Siege of Rage and Ruin

by Django Wexler

  “Until Naga loses his temper,” Zarun says. “But it’s all for nothing unless Tori gets here soon.”

  Tori …

  TORI

  I’m coming, I send to Isoka. As fast as I can.

  Which is not as fast as I would have liked, but it can’t be helped. We have to take an alternate route out of the palace, avoiding the fully alerted guards. The dog-angel crashes through fences and bursts down corridors, stone paws tearing delicate carpets, lacquered doors fragmenting into a hundred pieces.

  “Did you make this thing?” Avyn has a thousand questions, and he shouts them in my ear. His hands are linked around my waist, with no sign of embarrassment. Jack hangs on behind him. “How do you control it?”

  “I didn’t make it, my sister found it on Soliton,” I mutter. “And controlling it is quite difficult, so try not to distract me.”

  “Soliton, as in the ghost ship?” The Emperor shakes his head. “It’s not real!”

  “You would be surprised how many things are real that aren’t,” Jack says cheerfully. “Duck!”

  “Ducks aren’t real?”

  Fortunately, Jack puts one hand on Avyn’s head and forces him to bend double as we pass under a stone archway. Another wooden fence shatters under the angel’s paws, and then we’re in the outer gardens, racing across a terraced lawn toward the red-painted outer wall. A few guards on the wall-walk have crossbows, but their terrified shots don’t even come close.

  Once again, the dog-angel gathers itself and leaps. It feels less sure-footed, and through the Kindre links I can sense the strain Isoka is under. But there’s enough power left to propel us to the top of the wall, sending the guards fleeing in every direction, and another jump takes us down into the First Ward. The angel gallops through more gardens, cutting west across the great estates.

  “Where are we going?” Avyn says. “We’re well off the highway.”

  “There’ll be more guards at the main gate,” Jack says.

  “We’re not heading for the main gate,” I tell them. “I have an idea.”

  On the west side of the First Ward, the outer wall reaches its terminus in a squat tower where the rocky side of the hill rises up to become part of the defenses. I can see that tower in front of us, and the line of the wall stretching down from it, sweeping all the way to distant shoreline and enclosing the western side of the city. The wall-walk atop it is like its own narrow highway.

  There are guards here, too, but not so many—we’re still well north of the rebel lines. And these are only militia, not palace troops. They flee at the first sight of the angel. Stone staircases run up the inner face of the wall, just wide enough for the dog-angel to scramble along. Jack whoops as we bound up one, tipped at a dangerous angle; I cling to the angel’s sculpted fur, and the Emperor clings to me.

  Then we’re on top, and the path ahead of us is clear. I push the angel as fast as it will go, and its footsteps rattle and bang out a tattoo. Soldiers dive aside as we pass, or scramble down the stairs. Up ahead is the front line, the section of wall where Imperial and Red Sash troops have built opposing barricades. They hear us coming, and a few fire their crossbows. I duck behind the dog-angel’s head, and the bolts ricochet off into oblivion.

  The barricades fare little better than the palace furnishings did when the angel hits them, wood splintering and shattering with a resounding crash. We wobble as the dog-angel nearly loses its footing, but I keep control, concentrating harder. The rebel barricade shatters as well, and I send a silent apology to the Red Sashes who are now scrambling aside with just as much terror as their Imperial counterparts.

  The circuit of Kahnzoka’s walls is long, but the relentless power of the angel sweeps the distance away. It feels like no time at all before we’re pounding along the top of the wall that borders the Fourth Ward, still scarred and stained from the battles fought there over the past week. Beyond that is the Tenth Ward, and the military highway, where the Legion is attacking and Isoka had planned to make her stand. Even from here, I can see pillars of smoke rising.

  I have no idea what to expect. Isoka’s alive—I can tell that much from the Kindre link—but there’s no time to ask for details. My mind conjures all kinds of horror, a battlefield drenched in blood, the broken bodies of the Returners heaped in gory piles. Kosura, in all her courage and faith, ripped to pieces or burned alive.

  Please. I close my eyes, just for a moment. This city has suffered enough. I’ve done enough to it. Please.

  “Are they fighting?” the Emperor says, craning his neck over my shoulder. “I can’t see.”

  I can’t reach out to any of the angels on the field. But as we get closer, I can make out the scene through the smoke, and it’s both better and worse than I feared. The angels lie where they fell, awkwardly frozen, and small fires still burn around them. The Legion has moved on, coming right up to the walls, trying to force a path to the gate. But the Returners have put themselves in the way, and the legionaries are pulling them aside with bare hands and Tartak, forcing them to kneel in long rows and binding their hands and feet.

  It’s not a slaughter, yet. We still have time.

  We’re getting close, and the Red Sashes on the wall see us coming. They clear out of the way, shouting and waving their crossbows. I wave back, and Jack answers the cheers with a whoop.

  “Hold on!” I shout to the others. There’s a clear space, just beyond the Returners and the line of legionaries. I can see men on horseback in important-looking uniforms. I can see Naga as he catches sight of me, points.

  Now or never.

  I reach out to the construct, and the dog-angel leaps, one more time. Eddica energy powers its indefatigable stone, sending us flying off the wall like a catapult-shot. Jack shrieks with delight, I hear shouts and screams as the struggling melee of Returners and legionaries passes below us, and then we’re descending fast—too fast—and the grass is coming up—

  The angel’s legs flex on landing, absorbing much of the fall, but it’s still hard enough to knock my teeth together and bruise my tailbone. The Emperor gives a yelp and slams into me from behind. The angel skids to a halt, its paws plowing furrows in the earth. Someone is screaming—Naga.

  “Kill them! Fire! Now!”

  I fill my lungs and shout, lashing out at the same time with all the Kindre power I can muster.

  “Stop!”

  For an instant, they all do. Crossbowmen freeze, Myrkai users halt without summoning their fire, Tartak adepts let their force bands fade away. Almost immediately, another Kindre user pushes me back, filling the mental realm with blanketing fog. I couldn’t have held so many for longer than a moment anyway.

  A moment, as it turns out, is all I needed.

  I have to hand it to Avyn. I’d wondered, back in the library, if he’d be up to the job—if, in the end, his fear and indecision would overwhelm him. But now that we’re here, among the smoke and screams, he’s all decisive action. The Emperor, I think, is a role he’s been taught to play since he was a boy, presiding over court ceremonies and military reviews. He may not like it, but it’s been ground into his bones.

  “Stop, all of you!” he shouts, he voice booming effortlessly through the clamor. He lets go of me and stands up on the back of the angel, long robes falling around him, billowing as he sweeps his arm in a dramatic gesture. “All violence is to cease this instant! Your Emperor commands it!”

  Everyone freezes, almost as quickly as when they were under my mental compulsion. This time, though, they also turn and stare. Avyn is suddenly at the center of everything.

  He hops down from the angel, and I swing hastily down beside him. Jack gives me a look, and I gesture for her to stay out of sight. She vanishes in a swirl of shadows.

  Naga is staring at the Emperor, too, incomprehension gradually giving way to fury. Beside him, the officer I assume to be Lord General Gymoto hastily slides off his horse, falling to one knee in the dirt. His entourage scurry to do likewise.

  “Kuon Naga,”
Avyn says, stalking forward. “You would remain mounted in the presence of your sovereign?”

  “I—” Naga struggles to dismount, getting tangled in the reins. “Apologies, Your Majesty. But this place is not safe for you. Please, we must get you away before the rebels attack!”

  “He is right, Your Majesty,” Gymoto says. “Allow us to safeguard you—”

  “It is unsafe,” Avyn says, “because of an attack on our own city that I neither ordered nor authorized. I want it to cease immediately, and I want to know who is responsible.”

  Gymoto bows his head deeper. “I had my orders from Master Naga, Your Majesty.”

  Naga shoots a brief look of fury at the general, who is apparently eager to throw him under the cart. Adjusting his spectacles, he composes himself. His voice is slick as oil. “I believe Your Majesty instructed me to deal with the situation in the city as I thought necessary—”

  “I said no such thing,” Avyn snaps.

  “Perhaps not directly, but it falls under the course of my ordinary duties—”

  “Ordinary? Half the capital rising in revolt is hardly an ordinary situation!” The Emperor looks from Naga to Gymoto. “I am displeased.”

  “Your Majesty—” Naga casts around, and spots me behind Avyn. “You!” He points. “That girl is a Kindre adept. She has influenced the Emperor—quickly, I want her captured and His Majesty rescued—”

  Gymoto looks over his shoulder at one of his officers, who gives a quiet nod. The Lord General straightens slightly.

  “Commander Ashiva is a Kindre talent,” he says, “and she reports that there is no mental power in use apart from the fog coming from one of your entourage, Master Naga. And the Emperor’s mind seems to be free of the taint of compulsion.”

  “Then she has lied to him,” Naga says. “She’s the rebel leader—”

  “The rebel leader who escaped from your custody?” Gymoto says mildly.

  “Enough,” Avyn says. “Lord General Gymoto. Are you prepared to obey my orders?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Gymoto falls back to one knee, head bowed. “My life is yours.”

  “Then I order you to place Kuon Naga under arrest.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Naga snarls, looking between the Emperor and the Lord General.

  There’s a long, dangerous moment. It feels like the world is a set of scales, balanced close to perfectly.

  But not quite.

  “As you command, Your Majesty.” Gymoto gets to his feet. “Commander Ashiva, Commander Gao. Take Master Naga into custody.”

  Naga’s Immortals form up around him, instinctively. But Gymoto raises a fist, and the small group is suddenly surrounded by a ring of legionaries, spears leveled and crossbows aimed, crackling sorcerous power at the ready. Very slowly, the men and women in chain-veils raise their hands.

  “Go.” All eyes are on Naga, and the Emperor bends down to whisper to me. “I will handle things from here.”

  “You’re sure?” I meet Naga’s gaze, his eyes full of mingled fury and despair.

  “I’m sure.” He gives me a smile. “And thank you. I think I needed to be rescued from myself most of all.”

  “Thank you, too,” I whisper. “For everything.”

  There’s a rush of shadow as Jack materializes beside me, cape billowing. She grins at me and takes my hand, and we hurry toward the gate to find my sister.

  Epilogue

  ISOKA

  From the tower that rises over Soliton’s Garden, I watch the people come.

  There’s a good view out over the lowered bow ramp. The angels have cleared a path through the wreckage of the Sixteenth Ward, leaving a broad flat space of trampled ash and dirt. A queue snakes from the base of the ramp, winding and blurring until it mingles with the crowd beyond.

  Some people are just here to gawk at the ghost ship, now that it’s safe. With the siege lifted, food is flooding into the city, and vendors are here in full force, selling rice balls and fried dough and all the other staples of Kahnzoka fairs. Musicians stroll around, playing newly composed epics about the events of the last few days, shaking their hats for tips.

  Other people shove through the crowd of merrymakers with a more serious purpose. They’re heavily laden with bags, or pushing wheelbarrows laden with everything they own. Some have even brought donkeys. They come as families, parents and children, in larger groups, or alone. They come laughing and excited, or with heads lowered in grief. But they’re coming.

  At the base of the ramp, one of Tori’s Blues asks a few basic questions. No one is turned away. We just want people to be clear what they’re getting themselves into. Anyone who boards Soliton, here and now, is never going to see Kahnzoka again.

  Almost all of them come aboard anyway.

  I hear footsteps on the metal deck behind me. Meroe joins me at the rail, putting her arm around my waist and looking down at the crowd.

  “There’s more than I expected,” she says.

  “People are scared,” I mutter.

  “Do they have reason to be?” she says. “Your Emperor declared an amnesty.”

  He had, both for the rebels and any fugitive mage-bloods. The former were instructed to return to their homes, the latter to register and receive appropriate documentation to live in peace henceforth. The militia had dispersed, food flowed into the city, and Imperial edicts promised support for those left homeless and reform in the Ward Guard. The Navy draft had been quietly dropped, and there was no more talk of the coming war with Jyashtan.

  “It depends,” I say.

  “On what?”

  “On who you have faith in, I suppose. Naga’s gone, and everyone who supported him is out of power. Now Lord General Gymoto is on the Council of State, and Lord Marka, and their allies. And they’ve made a lot of promises, but…” I shrug.

  “The dance goes on,” Meroe says quietly, “and there is no end to history.”

  “Is that a quote from one of your philosophers?”

  “Something like that.” She pulls me a little closer. “You don’t want to stay?”

  “No. Rot no. I’m going to head back to the Harbor with you and never leave again.” I turn toward her and pull her into a kiss.

  “And all these people?” Meroe says, when we pull apart again.

  “They can come, too. There’s plenty of room, plenty of food.”

  “You know they’re going to expect you to be in charge. You’re the one who controls the Harbor system.”

  “Ugh.”

  “And there’ll be politics, and rivalries, and crime, and—”

  “Meroe, please,” I beg.

  “Sorry.” She pats my shoulder sympathetically. “On the upside, more people should help generate more Eddica energy, so the city won’t need to go into stasis.”

  “It’ll help, but it still won’t be enough.” I look over my shoulder at the bulk of Soliton. “We’re going to have to send the ship back out to gather more. Maybe see if we can fix up the others, while we’re at it. I’m sure Silvoa can help with that.”

  “I’m sure she can.” Meroe’s expression goes thoughtful. “I had a idea about that, actually. The ship won’t demand sacrifices anymore—”

  “Of course it won’t!”

  “But coming aboard wasn’t always such a bad thing for everyone,” she says. “Me, for instance.”

  “Your father kidnapped you.”

  “And probably would have killed me for what I can do, if he hadn’t had an alternative.” She spreads her hands. “It just occurred to me that if people want to come aboard, I don’t see why we should stop them. There are a lot of places in the world where mage-bloods are treated badly, or ordinary people want to take a chance on a better life.”

  “I suppose. As long as we’re not dragging them aboard in cages.” I look back at Kahnzoka. “And if the people in charge knew that Soliton was coming back from time to time, it might help … keep them honest.”

  “Of course, someone would have to go along on the
se voyages, to keep an eye on things.” Meroe snuggles close to me again. “It’d be a long trip, alone at sea.…”

  “Sounds … relaxing.”

  “I thought you were never leaving the Harbor again?”

  “Well,” I murmur. “Maybe not never.”

  I hear the sound of feet on the ladder behind us, and half-turn to find Tori emerging onto the tower. She blinks in the afternoon sun, shading her eyes.

  “I’ll leave you two be,” Meroe says, kissing me on the cheek.

  I’d almost rather she stay. Tori and I haven’t had a chance to … talk. The Kindre network she created has faded away, leaving only the echoes of the emotions it carried between us. From the look on her face as Meroe sweeps past, Tori has the same trepidation, but she squares her shoulders and comes over to join me at the rail.

  “Hey,” I manage.

  “Hey,” she responds weakly.

  There’s a long silence.

  “All those people,” Tori says. “You’re really going to bring them all with us?”

  “Why not?” Red Sashes and mage-bloods, rebels and criminals, anyone who doesn’t trust the new regime and anyone looking to flee from an inconvenient past. What could go wrong?

  “There’s really room for everyone at the Harbor?”

  “More or less.” I think of the ancient, crumbling ziggurats, strewn with formerly living corpses. “It might requires a little fixing up, but we’ll manage.”

  “That’s good.” Tori stares down at the crowd. “Giniva’s coming. I just helped get her settled down below. I asked Hasaka and Jakibsa if they wanted to join us, but Hasaka said he was too tired to start again. They’re going to take the amnesty and try to settle down somewhere.”

  “What about Kosura?”

  “She’s staying with the Returners. She told me that the Blessed One’s return doesn’t seem to be quite as imminent as they thought, but that just means there’s more time to work on the state of their souls. Some of the supplicators came back to try and kick her people out of the temples, though.”

  “I imagine they’ll get a nasty shock,” I say.