‘Sweet Musa,’ muttered Gallows. His pulse raced like a bricode needle. Frantic voices swam around the COC.
A fourth explosion—from within the crowd.
‘Suicide bombers!’ said Lockwood. ‘The Idari.’
‘Water station hit!’ yelled Royce. He surveyed the chaos with binoculars. ‘Approximately thirty f-fatalities, numerous more injured… Gods…’
Unlike every other officer in the COC, Lockwood stood as stone, arms on her hips.
‘Send your troops down!’ pleaded Gallows.
‘My priority is Martelo.’
‘People are dying!’
‘The bombs are her cover!’ the commander shot. ‘Diverting resources is what she wants.’
Gallows shook his head. ‘So you’re gonna let the civilians die?’
Lockwood’s façade cracked. ‘Damn it, I don’t have any troops, just a skeleton crew! The Schiehallion is here to be shown off.’
‘All this artillery and you can’t do a damn thing? No Marines, no soldiers—just kids in a flying toy.’
‘Royce, get them out of my COC!’
Gallows rounded on her. ‘Lockwood, listen to me. You kill her, you don’t get answers.’
‘She’s an ally of Helena tal Ventris—mercy is not something that should be wasted on her kind.’
‘Half the rutting Raincatchers were pirates before the war!’
Civilians armed with swords broke out from the crowd, hacking and slashing at nearby Watch officers before turning their attention to the unarmed civilians—men, women and children.
Another bomb exploded.
‘Belios!’ screamed Gallows.
Lockwood balled her fists. ‘Damn the Gods! Augostino, take us lower!’ Lockwood punched the intercom: ‘All non-essential personnel: Equip yourselves with body armour and repeater rifles.’
‘Let me help!’ urged Gallows.
‘Negative.’
‘Gods above!’ Gallows pressed his hands to the skyglass and peered down. The screams from the carnage below weren’t audible, but that didn’t stop him from hearing them. ‘I have to help.’
‘Help whom?’ Couressa turned the question into an accusation. ‘The civilians or the assassin?’
Gallows opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, he witnessed something that made him want to retch: From the depths of the crowd, twin streams of fire whipped out in wide arcs, twisting like jump ropes, burning flesh and spilling blood.
The same jump ropes the street performers used.
Flaming bodies zig-zagged in the street, fire lancing and charring skin.
‘Sweet Musa…’ breathed Genevieve.
Gallows couldn’t tear his gaze away. ‘They’re everywhere…’
The airship descended; fire danced, and Gallows saw a brave civilian leap onto a perpetrator and bring him to the ground.
Gallows strained to keep Tiera in his sights; she was still fighting on the platform, dancing between the three watchmen, deflecting their attacks—but she wouldn’t hold out forever, and any more explosions could topple the whole damn thing.
‘Why haven’t they whistled for backup?’ he wondered.
‘No-one would hear them,’ said Genevieve. ‘I…’
‘Ma’am,’ called Royce, ‘we’re taking small arms fire. The damage is negligible but they will undoubtedly fire upon us as we make our landing.’
‘Augostino, belay my last! Code Red!’ roared Lockwood. A pulsing alarm sounded throughout the COC. ‘Can you find an alternate LZ?’
The pilot consulted his charts. ‘The nearest space suitable for a landing zone is… eight blocks away! We could rappel onto the roof of another building but there’s no way to know it’s safe.’
Gallows stole another glance at the fighting on the tower—but Tiera had gone. One watchman lay slumped on the ground. Shit. If she escapes into the crowd, we’ll lose her.
‘Take us to the new LZ,’ ordered Lockwood.
Royce turned to her, face as white as paper. ‘Another explosion, ma’am. By the new landing zone.’
‘If they have explosives and concealed fire weaponry,’ started Augostino, ‘they may have ordnance that could cause significant damage to the ship. If our hull is breached over a civilian populace-’
‘If they had anything that could bring down the Schiehallion, they’d have used it. Mass casualties isn’t their objective—killing Thackeray and the rest of the Council was—the rest is to cover their escape.’
Gallows strode towards the commander. ‘You brought me here for a reason,’ he said. ‘Let me talk to her. She sees a Watch uniform or a military unit then she’s in the wind forever.’
‘I’m not about to risk a life by allowing you to negotiate with a goddamn terrorist.’
‘Listen! Those Watchmen were already there! Within seconds of the shot! Think about it: If they’d been guarding the place, the sniper never would’ve got that far, and if she did, it’s because she killed any sentries. But she didn’t. Anyone taking a shot at the Prime Councillor and getting caught knows their neck is going straight into a noose, so why spare the lives of the guards? Why take the risk of being apprehended?’
Gallows followed Lockwood’s gaze to the incomplete tower.
‘If they kill her, we don’t get answers,’ he said. ‘Let me talk to her.’
Lockwood stood in silence, contemplating. ‘The Watch will apprehend her. You’re dismissed.’
‘They’ll kill her.’
‘She shouldn’t be alive in the first place.’ Lockwood nodded to Royce.
Damn it.
Royce ushered Gallows and Couressa out of the COC and into a bustling passageway. RSF troops rushed past, the air stifling with tension.
Need to buy time. Need to do something.
‘First time seeing battle, Royce?’ Gallows asked. The Flight Lieutenant nodded.
‘This is insane,’ said Couressa, shaking her head in disbelief.
The passageway Royce escorted them through displayed a map of the airship’s layout on the wall. According to it, they were one floor above another passage that led to a bank of anti-aircraft cannons and ballistae.
The idea sprang fully-formed into Gallows’ head.
A stupid, dangerous idea.
‘You said the ship used ballistae?’ he asked.
‘Hm? Um, yes.’
‘They’re used to take down airships, right? Puncture the envelopes and interior ballonets?’
‘Affirmative. If a target is to be neutralised non-lethally, steel bolts are launched to reduce its flight capabilities. Keep up, the mess hall isn’t far.’
‘And harpoons? Rope?’
‘Yes. Different ordnance may be used.’
Gallows nodded. In an instant, his stupid idea had evolved into a reckless plan.
‘Is this important?’ asked Couressa.
Royce halted. ‘Hunter Gallows,’ he started, ‘whatever it is you’re-’
Gallows hooked Royce’s jaw, sending him stumbling backwards into a bulkhead.
Genevieve gasped. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Saving a life.’
Gallows spun around, lifted an access hatch on the floor and slid down the ladder.
The passageway below pulsed with red warning lights. The airmen below him didn’t give him a second glance as he felt his way along the wall, scanning the environment. C’mon, where is it? Relief surged through him when his eyes fell upon a hatch. He opened it, and wind lashed at him. Noise flooded his senses, acrid smoke filled his lungs, wind bit at his skin. A female officer sat manning an immense artillery cannon. A ferocious-looking mechanised ballista sat a few yards away.
‘Sir?’ the gunner said. Her eyes were wide and rimmed with red.
The airship hung in the air. Gallows peered over the railing; the ground ebbed and flowed. Muzzle flashes from within the crowd signalled a hail of bullets. Steel beams and glass erupted from the tower as fire raged through it. Gallows swore. ‘No way is she making it to the bottom.’
/>
‘Sir, this is a restricted-’
‘Orders from Commander Lockwood! That ballista, is it loaded with bolts or rope?’
‘A bolt affixed with rope. I loaded it in case we need to send a rapid response unit into the tower-’
‘Good.’
Gallows squeezed into the ballista’s seat. He reached around the gears and levers with frantic fingers and adjusted the aim. The scaffolding surrounding the tower broke away with a crash. Only one shot…
He needed a solid target—a wall sturdy enough to absorb the impact of the bolt and keep his weight.
‘Hunter Gallows!’ Royce appeared behind the gunner. ‘Stop! You’re not even secured into the harness!’
Royce barrelled towards him.
Gallows picked out an exposed brick wall, trained the ballista’s sights, gripped the trigger—and launched the bolt.
The Schiehallion yawed starboard.
‘Damn!’
The bolt ripped through the air, rope uncoiling as it soared into the depths of the construction work. To Gallows’ astonishment, it struck something solid—and held.
‘Hunter Gallows, I’m afraid I need to place you under-’
‘Sorry, Royce,’ said Gallows. He took the knife from its sheath, cut the rope and wrapped the end around his arm, cursing himself for leaving his sword at home.
He had to do it now, before the airship moved again.
‘This is stupid,’ he said, the words mangled around the blade jammed between his teeth. He peered over the edge.
‘Hunter Gallows!’ barked Royce.
Gallows hoisted a foot onto the railing, gripped the rope in his hands, closed his eyes…
And leapt.
Air rushed around him and a high-pitched searing hiss flooded his head.
His legs flailed behind him, the pain in his arm so extreme he was sure the rope would wrench it from its socket.
…shit shit shit…
He crashed through metal bracings, pain coursing through every inch of him, and landed hard onto wooden platforms, splinters jagging into him.
‘Gods damn…’ Saliva trailed from his gaping mouth. He struggled to his feet, the world swaying around him. He unravelled the rope from around his arm and shook sensation into his limbs.
His ribs ached, his arms bled and his face burned with pain—but he was alive.
He collected the knife from where it fell, sheathed it, and sprinted along the wooden platform on unsure legs.
Find Tiera, get her to turn herself in.
The imposing shadow of the Schiehallion sailed above him.
Ladders and makeshift ramps led down to the floors below, but for all he knew Tiera was lying dead in the depths. He needed to get inside the tower, see for himself, talk to the Watch and-
Another explosion erupted beneath him, this one so close the shockwave rattled his bones.
Screams tore out.
Metal beams creaked in complaint.
Bolts pinged out of their fixtures.
And the metal frame around him collapsed.
‘Oh shi-’
He ran.
The wooden platform clattered beneath his pounding feet like glass beneath a hammer. He scrambled down a ramp, skidded around a corner—and slipped.
His face smacked onto the solid floor.
The scaffolding tilted backwords with a horrifying lurch. He swore, tried to scramble to his feet but gravity shifted beneath him.
He fell.
His arms clung onto wooden beams, legs dangling over the edge. His fingers dug into the wood and his teeth gritted as Gallows peeled a bloody fingernail back.
But it was enough.
He swung his right hand up and gripped a metal fixture.
The scaffolding he stood on a moment ago fell away behind him, plummeting to the ground like confetti.
He hung there.
Pain knifed his fingers.
Come on!
Muscles straining, he pulled himself up, got to his knees and ran. His lungs screamed. More metal and wood peeled away from the tower. The ground disappeared around him.
A mangled column of steel and stone swept away from the wall with a shriek, leaving a monstrous gap ahead of him. Everything around Gallows quaked.
But still he ran, keeping the agony at bay.
He barrelled towards the gap as fast as his legs could carry him. ‘Ugh!’
He jumped across and tucked into a roll as he landed on another wooden platform. Something cracked—if it was a bone, he’d worry about it later.
A sickening caterwaul reeled out around him, some beast in its death throes. Gallows looked up—just in time for the scaffolding above to falter and crash.
He thundered along the wooden beams, debris showering his back.
Need to get inside.
He grabbed at rough stone as he swung himself around a corner, frantic eyes seeking an open window or passage.
A steel beam swung its way towards him. ‘Shit!’
He dropped to the ground as it passed overhead. It broke from its tether and sailed over the edge.
Thick black smoke drowned his senses, highlighted by thin curls of deep yellow— gold stitching in a curtain of deep black velvet.
Ignium.
Gallows powered through the smoke, unable to see where his feet were taking him. He tried not to think how easy it would be to send himself plunging through a weak sheet of wood. He reached out to a wall, letting his hands do what his eyes couldn’t. He cleared the smoke—just in time for him to stop himself from tumbling over an edge.
There was nothing in front of him but air.
Tremors stuttered through his body at the sight of the sheer drop. Thoughts jousted for attention amidst the chaos. Metal shrieked behind him as it pulled from its fixtures, like a tooth from rotten gums.
There was no way back.
Only a sheer drop ahead of him.
And he couldn’t reach higher ground.
That left one option.
Shit.
He bent his knees low and turned.
His aching hands gripped the edge of the wood. He sent his legs over the edge, feeling for the metal bars.
A quick glance through the smoke revealed a network of metal arteries below. He couldn’t get a clear view, but it was there. The thought sent his head spinning. How secure were they?
Acid bile erupted in his throat but he forced it down.
Wind nudged and prodded his legs.
Copper swirled in his throat and nose.
Smoke stung his eyes.
The world burned.
He let go.
The split second of freefall through smoke was an eternity too long.
‘Oof!’
Gallows’ hands clasped around a bar—it snapped under his weight. He dropped again, his legs flailing. He grabbed for something—anything—and caught another beam. Air rushed from his lungs, every muscle screamed at him—but the bar held.
Considering the pain and exhaustion, Gallows wasn’t convinced he was lucky to be alive.
He shimmied down, hand after hand. He hung around halfway up the tower and sensed the Schiehallion orbiting close by.
There had to be an access point nearby; the upper half of the tower might have been a shell, but there must be walkways, passages, something the construction crews used.
He took in his surroundings. Eastern face of the tower…
The metal burned his palms.
He dropped himself again, climbing downward foot by foot, inch by inch.
The fire inside the tower turned into an inferno, but by some miracle, his footing was secure.
‘Stupid idea, Ty. Stupid idea…’
Then he spotted it—a window.
One last look. One last look to see if she’s alive.
He edged his way to the opening.
A bruised and bloodied face appeared at the window frame, slung over the edge. It belonged to a man, decked out in the copper brown of the Watch. Spit and blood dri
pped from his face.
‘Tiera!’ Gallows climbed over. The watchman didn’t move. ‘Can you hear me?’
No answer.
Gallows reached out with bloodied fingers, his right leg still hooked onto the scaffolding. The whole place was coming apart—if the watchmen were aiming to survive, they’d be too busy escaping to arrest Tiera.
‘Move, damn it!’
The watchman’s one good eye fluttered open in confusion. He screamed as he became alert.
‘Move back, I can help!’
Panic struck the officer’s face as something grabbed him from behind and tore him away from view.
‘Hey! Damn it. Okay, come on…’ Gallows stretched his hand out, fingers almost grazing the rough stone….
He was too far. Shit.
Gallows craned his head, seeking another way across. As he was about to give up, a fist of fire punched through a wall behind the network of metal, sending brickwork careening to the ground—and leaving a huge gap.
Gallows climbed through the web of steel towards the space, inch by agonising inch. Crashing metal battered his legs and arms. Fire lapped at the gap, but Gallows could avoid it if he was careful.
Come on…
He stretched across, supported only by the metal beams which were coming undone with startling speed. A length of wire uncoiled ahead of him; it didn’t budge when he tugged at it.
Screw it.
He swung, flying over the flames and through the gap—and crashed through the wooden floor, straight onto a watchman below.
‘Shit, another one!’ his companion yelled—the battered and bloodied watchman from the window.
The watchman swung his sword but Gallows read the move a mile off. He rolled away, scooping the fallen watchman’s sword from the floor.
‘I’m here to help you!’ Gallows yelled, raising his new blade.
‘Like hell!’
Gallows deflected the watchman’s strike and followed up with a kick to his chest, sending him tumbling back.
Another blade flashed out of nowhere towards the downed watchman’s throat. At the last second Gallows flicked it away, but it sent him off-balance, and he collapsed to his knee.
A boot kicked the sword from his hand.
Symphony of the Wind Page 22