on and burst into a ball of crackling light. An instant later the case exploded and everything went white.
Lynx was thrown back by the force of the impact, a blinding flash and roar of flames seeming to fill the world as he was hurled across the pitted stone of the bridge. He rolled, arms up across his face, and forced himself to keep going as a wave of heat washed over him. His ears rang with pain, the hurt spreading across his body. Finally he found himself face down on the cool stone, blinking at the crazed streaks of light and dark running across his vision. In the distance there was a roar – of anger or pain he couldn’t tell – dulled by the peal of noise echoing through his head. He tried to look up, hand tightening around the stock of his gun, using it to push his body up.
Lynx flopped on to his back, unable to properly keep himself upright, but managed to jam an arm underneath himself. The dark of the rift and the orange of flames seemed to continue moving around him, swirling and shuddering even as he got his other arm around to support his lurching body. Legs splayed in front of him, Lynx tried to see what had happened further down the bridge, but all he could see were smears of light against the dark. The effort of looking was enough to make his head spin and his guts spew up what little remained in his stomach. The sourness of bile added to the dirty stink of burning oil at the back of his throat, causing his stomach to heave once more, but once that was done his wits seemed to return a fraction.
He dragged himself sideways towards the support of the stone wall running down the side of the bridge. The golantha, somewhere amid the chaos of flames, roared and thrashed at the stone beneath it. Lynx could feel the violence of its movements and guessed he’d really hurt it, but before his vision could clear enough to behold his handiwork more gunshots rang out.
He heaved himself up, propping his back against the wall before jerking the breech of his gun open. Moving mostly by feel he found the earther he’d taken from Reft and loaded it. He still couldn’t see well, but he staggered forward towards the writhing, shadowy blur of the golantha. Finally he started to be able to see something and stopped dead as the monster whipped around, rear legs tearing furrows in the bridge’s surface. Chunks of rock skittered past him, one striking him square on his injured knee.
Lynx howled in pain then the sound died in his throat as the golantha slammed its forelimbs down on the bridge and made the ground shudder under his feet. Its body still seemed to be traced in fire and lightning beneath battered stone plates, but now half the glowing trails of its tongue hung limp and dark. One great tusk had shattered, deep fissures running through the stub that remained. Its limbs were flame-scarred and bent too, one forelimb stiff and unmoving, the other curled inward and struggling to take much of the monster’s weight.
Lynx set himself back against the stone wall and raised his gun again. He aimed at the largest part of the golantha, hoping his eyesight could be trusted, and fired. Lynx cried out at the impact on his shoulder, eyes blurring so he barely saw the furrow of the earther rip through the air. He would have fallen had he not had the wall behind him, and as much sensed as watched the monster reel under the impact.
Before the golantha recovered itself the pale, hairless head of Reft appeared on its right. The giant mercenary walked without haste, gun raised and waiting for his moment. Just as the golantha seemed to recover its balance from Lynx’s shot, Reft fired and caught it in the side. The blow almost folded it in on itself and it was only the strength of its sinuous body that kept it upright. Then the others arrived.
Anatin’s shot took it low in the hindleg and his earther knocked the armoured limb from under it. As it flopped to its belly Teshen caught it high in the back and threw it against the side of the bridge. The golantha’s roars still ripped the night apart but now they were laden with pain as well as rage. Varain rocked it back again, Anatin pulled his other mage-pistol and added to the hammer blows, and then there was a moment of quiet.
Lynx felt the world go still around them as the crash and clatter of echoing gunshots faded and the golantha listed against the bridge wall. The mercenaries watched it waver then it seemed to find renewed strength from somewhere, lightning crackling out from its brutalised maw as it raised its body up again.
Reft never gave it the chance. As the golantha lifted up off the ground he raised his gun once more. Lynx found his chest tighten as Reft checked, pausing for two frantic heartbeats then pulling the trigger. The shot rocked him back as a dark stream of air punched into the golantha, but while Reft staggered the monster was smashed back. For a moment it didn’t seem it was going to be enough, then the strength in its battered body failed it and the golantha fell with a hiss – toppling over the side and into the dark chasm.
They all stared, Lynx panting and wheezing, as there came a distant crash from far below. It seemed to drag out for an age, but eventually the sound was no more. Reft gave a grunt of satisfaction and flipped the breech of his mage-gun o
pen, tossing the spent cartridge over one shoulder and sliding a fresh one in. Behind him Lynx saw Sitain and Kas. The former held a long mage-gun with little conviction while the latter barely glanced towards them as she guarded their rear.
‘Gods,’ Varain croaked, taking a step towards the half-demolished stonework before thinking better of it and turning towards Lynx. ‘Fucker didn’t go down easy.’
‘I’ve seen fortresses take less of a beating,’ Anatin added. ‘Let’s just hope that’s the end of it, eh?’
They all stopped and looked his way, but the ageing commander just barked a laugh. ‘Hey. I’m just saying the bastard crawled out o’ that deepest dark once. I ain’t going to hang around to see if it can manage it again – nor whether its got a mate and a squalling brood of little monsters with some pressing questions about what happened to Daddy.’
Lynx shook his head. He didn’t even want to contemplate such a thing, but Anatin was right, hanging around was a damn stupid idea.
Before any of them could move the ground at Lynx’s feet exploded into stone fragments. He flung himself sideways on instinct, the crash of gunshots ringing out from somewhere above. Above his head a yellow trail ripped through the gloom, streaking across the bridge and into the emptiness beyond. He gave a gasp, realising how close he’d come, then looked up to see a dragoon pitching forward over the edge of the gallery two levels up, an arrow protruding from his chest.
More icers crashed down at him and Lynx realised he was the easiest target, the closer mercenaries being at a precariously low angle. Kas continued to back up, firing until her hand was empty of arrows. Not bothering to grab more she slung the bow over one shoulder and swung up a mage-gun that she’d hung by the shoulder strap around her neck. She didn’t fire, but kept scanning for a target as she retreated from the rift wall. As soon as they were clear enough to be safe Teshen fired a burner up at the gallery. Flames washed over the stone facing and momentarily obscured the recesses behind a sheet of fire, whereupon the rest also started to back away, loading as fast as they could.
‘Spread out!’ Anatin yelled. ‘Don’t give them a target! Varain, Reft, go!’
The mercenaries obeyed without a word. Lynx kept up as fast a rate of fire as he could at the gallery to give the others a chance to reach him. He wasn’t shooting at anything, just trying to make any dragoons hesitate. It would only take one popping up with another burner to scour the bridge clean of life.
He dropped to one knee, barely trusting himself to walk let alone run, as Varain and Reft sprinted up to him. There they stopped and followed suit, firing icers as fast as they could and with no regard to their ammo count.
‘Go!’ Varain shouted to the rest, whereupon Anatin, Teshen, Kas and Sitain hurtled towards them.
Lynx kept his attention on his gun; open, discard, load, close. He raised it to his eye and— And the gallery exploded into flame. Fire burst out from inside it, spreading wide before it spilled over into the open air. Bodies came with it, dark shapes flailing madly amid the sea of yellow. Their screams were cut short, two then three falling out over the edge and dropping with a sickening crunch on to the ground below.
The mercenaries hesitated, all staring up at the blackened gallery as fire mushroomed out then melted away to nothing – starved of fuel. There was still a sound, though, Lynx realised. Something more distant, shouts and gunshots perhaps, then the clearer sound of running feet.
A figure appeared at the gallery and Lynx almost fired on instinct, but she came at such a breakneck pace surprise stayed his hand. It was Toil and she didn’t stop when she reached the edge of the gallery but flung herself right over the edge. Gun in one hand and a drawn-out curse echoing across the rift, Toil seemed to hang in the air above a twenty-yard drop before gravity caught her and she began to fall.
Lynx blinked as she was jerked back, realising her free hand held a rope as her fall became a long arc swinging back into the high space of the great tunnel leading away from the bridge. Well clear of the ground she swung all the way in, disappearing into the shadows of the tunnel before it pitched her back again. Toil reappeared still howling the same word as she let the momentum propel her towards the bridge then let go of the rope.
It was a fall of several yards and she fell heavily, sprawling on her side and ending up on her back with the wind driven from her body. Even as she lay there and Teshen sprinted forward to help her, the woman rolled over and pointed her gun almost directly up at the gallery.
Nothing appeared behind her, but for a moment they were all transfixed by the sight apart from Teshen. Then the Knight of Tempest was at her side and pulled her upright, Toil’s feet kicking in an effort to run before there was even stone beneath her.
Knew she hadn’t just abandoned us. Lynx felt a wry smile briefly cutting through the fatigue and pain. Didn’t doubt her for a moment. Nope, not at all.
‘Maspids!’ Toil croaked as though she’d heard him, stumbling forward. She straightened up as best she could and gave the mercenaries a crazed, unsteady grin. ‘I ain’t gonna lie, there’s more’n a few of the little scamps back there.’
That jolted all the mercenaries back into action. While Teshen and Toil made up the ground the rest started a slow creep towards the other end of the bridge, guns directed both forward and back. The tunnel behind remained still and dark, but the whisper sound of movement emerged from its depths and built with every moment.
‘Fuck,’ Anatin moaned. ‘This place ain’t giving up, is it?’
Lynx glanced over at the commander and saw the man’s face was pale, the shock of his injury finally setting in. How he’d pushed on this hard for so long with one hand blown off was astonishing, but if they didn’t get out soon he’d have nothing left.
‘Keep going, you old bastard,’ Lynx said and was rewarded with a murderous look in Anatin’s eyes. ‘We’re almost there.’
The mercenaries moved in crabbed fashion, watching the deep shadows for more of the swift hunters, but none appeared.
‘We’re in the light,’ Toil huffed, visibly pained by her exploits but refusing to slow the others down. ‘They’re too clever to charge us out here.’
Lynx looked left and right as they went, trying to see beyond the bubble of light projected by the bridge’s huge lamps, but it didn’t extend far down the grand avenue running in both directions. ‘Running out of light now,’ he commented.
‘Forget the rear,’ Toil added, ‘they won’t cross that now.’
‘Shitting gods!’ Varain hissed and swing his gun left as they reached the end of the bridge.
A dark shape was moving stealthily towards them, but there was little cover for it. Once they rounded the lamp pedestal at the end they had a clear sight and Varain’s icer punched through the maspid’s head, felling it instantly.
Two more followed it, creeping through what shadows the avenue’s low balustrade could cast. Lynx felled one while Sitain and Toil shot the other. Anatin gave a shout from behind them and fired on another pack closing from the other flank.
The mercenaries tightened into a knot, guns facing down each side of the grand avenue as half a dozen maspids braved the light. Lynx found his aching hands return to their old rhythm with mechanical precision – the steady crack of icers ringing in his ears until suddenly the maspids were dead or vanished. They stayed frozen to the spot for a long moment then the mercenaries let out a collective breath.
‘Any more?’ Anatin croaked.
‘We’re clear,’ Teshen said, glancing left and right, ‘but let’s not tarry.’
They hurried on into the dark of the tunnel beyond, a grand vaulted space more than thirty yards high that ran at a shallow incline for further than Lynx could see. They trotted up it at a steady pace, not wanting to tire themselves any further, but not even Toil could tell how far it would be to the surface from there. The Wisps had told her it was close, nothing more, but right now not close enough. Behind them muffled gunshots and shouts continued sporadically.
They had gone only fifty-odd yards when a sudden shout from behind them stopped them all dead. Lynx hung his head for a moment, anticipating an icer slamming into his back, but then the voice shouted again.
‘Turn around!’
Slowly they all did so, guns held low but ready. Behind them was a woman, her uniform battered and torn from what Lynx could see. She held a mage-gun aimed directly at them. There was no way to tell what was in it, just an icer or a burner that could kill them all, but Lynx didn’t fancy finding out – especially this close to the kiss of the sun on his cheeks.
‘Drop your guns,’ the woman yelled.
‘Really?’ Anatin shouted back, somehow sounding wearily irate. As he spoke Teshen started to edge sideways but the woman wasn’t caught out and jerked the gun towards him. Her uniform wasn’t a standard one, Lynx realised, maybe a dragoon officer. Not someone who’d only carry icers anyway, so her threat was all the more real.
‘Really,’ she said, taking a few steps forward. ‘I just want the assassin, trussed up and fingers broken. I’ll kill the lot of you if you’d prefer – I will if that gun turns any further my way – but I just want her to interrogate. I’ll leave the Hanese and the mage, I don’t care about them any longer.’
Lynx heard Toil take a deep breath, ready to reply, but before she could the Charneler snarled and spun around, hurling herself backwards as she fired on a maspid charging at her. The sparker caught it dead on and ripped through to the second one following close behind. The pair convulsed under a shower of sparks then fell dead at her feet as she fell on her backside clear of the sparker’s effects.
There was a pregnant pause. The officer looked down at her spent gun and heaved a sigh. She knew she couldn’t reload in time, but just to underline the point Kas sent an arrow into the corpse of the maspid nearest her. The woman looked up with a defiant expression.