Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  ‘You could have told someone!’ urged Serena. ‘The Viator, maybe?’

  ‘The Council run the paper,’ said Gallows.

  Catryn nodded. ‘Wanted to teach at the garrison, but I got saddled with the Fayth instead. It was the only place left. Bunch of fairy tales, but if I could help out at the orphanage, maybe do some good? Well, whatever part my research played in Mathieson’s experiments… Maybe I could balance it out.’

  ‘Did you know about the torture?’ Gallows’ question sounded like an accusation.

  Catryn shook her head. ‘Had a small lab of my own. Basud was the only one I had regular contact with. I was ferried from the outpost into the city at the end of each day. What’s it to you?’

  ‘My fiancée was tortured and killed for the crime of having an Idari ancestor.’

  That took some of the sting from Catryn. Serena liked her, but it was easy to see how she could rub people the wrong way.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Catryn said. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘What about the ignogen bomb?’

  Catryn shook her head at that too.

  More to break the silence than anything else, Serena asked, ‘How is everyone? Petrakis? Ingrid?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that lot,’ Catryn said.

  ‘Korvan,’ Gallows said to Damien. ‘Did you kill him?’

  Fieri’s chin rested on his knuckles. ‘I can’t be sure.’

  Gallows paced in front of Serena. ‘Oh, before I forget,’ he said. ‘Valentine drew a map.’ Gallows fished it from his pocket and placed it onto the table. On it, X’s marked various spots and passages.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Serena.

  ‘These are where the traps are. Tripwire, flash bombs. If the enemy comes and you need to fall back, avoid these places. The third floor is clear, so head there if things get rough. Everyone clear? Good.’

  ‘So what’s Enfield want with all of you anyway?’ asked Catryn. ‘Is it all about Tiera Martelo?’

  ‘Uh, Enfield’s dead, and…’ Serena and Gallows looked at each other. Before Serena spoke again, a stuttering beeping emanated from the floor.

  ‘What’s that?’ Serena already knew, but she wanted to seize the distraction rather than explain everything to Catryn.

  ‘Bride’s Code,’ answered Damien. ‘From the transmitter under Sheva’s desk.’

  Kirivanti’s eyes could pierce steel. ‘You’re not supposed to know that’s there.’ She dug down and hefted a transmitter onto her desk.

  ‘It’ll be from Commander Lockwood,’ Damien explained. ‘I asked her to send help.’

  ‘It’s not coming,’ said the Guildmaster, staring at the readout. ‘Rowena Lockwood has been relieved of her command. General N’Keres has taken control of the Schiehallion.’

  Gallows ran his hands through his hair. ‘Gods damn it.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Serena. ‘Isn’t she com-’

  The office door flew open. Valentine stood, rifle in her hands, breathing hard. ‘It’s starting.’

  ‘What is?’ Gallows asked.

  Valentine’s face hardened. ‘The siege.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Valentine flew up the rope ladder to her sniper’s nest on the second floor. Glass shattered as rocks and other missiles pelted the windows.

  ‘What do you see?’ Gallows called.

  ‘A horde of ’em. Zoven’s men, some Watch. Reckon we got one or two Hunters down there. They got a ram.’

  ‘Alright,’ Gallows started, striving to inject some authority into his voice, ‘everyone fall back. Serena, you got the map with the traps?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Good. Go to Genevieve. Hole up.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘Go!’

  ‘Come on, Serena, I’ll go with you,’ said Catryn, ushering Serena and Angelo away before Serena had a chance to argue.

  ‘I’ll take the high ground,’ Damien said. He’d equipped two batons in lieu of knives. ‘I’ll halt their advance before they breach our defences.’

  ‘Hey.’ Gallows clasped Damien’s elbow. ‘Look, I was unfair. Before. You did well tonight. I just… I need to know you’re in control.’

  ‘I am. And your comments were justified. If blood has to be spilled, you can rest assured I’ll direct my wrath to those deserving of it—but I will not kill.’

  But what worried Gallows was that he might need him to.

  Minutes crawled by. Kirivanti’s hands trembled no matter how hard she gripped the staff. She’d never seen combat up close before. Her mother, always the stricter parent, pressed her into taking up lathinaka—stick dancing—and though she hated it at first, her sisters’ constant jibes steeled her resolve. It was not long before Sheva Kirivanti drew much envy for her proficiency, earning even her sisters’ respect on the arena floor.

  But contests were a world away from war.

  She breathed thick air through her nose, heart loud in the silence. She’d chosen the western entryway over the eastern as its corridor was wider—all the better should she need to engage in combat with the staff. It was just over six feet long and had a series of iron rings running down its shaft—one for each of Belios’ seven warrior daughters, whom her mother worshipped more than any other God. Steel caps at either end provided a buffer against splintering.

  It was in these quiet moments that she felt herself a fraud, seeing her commission as Hunters’ Guildmaster as unearned. Her father’s wealth had played a role in that, and no doubt Pyron Thackeray had his eye on a long-term alliance between Nom Ganald and Dalthea—but she treated her position with the weight it deserved, quickly silencing her many critics within the Guild and earning their respect.

  But she would not sit idle while a secret war was being waged and the people of Dalthea murdered and deceived. She would not shy away from this fight. And if that meant leaving her post in disgrace, then so be it. Perhaps it was what she deserved. After all, she’d worked closely with Damien Fieri and never had an inkling of his… desires.

  The side entrance burst open, startling her.

  Two men and a woman clambered past the barricade she’d erected, brandishing cleavers.

  Kirivanti placed one foot in front of the other, and raised her weapon.

  Her sisters were proficient with sabres, the kukri and the spear—but no-one could dance like she could.

  The report of Valentine’s rifle sounded out.

  Gallows had moved to the ground floor, taking cover behind a barricade of tables, the grand staircase at his back. He primed his Vindicator. Valentine had most of the ammo, but if any stragglers got past her and in through the smashed windows, they’d be in his sights.

  Another shot, then another. ‘Bastards ain’t even trying,’ called Valentine. ‘Can’t help but feel they’re up to something.’

  ‘Just keep at it. And let me know if they ready their ram.’

  Damien was somewhere on the roof, guarding the myriad ways in. Even Aulton Carney had taken up the fight with his personal revolver. Gallows was unsure about that, but when he explained he was a veteran of the Dalthea-Ryndaran conflict and had won the King’s Cross medal, well, he could hardly say no—even if he was on the wrong side.

  Just a couple of hours. Just until the skyport opens. We can do this.

  It was like being back on the Liberty Wind when the Spirestorm strove to bring them down. Serena drank most of the jug of water Genevieve Couressa had offered her but found herself still thirsty.

  ‘What do you think’s happening?’ she asked. Genevieve’s room was on the top floor, across from Aulton and Fabian’s—but if it all kicked off, she reckoned she’d hear it.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Genevieve replied. Tiredness had clawed at the singer’s eyes. ‘But you mustn’t worry.’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  ‘“Don’t fret over things in the hands of the Gods; it makes them more likely to serve themselves.” Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?’

  Sere
na shook her head.

  ‘Well, there you go. Worrying solves nothing. I know it’s hard, but try and remain hopeful.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Angelo. He hadn’t flipped the page of his book for ten minutes. ‘Stay calm. Sit.’

  Serena shook her head. ‘Too restless.’

  ‘Man’s an old fool,’ Fabian muttered. He wrinkled his brow and fussed at his tie, alternating between loosening and tightening it. ‘He’s not used anything more than a prop gun in forty years, what good does he think he’s doing?’

  ‘Aulton will be fine, Fabian, I promise.’ Genevieve’s voice soothed like a lullaby. ‘He’s tougher than he looks.’

  Fabian’s face transformed. His hand flew to his heart, lips parting, frown disappearing. ‘You really believe so?’

  ‘I do.’ Genevieve clasped her arm around Fabian. ‘I promise.’

  Am I the only one not stupid enough to be relieved?

  ‘They’re a bit naïve,’ Catryn whispered to her, ‘but they’re right about one thing: No point worrying. After the orphanage, the Watch can’t ignore what’s going on. It might not seem like it, but things are looking up.’

  An exploding boom rang out, and the walls shuddered.

  Eight bodies lay in the street outside the eastern entrance, blood pooling around them.

  A breeze sent a shiver of sand dancing upon pebbles. Damien, perched on a stone gargoyle, scanned the area for more scouts. A three-person squad had breached Kirivanti’s side at the same time a cohort attempted to breach Aulton’s, but Damien prioritised the elder man. By the sounds of it, Sheva had handled herself.

  But it wasn’t a matter of skill, it was a matter of trust—and Aulton Carney was too much of an unknown variable to be left alone—a rogue cog in the machine.

  And he knew too much.

  Still. Not likely to be a threat.

  Where was the patrol craft he’d requested? Had Waltham delivered the message? They needed the skyport clear, needed to secure a route through Wrenwing Gap, or all this would be for nothing.

  A blast cracked the sky, and something powerful struck the façade of the mansion.

  Damien scrambled up to the rooftop, scanning the distance. Beneath him, Valentine sent bullets into the courtyard, men and women dropping like ragdolls.

  They readied a ram, but the noise he’d heard was something else. Something worse.

  There.

  Artillery.

  Valentine’s rifle sang in precise rhythm, like the steady snap of a snare drum. One shot, one kill.

  Gallows’ sword lay on the floor, in easy reach. No sign of Damien for a while. Hopefully because he’s busy.

  Another gunshot. The report of gunfire resounded like the toll of a bell in the vast room. Some brave souls replied with gunfire of their own, the occasional round pinging through glass, but Valentine soon silenced them.

  ‘They’re readying their ram!’ she called.

  Gallows’ throat tightened. He sat on his right knee and pulled the rifle tighter into his shoulder, training his sight on the door. He steadied his shaking hands, the trembling sights tightening into concentric circles. Short bursts.

  Valentine’s rifle snapped. He watched her slide the bolt back, chamber a new round and fire with cold, automatic precision. The process was as natural as breathing to her. She was a machine, channelling her grief through the barrel of a gun.

  Better than drinking yourself stupid and being terrified of waking up.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he called up to her.

  ‘Nothin’ yet, but I don’t reckon that’ll last long. Swines are up to something… Look out, they’re comin’!’ Her gunfire quickened, the muzzle pulsing like flashes of lightning.

  The tall window to the left of the room shattered. Gallows brought his rifle around but no-one was there. ‘What do you see, Val?’

  ‘Too many of ’em! They’re rushing!’

  Valentine loosed rounds. ‘Reloading! Oh, shit…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ram’s comin’! Watch the entrance!’

  Shit.

  The door boomed and convulsed.

  Sons of bitches. What had they done? Drawn Valentine’s fire to the left and circled round with a goddamn ram?

  Valentine fired again and again.

  But the ram kept coming.

  Shit. They’re gonna get through. He knew it was too good to be true, too simple. Hole up and hope for the best. They should have taken their chances with stealing an airship and going up against the Schiehallion.

  ‘Reloading!’

  ‘Again?’ Gallows stared down the sights of his rifle.

  The ram struck again.

  One of the hinges flew off.

  ‘C’mon, Val…’

  The chain around the door stretched, taut like tense muscle. The door shuddered and jerked.

  Gallows’ heart hammered inside him.

  Sweat trailed down his forehead.

  Another hit.

  But the door held.

  ‘They’re runnin’!’ Valentine yelled. ‘Like the spineless worms they-oh shit!’

  Gallows looked up.

  The window exploded, and chunks of the stone façade flew in. Valentine dived backwards, hanging over the edge of the balcony.

  ‘Valentine! Valentine!’

  ‘I’m alive!’ she called, though her voice was weak. She clambered back onto the balcony, grabbed her rifle and crawled along the floor.

  ‘What in all hells was that?’ Gallows asked.

  Valentine pressed her back against the wall. She took out a mirror from her belt and used it to see out into the grounds. ‘Gods above, they got a cannon!’

  ‘A can-’

  Exploding stone and glass drowned out the rest of Gallows’ words.

  ‘We won’t hold the mansion as long as that thing’s out there!’ he yelled.

  ‘You think?’ snarled Valentine. She smashed a window with the butt of her rifle, took aim, and fired.

  ‘Did you hit ’em?’

  No reply.

  She fired again.

  ‘Val?’

  Another shot.

  ‘Valentine?’

  ‘Get away from the door!’

  ‘If they breach, we won’t last two minutes, never mind two hours!’

  ‘Shit!’

  Three shots rang out. The scrape of the bolt and the slam of fresh rounds rang in Gallows’ head. He braced himself for the incoming assault. Most of ’em were armed with blades, but that only gave Gallows an advantage for as long as his ammo lasted.

  ‘Got ’em! Cannon crew down! They’ll think twice before…’

  Gallows waited. ‘Valentine? Before what?’

  ‘They got another one.’

  The butt of the staff cracked into the woman’s forehead, sending her slumping to the floor.

  The three of them lay there, faces oozing blood. Sheva leaned against the wall, grateful for the chance to take a breath. The female fighter was their best; she had instinct where the two men possessed only blind rage. She’d penetrated Kirivanti’s defences, got a cut into her arm before Sheva repelled her.

  Too much rigid training, not enough real experience.

  But she’d won.

  She wiped the blood from the staff, ready to dance again.

  The cannon bellowed and shells rained down on the Musicians’ Guildhouse like hail, a merciless torrent cleaving chunks from the wall.

  The world shuddered.

  ‘Can’t get a clear shot!’ Valentine called. ‘Got three rounds left!’

  ‘Leave it!’ said Gallows. ‘There’s no way we can hold ’em off! Fall back, we still got the high ground even if they get in. I’ll make my way up to you!’

  This was it. Nothing could stop the tide now.

  And Gallows was okay with it. This was a cause worth dying for. All that mattered was getting Serena out alive, and there was still hope they would achieve that. Hope, like Genevieve said. A life without hope is no life at all.

 
; He could lure the enemy troops in and get her out. He’d die, but it was better to die here—die for something—than at home alone, for no reason.

  He checked his ammo.

  Hope I’ve made you proud, Seraphine.

  ‘Wait!’ said Valentine. ‘Something’s happening!’

  Blood trailed like rubies with each swing of the batons.

  Damien would not kill anyone—but he was not averse to causing pain.

  Men fell beneath his retribution. He was a ghost vanishing and reappearing at will. A chorus of screams trailed surrounded him, setting his blood on fire.

  Yes! Lose yourself to the blood frenzy!

  No. Damien dismissed the voice like he would a fly; he would stay in control.

  Damien broke a man’s shin, ducked a punch from his companion, seized his wrist and broke it—in the same movement, he turned onto the next adversary.

  Zoven’s men were many, but they were unskilled. They crowded around their artillery as though it offered some kind of protection.

  He vaulted towards it, rolled on the ground and struck with his fists. Men toppled around him like wheat at the mercy of a scythe.

  Damien recognised a Hunter charging at him. A smile broke out as he slashed at Damien—it disappeared when Damien’s throwing knife buried into his thigh, through the femoral artery.

  ‘With immediate medical attention, you’ll live.’

  The cannon sang again. The mansion would not sustain its ordnance for long.

  Damien dodged Valentine’s rifle fire. Holes appeared in chests ahead of him. A skull exploded. Damien loosed more throwing knives, disarming them. His batons spun in the air and clunked off skulls, back into his hands.