She crawled across the rough wooden floor. The place reeked of old smoke and sawdust.
Seeing Yulia had unlocked a chest of sealed memories. Images of the convent where she’d taken her holy orders clawed into her head unbidden. Her stomach roiled. Memories of the other sisters, of the priest’s bastard son…
Of the first time she killed someone.
If only I took more time with him, as he did with Yulia. She spat on the ground. Her own fault for being weak. Her own fault for letting him corner her.
Voices.
Beneath her, low and muffled. Tiera pressed her ear low.
‘You’re insane, I think!’ growled a voice. Anton Tugarin.
She crept along the attic floor and kneeled by a ventilation panel set into the ceiling of the main hall—where they’d put Dixon, Smithy and Oxbridge to rest.
From here, she could see Tugarin’s gleaming bald head and his forest of a black beard. He sat in a pew at the front, with four others—all Raincatcher captains. The Court of Heaven.
And here they were, being addressed by Captain Vaughan.
‘Oh come now,’ said Vaughan—Tiera had to stop herself from bursting through the ceiling and ripping his lungs out—‘I think you’ll find I am the sanest person here. I convened the Court of Heaven because—legally—I am the new Guildmaster of the Raincatchers, and I wish to start afresh.’
‘Hah!’ Tugarin’s voice resounded through the hall like a great peal of thunder. ‘And I once saw a goat eat a wolf!’
The other captains nodded their agreement with Tugarin; Ashe of the Callan, Li of the Desert Rose, the McConnell brothers of the Stormweaver and Moonwaltzer.
Vaughan produced a piece of paper. ‘And lo, as Aerulus himself shone light upon a darkened world, so the truth of what I say shall dawn upon you.’
Tugarin snatched the paper with his hairy hands. ‘Daermo. The clown speaks the truth.’
‘Takes more than a piece of paper to make a Guildmaster,’ Captain Ashe pointed out, her long red hair a tumbling waterfall of blood. ‘What happened to Roland? He negotiated better conditions for us this year, my crew will mutiny if they hear-’
‘It claims here the Council will pay us double,’ spoke Tugarin. It quelled the grumbling.
‘Aye, and how are they funding that?’ asked one of the McConnells. Their identical charcoal hair made it impossible for Tiera to tell them apart up here. ‘We all know you’re balls-deep with Farro Zoven, Vaughan. I got no issue with that, but I don’t want to carry his whores or his drugs for him.’
‘Malacai, my dear-’
‘I’m Dougan.’ He nodded to his brother. ‘He’s Malacai.’
‘Of course. Dougan. A fair observation, and you have my personal assurance that you will only ever perform legal Raincatcher duties, as per Guild law. Now! The question of what happened to Roland; sadly the Council believe him to be in cahoots with the terrorist Tiera Martelo.’
Li spat on the floor. ‘I’ll believe Tiera killed Thackeray when she tells me to my face.’ Her voice rasped like it’d been left out in the desert for a week. That sickly tobacco she loaded her pipe up with, Tiera could taste it just by looking at her.
‘Clean that up,’ hissed Ashe. ‘We are in a place of worship.’
‘I’ll believe in the Gods when I see them too.’ Li spat again. Ashe made to draw her rapier.
‘Captains, please,’ urged Vaughan. ‘I know not where Councillor Enfield gets his evidence, I know only what I am told: I am in, Roland is out. Tiera Martelo is a murderer. And Captain Fitzwilliam is dead.’
Whatever Vaughan said next was meaningless babble.
Tiera’s fingers froze. She dropped deeper into the floor.
No. Fitz was the only thing she had left. He was the only thing that tethered her, that kept her from going crazy.
He was the only thing she loved.
‘…died in the Courtesans’ Guild,’ Vaughan continued. ‘Perhaps he knew what Tiera was planning and decided he needed a good ride with another woman.’
Acid bile churned in her stomach, rising with every word the clown spoke. Her nails bit into the wood, muscles stiff. She refused to believe it. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be gone, and that was the simple truth of it. She’d know. She’d feel it.
And she would not do this again. She would not put someone else she loved to the pyre. She would not be the only one who survived, cut off, alone.
Vaughan’s deceit and low cunning had brought her here, and here he was spitting more lies. How could she believe anything that slithered from his traitor mouth? That finisa would lie to his own mother if he got something out of it. He was a betrayer who kept company with witches, tricksters and junkies—and damn them all for listening to him.
‘Lies,’ said Li.
‘Believe what you will,’ Vaughan said, before producing a golden apple from his coat and biting into it.
‘How did he die, huh?’ grunted Tugarin. ‘Is this why Tiera murdered the Prime Councillor? Is this why we have these Watch swine imprisoning us?’
‘Protecting us, Anton! Who knows why Tiera did what she did? Looking for logic in the mind of a madwoman is like looking for a vein in a scuzzer’s arm—you may well find it buried somewhere, but it’ll be too decayed to use. Gods above, one thing I will bring in as Guildmaster is fresh rutting food.’ Vaughan lobbed the remains of the apple into a waste basket at the side of the room.
Tugarin stood. ‘I like none of this!’ His Tarevian accent scoured like sandpaper. ‘And I will not follow the orders of an honourless, traitorous dog.’
‘Oh, how I do love to be lectured by an uncouth, slobbering cur.’ Vaughan’s voice jingled like a doorbell. ‘Reminds me of my father.’
Tugarin laughed, a rollicking clangour erupting from his belly. ‘You think I speak of you, little man? Hah! No, I talk of Farro Zoven and whoever else is pulling your strings. You are a man whose ambitions do not stretch beyond lining your own pockets, leeching off the sick and poor. You are a manetchka—a puppet! How long before your master cuts your strings?’
‘You presume to talk to me of being a servant? You, who were but a glorified terrier that chased down scraps for your royal masters?’
Tugarin spat, and squared all of his seven foot mass to Vaughan, who looked like a rat before a tiger. But rats are crafty, and Vaughan is the king of rats.
‘The motherland is dead to me now,’ announced Tugarin, ‘as are all who suckle at her sour breast. The Old Empire is done and her karina can rot. I am no-one’s dog now—a claim you cannot make.’
Vaughan simply stared at the bigger man with a smile, angling his head as if viewing an amusing curiosity and not the eyes of a fearsome cut-throat.
‘This matter is far from settled,’ called Tugarin as he thundered across of the chapel hall. Before he slammed the door behind him, he called, ‘The seas of revolution are churning—and your ship is not anchored, Norcoté Vaughan.’
‘Whatever that means,’ said Vaughan, rolling his eyes. ‘Are the rest of you planning on betraying your oaths and spouting nonsensical metaphors?’
‘We’ll keep in line with ya,’ came Malacai’s voice. ‘Until this business with Tiera is behind us.’
‘This shit with her and Fitz…’ started Li, ‘an ill wind stirs. Anton may not be wrong when he says revolution is coming, and Belios does love chaos. But I will remain. For now.’
‘Agreed,’ nodded Ashe. ‘May Eiro preside over us.’
‘Splendid!’ squealed Vaughan. ‘You are making the right decision. Now! I do need something from you. Nothing big—just to sign an oath of fealty to the Guild…’
Tiera’s fires raged, and she did not doubt that she could tear the traitor’s limbs where he stood.
But first she had to find Fitz.
In Phadros, it is said a quick death is the fastest route to Heaven—I intend on savouring my revenge.
Dalthea’s Outer Wall dissolved in a hazy grey smudge. Watching the expanse of the desert roll out
before him made Gallows feel like a stoneroach scurrying out from a hole. The dry aroma of fragrant bloodroot filled his nostrils, contrasted by the metallic smell of ignium that oozed from the armoured car.
The hazy, bronze-orange clay of the desert resembled a lake of fire, and the sky was already a sheet of dyed purple. Soon the sun would dip behind the Steelpeaks, bathing the desert in a cold gloom. No clouds meant icy nights, and they’d be out in the wilderness for a long while.
‘I hope you’ve got some decent travel games.’ Gallows sat in the front passenger seat, next to Fallon. The major’s veins popped as he gripped the steering wheel.
Gallows craned back to look at Lieutenant Bartholomew Rend—his high, sharp cheekbones and soft, boyish dimples made him look at once commanding and youthful. He also possessed a stiff upper lip that would put the mouth on the statue of Sir Raleigh Trevelyan to shame. ‘What do you think, Barty? Coxswain’s Bluff? Ryndaran Switch?’
Rend turned his nose up. ‘It’s Bartholomew—better yet, Lieutenant Rend.’
Well, he’s still an asshole.
The suspension on the armoured car’s treads absorbed most of the shock, but Gallows found himself jostled in his seat. Haven’t seen a Bulldog since I was deployed. The Bulldog armoured personnel carrier was a snarling beast with a fierce engine and sleek, curving brass exhaust pipes running over its topside. It was legendary in the Dalthean army—until the Idari started burning troops alive inside and leaving their charred shells in open view.
The other two soldiers—a woman called Valentine, and a thuggish bloke named Sturrock—sat with Rend in the back.
I wonder how they fell in with the major. Fallon was an army investigator, spent his whole career rooting out corruption. No-one wanted anything to do with him, and it cost him his family. Everything was black and white with Fallon, but if he thought he was right, he had no problem bending the rules to prove it. Reckon that’s why the Confessors wanted him.
Gallows’ skin itched. This damn uniform. He’d discarded his new Hunters’ clothes for the fresh navy blue military gear. Would’ve preferred a shower. Like the rest of the unit, he didn’t have a helmet and wore only light body armour—all the heavy gear had been deployed by the troops in the city. Wearing it brought back memories he’d rather forget.
And then there was the bulky, copper-coloured Vindicator lying in the footwell. Or K-49 Repeater, to give it its full name. Gallows hated the habit of giving nicknames to weapons—it made them too easy to use.
Rigid wires running along the rifle’s body fed ignium gas into its chamber, which meant cartridges were loaded into the barrel automatically—but the guns were heavy, inaccurate and awkward to carry—not to mention prone to jamming. They say an Idari rifle never jams—wonder where we went wrong?
Gallows patted his pocket, making sure his knife was in easy reach. Gods, but he missed his sword—the Vindicator’s bullet-a-second fire rate had its uses, but Gallows favoured speed and reliability over power. A childhood spent running through alleyways with thugs and coppers on your tail had that effect.
He turned to Fallon. ‘You still haven’t told me what we’re looking for in this secret prison, Major.’ Or why Sera was there.
‘Does he always talk so much, boss?’ came Valentine’s voice. She was a thin woman with short red hair, and sported a fierce scar down her left cheek. Her voice dripped like honey and she caressed her modified, scoped Vindicator like it was a pet. Or a lover.
‘One of his many poor habits,’ said the major.
‘You’re just pissed ’cause he got your seat,’ joked Sturrock. Of the unit, Sturrock—big, bald and as broad as Mount Tonnir—was the only one who didn’t seem troubled by Gallows. He carried a customised D-22 shotgun. ‘Mouthshutter’ they called that. The guy could probably do more damage with his fists. His nose had been broken at least twice by Gallows’ reckoning.
‘We’re chasing rumours,’ began Fallon. ‘Daroh uncovered something. There’s a facility out here, out in the Obsidian Sandlands.’
The biggest ignicite deposit in Imanis, close to the Scorchlands and the field of Spires. ‘You reckon we can get inside this facility without N’Keres finding out?’ Gallows asked.
‘I doubt that stoneroach even knows it exists. It ain’t on the books. It ain’t anywhere.’
‘But it’ll be guarded.’
‘Then you’ll be glad you brought a gun.’
Gallows glared at him. ‘I didn’t come all this way to shoot my own damn people.’
‘We’re at war! The enemy may wear our colours but they’re still the enemy. The fusion bomb that destroyed our fleet was being carried by an unmarked vessel. It would have destroyed the capital had it got into Irros’ Beckon. That ain’t what the Idari wanted—they wanted to invade. They were planning on a siege. Why infiltrate our city and poison our water? Why destroy the pipelines in the mountains? They wanted slow deaths for us all so they could pick the kingdom clean. Building materials were found in some of their ships. They were gonna rebuild the water pipelines after they made themselves at home. Our own people detonated that bomb and killed innocent Daltheans. People died getting this information, Gallows—so I ain’t gonna be too precious about their ruttin’ guard dogs. You reckon Thackeray got shot without inside help? The Council is rotten to the core. I just need proof.’
The empty desert rolled past. ‘This can’t end well,’ Gallows pointed out. ‘You know that, right?’
‘I swore an oath to protect this kingdom from enemies foreign and domestic. You got a problem with where this is goin’, you’d best quit now.’
‘He is a Hunter,’ commented Rend. ‘Loyal only to money, like any common mercenary.’
Gallows faced Rend. ‘I’m sorry, am I being paid to be here?’
Rend didn’t respond.
‘That’s what I thought. So, this place—is it a prison or a weapons facility?’
Fallon grunted. ‘Could be both. I reckon it’s a lab of some sort. Might even date back to the Ryndaran war. But it ain’t just bombs; in Daroh’s last message, he referenced biological weapons, drugs, mind-altering agents.’
Gallows paled as the words sank like a blade in his belly. That’s why Fallon accepted my story about Martelo straight away—it proves his damn theory.
‘Why was Sera taken there? And how the hell did Daroh find all this out?’ Gallows asked. ‘Wasn’t he just a watchman?’
‘Don’t know anything about your woman other than what I told you. And Daroh, he reported to a copper called Marrius Kyatis—who, coincidentally, turned up dead today too.’
‘Someone’s tying up their loose ends,’ Sturrock muttered.
‘Aye. Now he’s dead,’ Fallon continued, ‘I reckon whoever’s responsible for destroying the Council is entering their endgame.’
‘N’Keres? Councillor Enfield?’ called Valentine. ‘They’re still alive.’
‘But why would anyone want this?’ started Rend. ‘Thackeray was pro-war—whoever is behind this must know that that’s the only outcome.’
Fallon grunted. ‘Exactly why we need answers—fast. Somebody’s working hard to stay hidden.’
Bio weapons, mind control, drugs…
‘All those soldiers who came back from the Sanctecano Isles with their minds violated,’ Gallows began, shaking his head. ‘Dismissed like shit from a shoe, branded as traitors for giving up intel.’ Did the Perceptor do to them what she did to me? ‘If I wasn’t living it, it would sound like a Captain Crimsonwing book.’
‘Y’all don’t read that trash?’ asked Valentine.
‘Oi,’ said Sturrock, ‘them books are great!’
‘Listen up,’ barked Fallon. ‘I got no clue what we’re going to find here. We’re under-armed and we don’t got back-up. If you can sleep, now’s the time. The last thing Daroh told me was that a genetic experiment was near completion. May be another weapon of mass des-’
‘Genetic experiments?’ Gallows repeated. Son of a bitch. It should have clicked bef
ore now. ‘Turn the car around!’
They were too late.
Hessian Homestead smouldered. Ashen grey smoke plumed like a geyser. Gallows tore out of the Bulldog and pounded across the ground, his feet crunching in the baked soil.
‘Son of a bitch.’
There, some distance away from the black and ruined shell of her farmhouse, Regina Hessian lay on the ground. Gallows darted over to her, but in his heart he knew what he would find. ‘Gods, no…’
He barely recognised her face—swollen and scarlet, hair matted with congealed brown blood. Red welts and ink-blue bruises bloomed over her neck and arms. Brown and red lumps trailed around the base of her skull, and her right arm had been twisted to a sickening angle.
Gallows dropped to his knees, air rushing from his lungs.
‘No blade wounds,’ grunted Fallon at his back. Lieutenant Rend appeared with him. ‘No bullet holes. She was beaten to death.’
‘Who would do this?’ whispered Rend.
‘Could have been bandits,’ suggested Fallon. ‘Could have been the same bastards that attacked the Remembrance parade.’
‘She lived here her whole life,’ murmured Gallows. ‘She traded cattle. They respected her. She bought this land with her sons…’
‘And now she’s dead,’ said Fallon. ‘Nothing we can do for her. Come on. We got work.’
Gallows thundered to his feet and charged at Fallon. Rend aimed his gun at him but he didn’t care. ‘Can’t you see past your own agenda for a damn minute? We have to search the place.’
Fallon swept an arm to the smoking ruins. ‘You think they’ve left evidence?’
Words choked in Gallows’ mouth. Embers crackled somewhere behind him, and the breeze whispered in his ear like a deathly voice. ‘Shit.’
‘On the way here you said you killed a giant snake.’
‘Yeah. And I’d bet all the aerons I got to tell you that they torched the place to cover it up. This facility—do you reckon they could do that to animals? Turn them into monsters?’
Symphony of the Wind Page 27