Siege of Rage and Ruin

by Django Wexler

  There’s a long silence.

  “For what it’s worth,” Jack says, “Thoughtful Jack agrees with young Tori.”

  “I’m sorry?” the Emperor says. “Who’s thoughtful Jack?”

  “She is,” I say. “It’s a long story. Are you rotting coming or not?”

  “I mean…” He gives a weak laugh. “I suppose I don’t have any choice.”

  “You always have a choice,” Jack says. “A right one and a wrong one.”

  Avyn tightens his jaw, and nods. “So how are we getting out of here?”

  “That … may also take some explaining.” I can hear shouting from the courtyard, distant but getting closer. “Follow me, and just … don’t ask too many questions, all right?”

  “That’s ominous,” Avyn mutters, but he comes with me as Jack and I head back outside. His eyes widen at the sight of the torn-open hallway and the dog-angel, sitting on its haunches just outside. “I could have sworn,” he says weakly, “there wasn’t a statue there.”

  “It’s not a statue.” I direct the angel to lower its head, as though it were hoping for a scratch behind the ears.

  “I was afraid of that,” Avyn mutters, then stops as Jack pulls herself onto the angel’s back. “Wait, we’re going to ride it?”

  “It’s a long walk down to the city,” Jack says. “Practical Jack recommends taking this route.”

  “Jack is clearly a person of many talents,” Avyn says. “How do I even get … aboard?”

  Jack holds out her hand, and the Emperor, after a moment of hesitation, takes it. She shifts backward and gets him settled in front of her, looking distinctly uncomfortable. I start clambering up myself when a door slams open and a young man in silks emerges at a run, stumbling in surprise at the sight of the angel. When he sees me, though, he stares, as if there’s nothing else in the world, not even dog-angels and Emperors. Garo.

  “Tori!”

  Rot. I pause, halfway aboard, because what am I supposed to say to him now?

  “Tori, please.” Garo steps closer. “I don’t know what’s happening. But you can still come back. Stay here with me. I’ll keep you safe.” He swallows. “I love you.”

  I want to laugh and cry at the same time.

  “I can’t, Garo.” I manage to keep my voice level. “Things have … changed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She means she’s just not that into you,” Jack says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me onto the angel.

  “Tori!”

  Garo summons his Melos gauntlets, but we’re already moving, the stone of the construct shifting smoothly underneath us. It bounds out of the courtyard the way we came, scattering a cohort of palace guards hurrying toward us. Jack lets out a whoop as the dog-angel jumps a low wall with a single bound, then crashes through another fence in a shower of splinters—

  —and slews sideways, suddenly losing control. I struggle to keep us upright, fighting the unresponsive construct as it rips up a line of grass, spraying dirt. All thoughts of Garo go right out of my head, and I wrench at the Kindre link to the others.

  Isoka!What’s going on?

  ISOKA

  Kadi comes at me full force from the outset, and it takes everything I have just to stay alive.

  I fight her with a shield in one hand and a blade in the other, like before. She slides from attack to attack, barely pausing to contemptuously parry my few ripostes. Blade meets blade with a sound like knives on glass, sparks arcing and popping. Her weapons slam against my shield, raising fresh waves of heat on my abused arm, and I give ground. Rhema glows around her, golden power worming through the green, and she’s a blur.

  “Tori has such faith in you,” she says, as I jump backward again and catch both her blades on my shield. Sparks explode in a fountain. “But you’re not a match for me, and you know it.” I duck as a blade hums over my head, and manage to get in a shot to Kadi’s midsection. She grins as her armor flares, ignoring the blow and trading me one that catches my shoulder in a painful bloom of heat. I disengage, backing away again, and she follows unhurriedly. “You never were.”

  “You’re right.” My breath comes fast, and sweat dampens my hair and drips off my chin. My shield arm is already throbbing painfully. I can feel alarm among the others, spreading through the Kindre network, but I don’t dare take the time to pay attention. “I’m not.”

  “Then be a good girl and surrender.” Kadi extends a blade to point at my face.” I’ll let you keep some of your limbs.”

  “I’m not a match for you,” I repeat, then force a smile. “I’m also not an idiot, so this time I brought a friend.”

  Pale blue light blooms around Kadi, Tartak bands materializing to grab her arms and legs. But with Rhema she’s fast, and she’s already twisting in place. Her left arm is caught in a vise, but she gets her right blade free and slashes through the force-bonds in an explosion of blue and green sparks. Another slash frees her legs, and she dances backward, trailing golden light.

  “Well.” Zarun hops down off the angel and ignites his own blades. “I guess we’ll do this the hard way.”

  I shift my shield back to a blade. Kadi is no longer smiling. For a long moment, the three of us regard one another.

  Then we come together in a mass of seething, crackling bolts of power. Kadi fights in both directions at once, using her speed to keep me and Zarun apart, matching me stroke for stroke then blurring away to push him back a step. But she can’t keep it up forever, and now she’s the one giving ground. Zarun fights with a showy flair, but his swordwork is solid, and he and I work together almost instinctively. When Kadi presses him too hard, he backs off, buying time to me to close in from behind. When I’m in danger, waves of Tartak hammer the Immortal, forcing her to dodge away.

  Kadi shifts her ground, then shifts again, circling to the left to put her back against the bulk of the angel. It keeps us from flanking her, but she’s out of room to run. Zarun and I come together for a moment, both breathing hard, blades humming.

  “Push her back,” I hiss. “Just for a second.”

  He nods. His Melos blades shift, melding into a single, longer weapon held in his linked hands. I last saw that technique from Karakoa, who’d died fighting off the last assault of Soliton’s crabs, and I’m willing to bet Kadi never has. She crosses her blades to stop Zarun’s downward swing, and at the same time Tartak force lashes out, shoving her against the body of the angel.

  Three Melos adepts. But not just that. We each have two Wells—Kadi has Rhema, Zarun has Tartak. And I have Eddica.

  I reach out, and the angel moves. Just as Kadi is falling against it, expecting to put her back to a wall, the double-humped construct rears up, legs parting to let her tumble through. She tries to turn the fall into a roll, but Zarun hammers her with Tartak, leaving her flat on the ground. It’s just a moment of vulnerability, but a moment is long enough. The angel shifts again, putting one broad, flat foot on Kadi’s chest, her armor flaring and sparking. Bolts of Melos energy crackle across the construct’s stony hide.

  “Rotting coward,” the Immortal says, half a scream. “Can’t face me straight, and you know it!”

  “You know,” I tell her, “there was a time when that would have bothered me. I might have let you up to prove I was better.” I shake my head. “You shouldn’t have hurt my sister.”

  The angel settles its multi-ton weight on Kadi’s chest. The Immortal’s scream rises to a shriek, her armor flaring brighter and brighter. I step back, one hand in front of my eyes, as the glare goes from green to actinic white, outlining the bones in my hands. Then something finally breaks, with a whump of detonation, and I feel the pulse of a shockwave ripple past me. When I blink my eyes open again, there’s nothing left under the angel’s foot but a smear of ash.

  “Give her that much,” Zarun says contemplatively. “She took the heat to the end.”

  “Yeah.” I glance at him. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” He lets the long blade fade away
and stretches. “Now—Isoka?”

  I’ve gone stiff, my blades dissipating, pulled away from my physical body by a very different kind of attack.

  * * *

  Seen with my Eddica senses, the assault is powerful but crude. Power flows from Soliton to me in a great gray stream, and from me out to the hundreds of angels in a multitude of tiny threads. The stranger’s Eddica power lashes out, not a scalpel but a felling axe. Cutting each of those tiny threads would be tedious work. But the connection from me to Soliton is a large, tempting target.

  I feel the blow coming, and position myself to meet it, power to power. In the immaterial world, lines of gray energy thrash and grind against one another, while my physical body stands stock-still. I’m stronger, I can feel that I’m stronger, but my position is intrinsically weaker, with my delicate place as the fulcrum of so much power to defend. It feels like standing on the polished top of a flagpole, while a child tries to shove you off—what matters isn’t always strength, but leverage.

  Or so my mind constructs the scene, at any rate, struggling to make sense of the clashing tides of spirit energy. I have little enough experience, just my single battle against Prime in the heart of the Harbor system, and I’d only won that with Silvoa’s help. The attacker—she must be an Immortal, the one who’d shut down my angel back in the Fourth Ward—pushes harder, and I can’t help but give way, losing my balance. The flood of energy from Soliton slows to a trickle, and I put all the concentration I can manage into hanging on to that much.

  Across the front line, the angels facing the Legion go still. The soldiers hesitate, not sure what to make of this reprieve. Over the Kindre link, I can feel the volunteers demanding to know what’s happened, and in the real world I catch the edge of Naga’s barked order.

  “Now! Attack!”

  Isoka? What’s going on?

  Tori’s voice. I struggle to hang on to a thin thread of Eddica energy, maintaining my connection to a single angel—hers. I feel her anxiety through the link, and try to send a pulse of reassurance, but my mind is shot through with worry.

  I’m okay, I tell her. Naga’s Eddica user is interfering with the angels. The Legion is advancing. Where are you?

  Leaving the palace, she sends back.

  We need more time, I tell her. We need the Returners.

  But—

  I know. But we have to take the risk.

  There’s a pause. I feel Tori’s guilt, great waves of it. Guilt for what happened to Kosura. Guilt for putting innocent people in danger, again. For using them as tools.

  They agreed to this, Tori, I tell her. They want to save the city as much as we do.

  … I know. I feel her resolve. I’ll tell her to open the gate.

  Get here as fast as you can.

  I will, she says.

  You’ve really got the Emperor? I can’t help but ask.

  I do. I get a mental image of her smile. If this all goes right, I’ll introduce you.

  I open my eyes, and find the Legion advancing. Slowly, giving the motionless constructs a wide berth, the lines of armored soldiers move forward. They file around the angels, then re-form their ranks, spears bristling ahead and adepts waiting behind. Formation established, they march forward, steps synchronized to the steady heartbeat of drums.

  “Back to the wall,” I tell Zarun. When I try to walk, I wobble slightly, and he catches my arm. In the Eddica realm, I’ve established a new equilibrium, but it takes constant effort to keep Naga’s Immortal from cutting me off completely. “Time for our last trick.”

  He grimaces, then nods. We take off at a jog, leaving the double-humped angel behind. Ahead of us, the gate has swung open, and the first ranks of white-robed, shaven-headed figures are marching out.

  * * *

  By the time we reach the gate, pushing past the outgoing tide of Returners, I’m stumbling like a drunk. Eddica power streams off me, not a quick flash of heat but an all-over warmth. I feel sweat soaking through at my armpits and across my chest, and it trickles down my cheeks and around my eyes.

  Zarun helps me up the steps to the top of the wall, where Red Sash crossbowmen make way. I slump against the stone lip, breathing hard, and try to focus on what’s happening down below. The Legion has made it most of the way across the field, leaving the line of angels behind. Having seen what they can do, I’m confirmed in my initial guess that a few crossbows on the wall wouldn’t stop them—that many Tartak users could pull the wall down around our ears.

  Instead, the only thing that stands in their way is Kosura and the Returners. Thousands of them have streamed through the gate and thousands more are still coming, spreading out along the base of the wall, forming a line of robed figures three or four deep in the Legion’s path. Kosura herself stands slightly ahead of them, waiting calmly as the armed might of the Empire descends on her.

  The Legion comes to a halt, well within range to annihilate the Returners with bolts of Myrkai fire. After a few moments, the front ranks part, and a small group of horsemen approach. I see Naga, flanked by several Immortals, and the silver-helmed Lord General Gymoto.

  Tori, I send. Where are you?

  Coming. Hold on.

  “And what is this supposed to be?” Naga says, clearly audible now. “All you have left to send against us is unarmed fanatics?”

  “We will not fight you,” Kosura says. “That is against the Blessed One’s teachings. But neither will we let you enter the city.” She raises her voice. “Turn away, all of you, and look to your souls.”

  “Lord General Gymoto and his soldiers are loyal servants of the Empire,” Naga says. “You think they’ll hesitate if I order them to kill you?”

  “I am sure they will do their duty.”

  “Then stand aside.”

  Kosura pulls back her hood and stares up at Naga. “I received these scars at the hands of your Immortals, Lord Naga. I did not submit then, nor will I now. Burn us if you must. The Blessed One will know our devotion.”

  Returners are still pushing through the gate, thickening the line. Naga looks over them, distastefully, then glances up and spots me on the battlements. Zarun hovers by my side, protectively, but Naga only scowls.

  “I’m surprised at you, Miss Gelmei,” he says. “I knew you were ruthless, of course. But I always thought there was a hint of compassion as well. This”—he gestures at the mass of Returners—“I would have thought beyond the pale, even for you.”

  My head is still spinning, but I manage to speak up enough to be heard. “I guess your files aren’t as accurate as you thought.”

  “You must know I won’t stay my hand.” Naga’s pleasant mask is back. He thinks he’s in control again. “I cannot, in the Emperor’s name. He has ordered me to put down this rebellion, and I will do so with every means at my disposal.” He adjusts his wire-rimmed spectacles. “You would send so many to their deaths, just to delay a few more moments?”

  “The Returners volunteered,” I tell him. “They want to defend our city, just as much as the rest of us. I haven’t sent them anywhere.”

  He waves this aside. “They’ll still die.”

  “They will, if you give the order.” My head pounds, and I wipe away sweat. “Have you considered what happens next?”

  “Next?” Naga laughs. “We take the city and crush your rebellion once and for all. You have nothing left to stop us. Without energy from Soliton, the angels are useless.”

  “Not … quite,” I say. “You’ve forgotten where Eddica power comes from in the first place. It’s spirit energy, the energy of life and death. I’ve felt that firsthand. If you turn the Legion loose on the Returners…” I summon the effort for an exaggerated shrug. “There might be plenty of energy for the angels after all.”

  “That’s…”

  Naga’s mask cracks. He glances at one of the Immortals beside him, a slight woman on a slim mare, and they talk briefly in low tones. That must be his Eddica user. She must be as strained as I am, but it’s hard to tell beneath t
he chain-veil. When Naga straightens up, it’s clear he hasn’t liked what he’s heard. Gymoto is looking uncertain as well, glancing backward at the silent angels that litter the plain.

  “Is that why you brought them out here?” Naga says. “So they could fuel your army with their deaths?”

  He’s talking to the Returners as well, hoping to damage their resolve. And, I admit, it would be a monstrous thing to do. Prime had something like it in mind, slaughtering the people of the world to provide power for his endless horde of corpses. For a moment, Naga gets a faraway look, almost admiring. He just wishes he’d thought of it first. Then he snaps back to cold calculation.

  “You’re bluffing,” he says.

  “Worse than that,” I answer cheerfully. “I genuinely have no idea if it will work. But like you said, we’re out of tricks, so…”

  His expression flickers again, a quickly suppressed hint of rage. By the time he turns to Gymoto, he’s all calm.

  “If those … angels turn on us again, we will not be able to hold the line in both directions,” the Lord General says. “I do not understand this talk of Eddica, but if you believe what she says, we should withdraw and regroup.”

  “No,” Naga snarls. “Just … have your men disperse these cultists. But … carefully.”

  “That will take time.”

  “Then get started.”

  The Lord General bows slightly and turns his horse away, barking orders. Legionaries move forward, sheathing their weapons. The Returners gather more tightly around the gates, linking arms, as webs of Tartak force materialize to start prying them apart.

  I let out a long breath. “It’s working.”