They took cover behind the corner wall, another bullet almost burying in Gallows’ head as he peeked around.
‘I’m not one for words, so I will say this once,’ called Thackeray. ‘I’ll shoot the traitor here if any of you show your face.’
Shit. Valentine screamed at Thackeray, her cries fading in and out. Gallows still had his sword and the B-knife, but against that revolver, he would never get close enough in time.
‘He’s got a fighter coming,’ warned Serena. ‘An aircraft. He was gonna take me away on it. He thinks I’m a weapon!’
Valentine was dying. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
Thackeray would escape.
Gallows clenched his eyes shut. May the Gods forgive me. ‘Serena,’ he began. ‘You have to do it. You have to get inside his head.’
‘What? No way! I, I can’t… It drains me.’
‘Focus. Just long enough to make him drop his gun. Long enough for me to take him out.’
‘I can’t!’
‘You can. Look at me.’
Serena’s eyes shone.
‘You can do it,’ Gallows said. ‘Just long enough for me to circle round behind the elevator shaft.’
‘What, outside the Spire?’
‘It’s the only way it’ll work. Make him turn his back on Valentine. Make him look for his airship, just long enough for me to slip past. Be subtle, so he doesn’t even know you’re putting the thoughts in his head. Can you do that for me?’
‘Damn the Gods…’
‘Myriel, look after her.’
The mage nodded.
Valentine screeched in pain.
‘When you’re ready,’ nodded Gallows.
Serena closed her eyes.
Cold metal burned Gallows’ palms as he slid along the exterior of the Spire. Icy wind lashed at his face. The horizon shimmered, the mesmerising haze of the Steelpeaks daring him to take a step forward…
‘Whoa-oa!’ A gust of wind almost sent him plummeting.
He scanned the sky—a plume of smoke rose from the vast wreckage of the Schiehallion. He hoped that was the reason he couldn’t see the Liberty Wind anywhere.
Not far… Not far…
He only had to circumnavigate a portion of the Spire—it was more than enough.
One foot after the other.
One foot after the-
The floor of the access rail fell away.
He dropped.
Pain thrummed through his fingers as they fought for purchase. Fire burned his muscles as he pulled himself up, wind whipping at him.
Almost there…
The lip of the platform Thackeray had been standing by edged out.
Only one shot at this…
Gallows inched closer.
With a steady hand, Thackeray held out the revolver, gaze pinned to where Gallows had been standing with Myriel and Serena.
Now!
He leapt out, tackling Thackeray to the floor. A gunshot rang out but the revolver disappeared over the edge of the platform.
Gallows drove his fist into Thackeray’s stomach twice before the older man kicked out. Gallows stumbled back, heart in his mouth, wavering and almost tipping over the edge. Wind pulled him.
Thackeray took his thin blade and rounded on Gallows, thrusting with lightning-quick speed. Gallows barely got his shortsword out in time to parry the strikes.
They circled one another on the platform, cold wind hissing, smoke billowing from the destroyed warship. Thackeray’s sharp eyes followed Gallows. One false move—one stumble—and he was dead. It would only take a single thrust.
Thackeray’s hand opened and closed on the hilt of his sword. Valentine tried to speak but Gallows resisted the urge to look at her.
Thackeray’s blade flicked like a serpent’s tongue.
Gallows deflected it—their swords clashed and harmonised with every strike and deflection.
Thackeray’s blade pierced the air in front of Gallows, a whirling blur of silver. Gallows avoided the strike and lashed out with his own blade—metal rang as Thackeray blocked it.
Both men fought, neither gaining the advantage—but Gallows’ body hadn’t ceased aching for days now. He would tire first, and Thackeray knew it.
Thackeray advanced, the sun flashing on his merciless, razor sharp steel.
Gallows pushed himself, feinting left and right. With each movement, the sword grew heavier in his hand.
Thackeray played for time; he knew his airship was en route, knew that Gallows’ injuries wouldn’t let up.
Come on, Serena, give me something I can work with. Gallows’ blade zig-zagged, swiping left and right, but Thackeray kept changing the rhythm of the fight—leaping and lunging, feinting, luring Gallows away.
Not bad for someone who’d had a bad leg five minutes ago.
Gallows parried a lunge with his left hand—it was a messy move and left him open—but he palmed his knife into his right and drove it into Thackeray’s side. The blade met muscle.
Thackeray swept Gallows’ hand away, a gout of blood mingling with the rust on the platform. His sword jabbed and danced, turning Gallows to the edge of the platform.
The metal squealed beneath the Hunter’s feet—Gallows leapt to the side as the panel disappeared beneath him, spinning down to the earth below.
Thackeray chose his moment well—Gallows took a slash across the back of his shoulder. The Hunter screamed as he turned and lashed out with his shortsword, but Thackeray dodged the attack without effort, even elbowing Gallows’ follow-up with the B-knife away.
Desperate, Gallows angled the knife towards his opponent. The blade shot out from the hilt—and missed.
‘Shit.’
Thackeray kicked Gallows in the stomach. Pain detonated inside Gallows’ chest. Thackeray swung his blade low; Gallows swept it overhead with his own sword, before rolling out of the way and coming in behind Thackeray. He lunged, but Thackeray was too quick; he spun and deflected Gallows’ blade.
Sweat tumbled from Gallows’ face. Thackeray’s skin glistened too, but they kept fighting. The Prime Councillor grunted with every move, saliva trailing from his mouth. Blood seeped from where the knife hit home.
They duelled back and forth, neither man possessing an advantage over the other—until the point of Thackeray’s blade scored across Gallows’ right forearm. Blood seeped from the gash.
Gallows’ pulse raced. He wouldn’t last much longer.
He fought with more care but Thackeray knew he had the advantage now; he doubled down on his efforts.
Pain lanced Gallows’ muscles with each dodge and block. His limbs weighed like stone, and he picked up another cut for his trouble.
Then the wail of a Wraith craft ripped through the sky.
Thackeray stepped aside as the craft’s bullets raked the interior of the Spire. Gallows tucked and rolled, hot metal punching into the platform just inches from him.
‘Ga…’ Valentine struggled. Her skin turned white.
The Wraith craft came in for another attack, bullet holes peppering the metal tower.
Thackeray stepped backwards onto the platform.
The craft hovered there. Its skyglass opened, the Wraith inside stepping out to let Thackeray in.
It was over.
Thackeray mopped his brow and hobbled to the fighter craft, skin pale, blood flowing-
In a cloud of gore, the Wraith’s head exploded.
Bullets raked the fighter craft and shattered its skyglass.
The Liberty Wind came in from the side—how the hell Fallon made that shot, Gallows would never know.
Thackeray took cover from the gyroguns strapped to the Wind, and Gallows took great pleasure in seeing him panic.
He strode towards the Prime Councillor and kicked his blade away.
Gallows pulled him inside as the Wind descended.
Valentine used all her strength to crawl towards Gallows. ‘Kill him!’ she gasped. ‘Kill him!’
‘He can’t die,’ Gal
lows said, towering above Thackeray. ‘Not before the kingdom knows. Not before we dismantle him.’
Chapter Forty-Two
The remains of Thackeray’s Spire dwindled further and further away, until it was little more than a blotch on the horizon. Gallows leaned over the rail on the Wind’s deck to watch the desert race past. He rolled an ache from his shoulders and ran a finger through his hair—wincing when he poked a fresh cut.
In fact, his entire body throbbed with pain—he hoped the airship had painkillers. And a bar.
The Liberty Wind was a good ship—not the prettiest, but she had heart and soul. Gallows heard it in her thrusters, felt it in the chug of her engines.
When he left the deck, Gallows took his time traversing the ship’s passages. In many ways, they were here for him—Gallows was the one who had persuaded Lockwood to take the fight against Thackeray. She’d insisted the Prime Councillor be kept alive, but Gallows wasn’t convinced it was the best idea—especially knowing how pissed Valentine would be at him.
Gallows checked in on the troops—the injured and the grieving. No-one exchanged many words with him—most were exhausted or in shock. Sachin’s troops huddled together in the cargo holds, clutching at fresh wounds and supping Clara’s soup. There was no love lost there, so Gallows didn’t outstay his welcome.
The kid Drimmon—he was a good pilot. Major Fallon said he’d risked his life to save the RSF, and that Clara had saved his ass in turn. ‘Sounds like you want ’em in your unit,’ Gallows had remarked.
All things considered, Gallows was pleasantly surprised to have survived the battle.
‘Tyson,’ called Damien. ‘Captain’s quarters. It’s time.’
Guess I can’t put it off any longer. ‘Right.’
Serena wanted to interrogate Thackeray before they got back to the city, but Gallows wasn’t sure he wanted to listen—he had enough to process.
Cronin was dead. Gallows chose to believe the Confessor when he’d said Sera died without pain. It would be as much comfort as Gallows could hope to have.
He could live with that.
‘I did it to save our kingdom.’ Thackeray’s words dripped with venom. ‘I owe you no further explanation.’
The Wind bobbed in the air like a sled on gravel.
‘The truth,’ Serena commanded.
Thackeray convulsed on the chair he’d been tied to inside the cramped quarters. ‘I did it to save our kingdom,’ he repeated, this time with a softer tone. ‘Our ignicite reserves are low. Idaris has endless mountains of it. I worked for King Owain. I was his agent for years. He sent my unit to Idaris on diplomatic missions for decades, until they shut themselves out. We reported back to him what we found. Mass killing. Genocide. Slavery. He claimed he wanted to bring them to justice—but what he really wanted was their ignicite. He needed war as a pretext for an invasion. He ordered the RDN Enlighten to defend Horizon Bridge. We spread misinformation to the Idari—they believed we would strike against them. The disaster that hit the Enlighten was a pre-emptive strike—only we spun it as the Idari casting the first stone.’
‘I was looking for refuge.’ Serena’s voice turned hard. ‘Jozef and I, we escaped and had to turn back because the Dalthean Navy was at war!’
Thackeray shook his head. ‘What…? You. You! Get out of my head!’
Gallows stepped back as Serena made Thackeray talk more. Let Fallon and the rest watch. He pressed his back against the bulkhead, listening to the song of the wind as it rushed past.
Damien stood next to him. ‘Good work,’ said Gallows. ‘I’m glad you’re alive.’
‘You, too.’
‘Korvan?’
Damien shook his head. ‘Sachin’s team recovered Enoch. They said there was no sign of anyone else.’
‘That doesn’t bode well.’
‘What will you do when we get back?’ Damien asked.
Gallows looked over to Serena. Thackeray still had supporters, and the Idari… They’d all come for her.
‘Leave,’ Gallows answered. ‘You?’
‘The Princess Anabelle. I should recover soon. I can already feel the bone knitting together.’
Gallows looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
‘I heal quickly,’ Damien explained with a wince. ‘Relatively.’
‘And afterwards?’
Damien placed his hands behind his back. ‘I meant what I said, Tyson. I need to disappear. I can’t be around people.’
Gallows avoided Damien’s eyes. From the window, he watched a squabble of gulls circle in the air.
‘Do you believe monsters can atone?’ Damien asked.
After a moment, Gallows said, ‘I don’t know. But you have to hope.’
‘Indeed. How’s Valentine?’
‘She’ll live but she needs patching up. Can’t guarantee she won’t stab Thackeray as soon as she wakes up.’
‘I’ll check on her,’ Damien offered. ‘I could use a visit to the sick bay myself.’
When Damien had gone, Myriel took his position at Gallows’ side. ‘Seems silly now,’ she began, ‘but I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.’ She shook Gallows’ hand. ‘Myriel An tal Lo.’
‘Pleasure.’
She leaned back, looking at Serena as she made Thackeray talk and talk.
‘There is power in her. Fearsome power.’
‘Yeah,’ Gallows agreed. ‘She won’t be safe.’
‘No. She’ll need a sword to protect her, and knowledge to guide her.’
Gallows smiled. ‘You reckon that’s us?’
Myriel chewed her lip. ‘There is a secluded temple in Tarevia. They worship Musa above all other Gods, even Aerulus.’
‘Will it have answers?’
‘It’s a starting point,’ Myriel replied. ‘And it has been such a long time since I’ve been out in the world.’
‘Yeah,’ said Gallows. ‘Me too.’
DALTHEA VIATOR—SPECIAL EDITION!
King Owain—DEAD!
Pyron Thackeray Arrested Three Days Ago For Treason!
Aramon Fallon Innocent!
Auros tal Qur Steps Down As Editor, Cites Ill-Health!
What Is Outpost One Three Seven? Exclusive Lurid Details Inside!
Veronica hadn’t left her room in days. She was numb to the world. Every photograph she had of Marrin lay on her table.
She couldn’t identify the moment she made her decision, but right now, it was all that kept her alive. Maybe it was when she read about Pyron Thackeray. Maybe it was when Gallows had told her that the kingdom needed Zoven to testify against him.
Either way, she didn’t bother dying her hair or applying her lipstick. Not for this visit.
She glided down the staircase. The Watch were busy gutting every room and removing every trace of what this place had been. The children would live here soon, and in other properties Zoven owned. Nora, the straw-haired girl she had taken under her wing, looked proud as a peacock as the Courtesans’ Guild was stripped bare.
Waltham nodded at her as she descended. ‘Uh, you sure you want to go down there, miss?’
‘Yes. Quite. Thank you.’
Zoven hadn’t moved. He’d be the last relic purged from this place.
Cold, dank air brushed her shoulders. Her stomach quivered, but she pressed on through the cellar. Zoven’s door opened with a creak.
‘What do you wan-’
It was easier than she thought it would be. He seemed surprised more than anything else. The kitchen knife pierced his fat flesh once, twice.
Then she lost count.
‘You had my daughter killed! My Marrin! All the abuses I put up with, all the pain! It was Marrin that kept me going. She was all I had. And you took her away.’
Zoven crept across the floor, bright red blood flowing from several cuts.
‘I…’ he gurgled, blood erupting from his mouth. ‘She’s alive…’
‘Liar!’
‘…not… Marrin… You think… I’d be stupid enough… to
tell you who she is and what…. what she looked like, uh?’ The words choked out of his sodden mouth.
At once, the knife turned heavy. Veronica fought to breathe. ‘She’s… alive? Who is she? Who is she? Tell me!’
‘Not now, whore, not… now. You’ll never… see her… again…’
‘No. No!’
Zoven’s dead eyes stared up at her.
Veronica fell to her knees. She tossed the knife away, pounded at him, screaming.
This was cruelty, to have her daughter given back and taken away again in an instant. This was worse than grief.
But V knew him better than anyone else.
He always had insurance. If he was telling the truth, he’d have proof somewhere.
Her blood-slick hands trembled and wouldn’t clasp the drawer handle. She screamed and ripped the drawer from his desk, kicked his chair away, spread his papers over the rough surface of the table, staining them with blood.
Nothing.
She tore the room apart but with every second, her muscles grew more tired and empty.
In a last act of defiance, she clasped Zoven’s prized cactus pot and smashed it, the destruction giving her an instant of satisfaction amid the grief.
Within the soil, a stack of photographs were bound. A blond girl smiled in them. V clutched the pictures, the seed of hope growing.
Scrawled on the back of the picture were the words Evelyn Drassler.
She looked up at V with her father’s eyes.
‘Does anyone know what happened to Tiera?’ Gallows asked.
Fallon shook his head. ‘The RSF ferried the refugees from the Gravehold. Reckon she’s slipped through the net.’ Fallon leaned back in his chair. The musty smell in his office tickled Gallows’ nose. ‘Gonna have a hell of a lot of work on my hands. Gonna need men I can trust.’
Gallows shook his head. ‘I’m done, Major.’
‘It’s General now.’
‘Good luck running the kingdom.’
Fallon nodded his thanks. ‘Dismissed, soldier. Fortune find you. Send the next one in.’
‘Fortune find you.’ As Gallows left, he held the door open.
‘Come in,’ Fallon called.
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