I find Farley at the lead transport, waiting alongside Davidson. She clambers inside, hoisting herself up and into the raised vehicle. These transports are different from the ones I’m used to. The wheels are much bigger, almost my height, with deep treads for the rocky, jagged mountain terrain. The rest of the body is reinforced, piped with steel, and decorated with many handholds, toeholds, and dangling straps, for obvious purpose.
Tyton jumps up, scrambling onto the back of the lead. He links himself to the frame alongside another Montfort soldier. The straps connect to their waists, giving them enough slack to lean but not enough to bounce. Other soldiers, with all kinds of blood, do the same across the transports. Without their insignia, I can’t tell for certain, but I assume they are the best shots, with both bullets and ability.
Premier Davidson holds the door, waiting for me to join him inside the transport. Something hungry and wild drives me to do the opposite.
I climb up next to Tyton, tying myself in on his right. One corner of his mouth lifts, the only acknowledgment of my choice.
The transport behind us is for Tiberias and Evangeline, their guards flanking the vehicle in unmistakable colors. I watch as Evangeline halts, one foot on the step up. She looks, not at me, but back at the palace. At Carmadon waiting by the grand entrance, arms crossed, his white suit glowing in the floodlights. Anabel stands nearby, a few feet distant. On the edge of impolite. She raises her chin when Tiberias appears, striding across the plaza with long steps.
Without his colors, he seems like all the rest. A soldier with orders to answer to. Fitting. That’s who he thinks he is. Just another person under his father’s command, obeying the will of someone dead. Again we lock eyes, and something in both of us burns.
Despite everything, his presence feels like safety. No matter what, he chases away any fear I have for myself.
Of course, that only leaves fear for the people I love.
For Farley, for my family.
And still, always, for him.
A settlement down on the plain is at risk, calling for aid on the other side of the mountain. There isn’t time to go down the slope and wind around through the valley. So we go over it.
There are roads above the palace, weaving high into the pines. We scream over the steep landscape, beneath branches so tight they obscure the stars. I lean flat to the transport, afraid of being dashed into an overhanging bough. Soon the trees are gone entirely, and the earth beneath our transports turns rocky. My head tightens, my ears popping like they do during jet takeoffs. Snow pocks the sloping ground, gathered in hollows at first, until it blankets the final peak. My exposed face goes red with cold, but the suits are special-made, keeping me warm. Still, my teeth chatter, and I wonder exactly what possessed me to ride on the back of the transport rather than inside it.
The tip of the mountain looms above, a white knife against a sky pinpricked with blazing stars. I lean back as far as I dare. The sight makes me feel small.
My balance shifts, marking the descent. Snow sprays in our wake, then rocks and dirt, kicking up a cloud of debris to follow the transports down the eastern slope. My stomach plummets as we approach the tree line again. The plain stretches out beyond the pines, endless and dark as an ocean. I feel as if I could see across a thousand miles. Back to the Lakelands, to Norta. To Maven and whatever he has in store for us. Another hammer will fall, and soon. But where? On who? None of us can say yet.
We plunge into the trees, the transport bouncing over roots and boulders. There are no roads on this side, only barely cleared paths through the arched branches. My teeth rattle with every bump, and the restraints are certainly bruising my hips.
“Call to it,” Tyton growls, nudging up against me so I can hear him over the roar of engines and howl of wind. “Be ready.”
I nod, steeling myself. The thrum of electricity is easy to pull. I make sure not to draw from the engines around me, but on the lightning only I can summon. Purple and dangerous, it thunders under my skin.
The massive pines thin, and I glimpse starlight between their needles. Not above, but beyond. Out. Forward.
I shriek, pressing myself against the transport as it skids, turning a hard left onto a sudden, smooth road along the cliff side. For a terrifying moment, I think we might spin right off the mountain and plummet into the darkness below. But the vehicle holds firm, tires catching the road, as one by one the other transports follow, hard drifting over the paved way.
“Easy,” Tyton says, eyes flickering over my body.
Purple sparks are running up and down my skin, responding to my fear. They burn off harmlessly, flickering in the dark.
“There wasn’t a better way to do that?” I mutter.
He barely shrugs.
Hewn stone arches over the road at intervals, the structures smooth-cut, in alternating curves of marble and limestone. Each one is crowned with a pair of carved wings, the feathers etched deep into the rock to surround blazing lights illuminating the path.
“The Hawkway,” I breathe aloud. A worthy name for the road as high as hawks and eagles fly. In the daylight, it must be astounding.
The road zigzags back and forth down the almost cliff-like mountainside, precarious with sharp switchbacks. This must be the quickest way down to the plain, and also the most insane. But the transport drivers are infinitely skilled, hitting each razor-edged corner with precision. Perhaps they are all silks or a newblood equivalent, their agility translating to the machines they drive. I try to stay vigilant as we tear down the Hawkway, on the lookout for hostile Silvers hiding in the rocks and gnarled trees. Lights on the plains come into focus. The few towns Davidson mentioned dot the landscape. They seem peaceful, untouched. And vulnerable.
We’re rounding another switchback turn when something like a scream pierces the night. The sound of tearing metal, shredding at the seams, shrieks around us. I look up to see a transport falling, tipping over and over, knocked out of its place halfway back the line. All seems to slow down as it comes into blinding focus, my senses narrowing to the transport spiraling in midair. The Montfort soldiers on board fight with their restraints, hoping to beat gravity. Another, a strongarm, grabs for the road edge. It slips through his fingers, the pavement cracking beneath his touch. The transport continues to fall, spinning on its axis. It can’t be an accident. The trajectory is too perfect.
It’s going to flatten us.
I barely have time to duck while my own transport lurches beneath me, our brakes squealing, trying to stop in time. Smoke burns from the tires as the brakes lock up.
The road jumps when the transport smashes down, and we smash into it. Tyton grabs the back of my suit, yanking me upward, while I snap my arms over my restraints, using my electricity to cut through the thick weave. We scramble forward as Tiberias and Evangeline’s transport smashes into our rear, pinning us between the fallen vehicle and theirs.
More screaming brakes and resounding crashes echo behind us, one after the other, a chain reaction of twisted engines and burned rubber. Only the last transports in the line, six or so, are saved from the onslaught. They’re able to brake in time to save their machinery.
I look back and forth, ahead and behind, not sure where to go. The fallen transport lies on its back, an overturned turtle. Davidson is already out of the lead, stumbling toward the soldiers crushed beneath the vehicle. Farley moves with him, gun ready in her hand. She drops to a knee, training her sights on the cliffs above us.
“Magnetrons!” Davidson roars, one hand raised for aid. He pushes out a palm, forming a clear blue shield along the deadly edge of the road.
Somehow Evangeline is already at his side, her hands dancing. She hisses as she raises the heavy transport off the road, revealing twisted limbs and a few flattened skulls seeping brain like popped grapes leaking juice. Davidson doesn’t waste time, lurching forward to pull survivors from beneath the floating transport.
Moving slowly, Evangeline lowers the transport again. With a twitch of her
fingers, she rips off one of the doors, allowing those inside to tumble out. The soldiers are bloody and disoriented, but living.
“Get out of the way!” she snaps, waving them back from the transport. When they do, limping out of her path, she slaps her palms together in a resounding clap.
The transport does as she wills, crushing itself into a dense, jagged ball the size of one of its doors. She lets it drop with a crack. Only the glass and the tires fly in every direction, beyond Evangeline’s metallic control. One tire rolls down the road, an odd sight.
I realize I’m standing up on my pinned transport. Evangeline turns around, her armor reflecting the starlight. Despite Tyton next to me, I feel exposed. An easy target.
“Get the healers up here!” I shout, looking back along the line of crushed vehicles piled up beneath the arches. “And get some more light on the road!”
Above us, something flares, a rising beam like the sun. The work of shadows, no doubt, manipulators of light. It sends harsh light and harsher darkness dancing across us all. I squint and clench a fist, sparking some electricity of my own around my knuckles. Like Farley, I keep my eyes on the rocky ledges rising all around. If the raiders somehow have the high ground, if they’re above us, then we lose a great advantage.
Tiberias already knows that. “Eyes up, sights on the cliffs!” he shouts, his back to his transport. He too has a pistol in one hand, while flames twist around the fingers of the other. Not that the soldiers need such instruction. Anyone with a gun has it raised, fingers ready on triggers. We just need a target.
But the Hawkway is oddly silent, quiet except for the occasional shout and echo as orders pass along the line.
A dozen or so Montfort soldiers work their way down the zagging road, silhouettes in their black suits. They stop at each transport, using their abilities to try to pull apart the mashed vehicles. Magnetrons and strongarms, or the newblood versions of each.
Evangeline and her cousins stomp by below, focusing on extricating my transport from theirs.
“Can you fix it?” I call down.
She just sneers as she forces the twisted metal to slither apart. “I’m a magnetron, not a mechanic,” she grunts, shouldering between the wrecks.
Suddenly I wish for Cameron and her tool belt. But she is far away, out of danger with her brother back in Piedmont. I bite my lip, brain buzzing. This is a blatant trap, an easy one, leaving us vulnerable on the mountainside. Or just stuck here, while the raiders wreak havoc on the towns below, if not the city behind us.
Tiberias is thinking the same thing. He hastens to the edge of the road, looking down into the darkness. “Can you radio your settlements? They need to be warned.”
“Ahead of you,” Davidson barks back. He crouches over one of the wounded soldiers, holding his arm while a healer works at the man’s broken leg. At the premier’s side, an officer speaks rapidly into her communications gear.
Tiberias frowns, turning from the cliff back to the carnage. “And send word back to the city. Call out a second detachment. Dropjets if they can get here in time.”
Davidson barely nods. I get the feeling he’s already done that too, but he holds his tongue, keeping his focus on the soldier beneath him. Healers, half a dozen or so, work diligently down the line, tending to anyone injured in the massive wreck.
“What about us? We can’t stay up here for long.” I slide off my vehicle, landing gently. It feels better to be on solid ground. “Something tipped that transport.”
Still on the roof, Tyton braces his hands on his hips. He looks at the zagging road above, investigating the otherwise empty spot the first transport fell from. “Could be a small-charge mine. Detonated at the right moment, it could flip a vehicle.”
“Too clean,” Tiberias growls. He paces along the road, his entire body on edge. His Lerolan guards follow him a little too closely, almost catching his heels. “Coordinated. Someone’s up here with us. We need to get down before they strike again. We’re sitting ducks.”
“Sitting ducks on the edge of a cliff,” Evangeline adds. She kicks at her own transport in frustration, putting a solid dent in the already crumpled front. “We can get the working transports up front. Load them as much as we can.”
Tiberias shakes his head. “It’s not enough.”
“It’s something,” I snap at him.
“We’re only a few thousand feet up now. Some of the regiment can start running, get to the ground,” Davidson says, helping one of the soldiers limp away from the head of the line. His communication officer follows, still jabbering into her radio. “The outpost at Goldengrove has transports. It isn’t far from the foot of the mountain.”
On the ground, Farley whirls, lowering her gun in her haste. “You want us to split up?”
“Not for long,” Davidson replies.
She pales, rising to her feet. “But long enough if—”
“If?” he asks.
“If this is a trap. A feint. You got word from the towns that raiders were close. But where is the attack?” She gestures to the black horizon. “There isn’t one. Not out there.”
Davidson frowns, eyes shifting. “Not yet.”
“Or they didn’t plan to attack at all. They wanted to draw us out of the city,” Farley says. “Catch us on the cliffs. You said yourself, they fight for their pride. And the city is too well defended. This is a hell of way to get valuable targets out in the open.”
The premier steps to her, his face grim and stern. Then he puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing a little. A friendly if apologetic gesture. “I won’t leave my people out there alone because we might be in danger. I can’t do that, General Farley. I know you understand my position,” he sighs.
I expect more of a fight from Farley, but she drops her chin, almost nodding. She chews her lip and says nothing more.
Satisfied, Davidson looks over his shoulder. “Captain Highcloud, Captain Viya,” he calls. Two officers in their black suits step forward, ready for their orders. “Take your units down. Hard march, all speed. Rendezvous at Goldengrove.”
They salute in response, turning to gather their soldiers. As the two units group near the head of the line, Tiberias winces. He hastens to the premier, clasping his arm. Not to threaten him, but to beg.
I know what fear looks like on Tiberias Calore, and I see it in him now.
“Leave the gravitrons, at least,” he pleads. “In case they decide to blow us all off the mountain . . .”
After a brief moment of reflection, Davidson clicks his teeth. “Fine,” he says. “And Your Highness, if you wouldn’t mind,” he adds, turning to face Evangeline, “those transports aren’t going to climb over this mess without help. Use the gravitrons too. They’ll make quick work for you.”
She eyes him with steel annoyance, unaccustomed to taking orders from anyone but her father. Still, she sighs and trots off to do as he wills.
“What about me?” I ask, planting myself between Tiberias and Davidson. Both of them jolt, forgetting I was even here to begin with.
“Stay vigilant” is all Davidson offers, shrugging. “Unless you can lift a transport off the ground, there’s not much any of us can do right now.”
Helpful, I growl in my head. But the frustration is with myself. My ability is meant to destroy. It has no purpose right now. I’m useless, for the moment.
So is Tiberias.
He watches Davidson stalk off, his communications officer in tow, leaving us standing alone, our backs to the wrecked hulk of my transport. Adrenaline and electricity still course through me. I have to lean against the metal, my fingers knotted together to keep from twitching.
“I don’t like this,” Tiberias mutters.
I scoff, scuffing my new boots on the road. “Stuck on a cliff, half of the soldiers gone, transports ruined, raider attack imminent, and I didn’t get to finish my dinner. What’s not to like?”
In spite of our circumstances, he grins, his smile crooked and familiar. I cross my arms, hoping he can’t
see me flush in the dim light. He stares at me, his eyes an intent, burning bronze as they trace my face. Slowly, his lips fall and the smile fades as he remembers our decisions. Our choices. But his stare remains, and I feel fire rise inside me. Rage and want and regret in equal measure.
“Don’t look at me like that, Tiberias.”
“Don’t call me Tiberias,” he shoots back, dropping his gaze.
I laugh bitterly. “It’s the name you chose.”
To that he has no response, and we lapse into uneasy silence. The occasional shout or metallic groan echoes across the mountainside, the only sound in the empty darkness.
On the zagging road above us, Evangeline, her cousins, and the gravitrons slowly leapfrog the all-terrain vehicles, moving the wrecks behind the transports that can still function. Davidson must have told her to preserve all the wrecks she could, or else she could just crush them all to dust and let the rest roll through.
“I’m sorry about before, in the armory,” he says after a long moment. He keeps his eyes on the ground, head bowed in shadow. But not enough to hide the cold flush across his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I don’t care what you said. I care about the intention behind it,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I don’t belong to you.”
“I think anyone with eyes can see that.”
“Can you?” I ask sharply.
He exhales slowly, as if gathering himself for a fight. Instead he turns his head to look down at me. The glowing lights of the Hawkway cast jagged shadows across his face, emphasizing his cheekbones. It makes him look old and tired, a king for years instead of days. “Yes, Mare,” he finally says, his voice a low rumble. “But remember it wasn’t just me.”
War Storm Page 14