A Winter's Mercy, page 20
He didn’t reply.
“Did the orders in your black envelope say you needed to do it yourself?” Dalliance pressed, clearly vying for any response. “Some reason you can’t just help us out?”
“She refused it,” Gaussica replied distantly, making Dalliance look Wish’s way.
“Who?” Wish asked, but the Azirian shook his head, like he was shaking himself from an unwelcome thought. He didn’t answer, trying to refocus on the town below, so she whispered, “Dick.”
Secretly, she made up her mind that there was no way any of hers were going into that town, with what was about to happen, including Gaussica, even if he was frighteningly odd. If she could shoulder this kill herself, all the better. Maybe she could balance out her complicity in the attack by personally removing a fearsome battle mage. Though Terrifold, strong as he appeared, with his dignified poise and general amiability, hardly looked fearsome.
The way he held his head high and looked down at people, he had a clear arrogance about him. But the people he talked to and passed were animated by his presence. They looked happy to see him, confident in his presence. Soldiers and civilians – everyone looked happy.
Wish strained to find someone who didn’t, zipping her scope about, until she spotted her. A woman lingering near what had to be a tavern (infinitely charming), arms folded. She was beautiful, in an expensive fur coat with silken raven hair, but with a face like thunder as she watched people passing by. Wish hovered over her. This was even worse. A woman who resented the Drail presence. Didn’t want them in her home and didn’t deserve to be punished for having it forced on her. A man came to her, moustached, older, and put an arm around her in a paternal way. She relaxed into it, and they shared words. She nodded, partly consoled, then went indoors. The man took her place, arms folded and scowling at the invaders in the same way.
“Captain Wild,” Lieutenant Jonus whispered, crawling up behind her. She gave him a glance, but put her eye back to her scope. “Private Unders has requested that he be relieved, now everything’s in position.”
Wish frowned, having forgotten the nervous local was even here. He knew those people down there. No doubt cared for some of them. He should’ve been screaming and crying and trying to kill them for what was coming. She never should have brought him this far to begin with. “Absolutely. Anyone who doesn’t want to be here can withdraw.”
“I appreciate that, Captain, but it’s only the lad asking.”
At his dismissive tone, Wish pinned her eye on Jonus again. “I’m serious.”
That got a worried look and she reconsidered how her suggestion sounded. Accusatory, challenging, sarcastic? Soldiers weren’t supposed to withdraw at a whim. But they didn’t all need to be here. Involved. She said, “Do you really think we’ll have any trouble on the road, Lieutenant? The Drail will be running for their lives.”
“Yes, Captain,” he said, “and they might run this way.”
Wish hesitated, wanting to push the point. What if the Drail got around the attack and sent an army to meet them? What if the bombs went astray and hit their own people? Never mind the innocents, what if things went wrong? She’d already lost Quickness. Wish said, “How safe are we from the barrage here?”
“Oh, totally,” Jonus said, face relaxing at something he could handle. “Those guns are accurate to within a forty-yard radius. Targeting the centre, there’s little room for deviation outside the town limits.” He went quiet again, then said, “Did Captain Crash explain how the barrage works?”
“Ninety minutes until everything goes boom,” Wish replied simply. “As long as one of us clips that Drail mage before then.” She checked her watch. “Twenty-eight minutes to go. Still got him, Dalliance?”
“Yes, boss. East of the tank, twenty paces.”
“With a full team, the 82 Herald can safely fire four shots a minute,” Jonus said, filling her in anyway. Maybe as a distraction, or maybe he really thought she should know. “With three guns, we stagger the shots so you have twelve shells a minute, roughly every five seconds, which is effectively continuous if you’re on the ground. Once they start, they’ll have about a hundred shells hit that town in eight minutes. They’ll give it ten to fifteen minutes for the enemy to think its over and start coming out of hiding, adjusting the aim slightly to cover a different area, then they’ll repeat. The timing’s rough and changing, so it’s not predictable, but you’re looking at two to three barrages an hour. Major Bluefern will keep going for three hours unless we signal the job’s done, probably eight barrages.”
“Three hours,” Wish echoed. “Is there going to be anything left after the first bombing?”
“You’d be surprised. Once we’ve created a few craters and knocked down some buildings, it’ll create natural shields limiting the blasts that follow. After four barrages, though, the destruction will hopefully be complete. We’re unlikely to need the full eight.”
They were quiet, letting that hang in the air, watching the cheery little town below, hard to imagine it would be gone by nightfall. Or the horrors it would suffer in the meantime. At least they were happy for now, though. They didn’t know, not like Wish. She said, “Thanks, Lieutenant. I suppose we’re in for quite a show.”
“I’m sorry, Captain,” he replied, impressively taking that as she intended. “Do you have any further instructions?”
“Nope. Time’s coming fast now. Tell everyone to keep their heads down and boorah, I guess.”
He gave an mmhmm that was suitably unenthusiastic and crawled backwards on his belly, out of the clearing. They stayed in silence after that, waiting.
Wish grew aware of a noise from near the lake, voices carrying from town. A commotion almost loud enough to hear. She scanned towards it as Dalliance announced, “He’s moving towards the lakefront, to whatever’s going on there.”
Wish found the mage before the trouble, Terrifold walking swiftly past some distracted soldiers, having to shoulder his way through and making a burly man stumble. The soldier almost took a swing at him before realising it was the mage. Terrifold broke through a circle of men to reach a young couple arguing. A man in a tatty great coat, with a good head of dark hair, and that sad woman from by the inn. She had dropped a basket, scattering food. The man was gesticulating, pleading, as Terrifold broke between them, angry. He made some fierce demand of the young man, who stepped back with surprise, and the woman said something equally fierce, then all three were having a go. It looked personal, the mage bizarrely wrapped up in some domestic dispute. Was the younger man his charge? A father-son, or master-student, relationship. Terrifold was telling him off but the man didn’t back down. Good for him, standing up for the woman, now, it seemed: he cared about her, more than he cared about the old mage.
“Two minutes,” Dalliance announced and Wish seized up. She wanted to see this play out, but the unfolding drama was a perfect opportunity, at exactly the right time.
“Six hundred twenty yards,” Wish said, checking the viewfinder and adjusting her sights.
“Six hundred twenty,” Dalliance confirmed.
She rested her cross hairs over Terrifold’s face, the man frozen in shock at something that had been said. Thanks, angry young couple, for holding him in place.
She said, “Taking the shot.”
And did.
22
The newspapers were instructed to report numbers roundly, even where precise records were available. This is because 10,000 dead is a soulless statistic, while recording the loss of a town of 9,937 invites you to consider that number represents a great many individuals.
Atrocities Through the Ages, Buckman, p. 158
It was about more than just Chiara.
Pitt had spent a cold morning in the Tin Pot, nursing a black coffee behind a crowd of loud men clinking mugs and plates. The cafe had been co-opted by their occupation’s rougher soldiers, making it the ideal place to avoid both Terrifold and her. He couldn’t return to the fish barn, to sit cross-legged with bleeding fingers, failing to conjure magic. What was the use, when he knew there was no chance of success this morning? He had barely slept, fretting over how to make things right with Chiara, trying to avoid thinking about Terrifold.
However he tried to unravel this, the threads pointed back to Terrifold. The man with the knife had been very clear, and cogent – not a drunk or irrationally angry individual. And if Rotus didn’t disapprove of Pitt, then it was unlikely any rational local would interfere in his daughter’s affairs. Meanwhile, Terrifold had hinted clearly enough that he knew about Pitt’s distractions. His latest frustration made more sense if he was expecting Pitt to perform better after being warned off Chiara. And the old, miserable fool had made advances . . .
Pitt rethought their relationship over the past weeks and saw how frequently the man sidled closer to him. How Terrifold watched him, not with the fondness of a teacher, but with something more like longing. How Terrifold spoke to him as an old friend, someone to confide in. What lengths might the mage go to to secure this fantasy?
Pitt had been a fool. Should have known this was all too good to be true, and that Terrifold wanted more from him, something which he couldn’t get from the countless higher-class mages he might have chosen. No, he had known, and chosen to ignore it. His inexperience, and willingness to play along, he expected, was the point, and he clutched his mug almost to the point of breaking it with anger. Because of course a poor pipeman from the streets would do anything to get ahead. That wasn’t him, though. That had never been him.
He could’ve been happy here, in this remote little town, even without finding this incredible woman. He could’ve been happy anywhere, never so much as thinking about the war or pushing himself beyond being a simple plumber. There was no part of him now, he told himself, that was tempted to go begging for scraps of learning and advancement, not from a man who might have had him threatened.
Pitt had to confront him, though he doubted it would do any good for fixing things with Chiara. You only got one chance with a woman like that. But he had his pride to think of, and the question of doing what was right. Even if Terrifold was hiding immense, frightening power under that skin-deep friendly facade.
Yet somehow time rushed past Pitt, with the cafe filling and emptying. More coffee. No food. He couldn’t eat. He barely registered the sounds of soldiers talking or the touch of them bumping into him. Told the waitress yes, he was absolutely fine, when she came to check.
He needed to act. Couldn’t bring himself to.
Until Chiara’s dark coat drifted past the foggy window.
It fired him into action, out of his seat and through upset soldiers to burst out the door. She was turning onto the main street and he slid on the icy cobbles, shouting, “Chiara, wait!”
She stopped, and her moment’s curiosity turned to malice when she saw him. Scrunching her nose, she shook her head and walked on. Pitt ran after her. She picked up her pace, walking into the square, but did not run, so he slowed his approach, calling out, “Can I talk to you just for a second?”
“No,” she snapped without looking back.
People were pausing to watch, conversations dying and whispers starting, but Pitt blocked them out as he jogged alongside her. “Just a second, please? Let me say one thing and you can never speak to me again.”
“We said all we needed to,” she said, not stopping. She had a stuffed basket under one arm, he realised: far more supplies than she’d taken her brother before. Was she leaving? Pitt tried to take her elbow.
“Will you just stop, at least look at me!”
“I said no!” She pulled free, so hard the basket came loose. He let go, stepping back as it hit the road, bread and fruit rolling.
“Shit, I didn’t mean –”
“I don’t care!” Chiara’s voice bounced off the walls, silencing whatever other noise was left in the town centre. “Get away from me!”
“I will!” Pitt cried back. “If you just hear me out –”
“Here, pal, the lady said leave her alone,” a man interrupted and Pitt turned to a soldier twice his size, flanked by similarly mean-looking men in uniform.
“I’m the fucking mage second here!” Pitt told them. “Back the hell off.”
The men’s eyes widened, their heroism shattered. When he turned back to Chiara, her expression was thick with disgust. She said, “I’m going to Haven and you’re not to follow, damn you Pitt. I do not wish to see or speak to you.”
“Let me walk you,” he said, trying desperately to calm down but shaking. Scores of people were suddenly watching. “I know I was wrong – it was him, and I’m going to –”
“What the hell is going on!” Terrifold’s voice boomed, as though he had been summoned, and people quickly parted to let him through with hushes of fear and scandal sweeping out. The mage was veiny with anger and it took all Pitt’s nerve not to back off. “Pitt. What do you call this? I’ve been looking for you all morning.”
“You can have him,” Chiara sneered. “Please, take him.”
“Contain yourself,” Terrifold warned her, brow heavy as he observed their audience. “And explain to me how with a thousand enlisted troops in this town it’s the mayor’s daughter and my protege who are causing a scene.”
“Because of fucking you!” Pitt shouted, all the nerves and uncertainty exploding against the accusation. “Admit it, you hired some – some thug! You couldn’t stand my attentions straying to someone who deserved them!”
Terrifold was, for once, wrong-footed, so pompous he hadn’t even conceived that Pitt might guess what he’d done. As Pitt breathed heavily, daring him to deny it, the entire town held its breath. Chiara, he realised, was motionless.
At last, Terrifold said, “Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m more aware than I’ve been in weeks,” Pitt said. “And you know what? I was at my best when she helped me relax. Not thanks to anything you did. But you’re a bitter old man, aren’t you? You couldn’t let me have it.”
“What is this damned schoolyard drama?” Terrifold replied, regaining his composure, his air of authority. “With the fate of the Empire at stake, you’re worked up over a bloody woman? Weaving imaginary –”
“You sent a man to attack me!”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“I don’t know, maybe because you couldn’t have me for yourself, you damned queer!”
That hit the mage like a punch and Pitt immediately regretted it. His chest heaved from the shout and the pain he saw in Terrifold’s eyes. But he saw power stirring there, too. Fear twirled in his stomach, fear he felt mirrored in the countless people watching.
Terrifold’s upper lip curled back and he said, “You ungrateful bastard.”
Pitt’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t move. With Chiara so close and staring, though, he didn’t even want to take it back. He might be ruining everything, risking his life, but dammit. She was worth it. His pride was worth it. And how long since anyone had dared –
Terrifold’s head jerked back with an explosion of blood and for a moment Pitt thought he’d pushed the man back with his growing anger. But it wasn’t magic. A crack of rifle fire followed, ringing through the town like a hammer blow. The mage fell against the cobbles as part of his head dropped away, eyes wide in lifeless shock. It took a moment for the first woman to scream, but when she did, total panic followed.
“Sniper!” someone roared, as Pitt was knocked aside by an eruption of people moving. He kept upright to stare numbly at Terrifold. Waiting for him to get up. “Sniper on the ridge! Take cover, get a squad –”
A great whoosh fell from the sky, barely time for anyone to register it before the corner of the Cherin Bank exploded, stone and tile punched out in a black cloud, men and women tossed aside. Pitt ducked, far too late, and spun to see another blast tearing through the roof of the town hall.
“Artillery! Retreat!”
Pitt was moving too slowly, with everyone darting about, knocking each other down. There was too much screaming to hear the more coherent soldiers’ orders, and Pitt looked numbly to the lake. His eyes were drawn skyward to another shape screaming below the clouds. Beyond it, a puff of yellow colour hung unnaturally in the air. A flare?
The third shell struck the narrow street to Pitt’s right, where he’d spent the morning in the Tin Pot. The tightly packed explosion funnelled out into the square, catching a handful of running soldiers. A man flew past, spinning into a lamppost which snapped him in half.
“The barn!” a voice screamed in Pitt’s ear, a hand clamping on his arm. “Protect the barn!”
Pitt snapped out of the daze and was running before he recognised Lieutenant Droll at his side. They jumped at the sound of another explosion, but shoved their way towards the lakefront. Pitt dug into his feelings, his power, before the fish barn came into view. He surged out into the open and threw his energy forward, spreading a force to the large building ahead. Men were running around it, mostly away, and the wave of energy smacked them down, made one soldier collapse grasping his chest. Pitt ignored them, focusing only on the building, spreading the shield. He could see it pulsing over the structure, a shimmering blanket – and just as it covered the barn another shell hit, right at the top.
Pitt gasped and staggered to the side, the shield faltering as the bomb exploded above them. The ball of fire and smoke spread into the air, a terribly loud concussion that hadn’t gone through. He caught his breath, staring at the barn in disbelief, expecting that it might still collapse. But it stood. It barely even shook from the blast. And he was still holding the shield. He’d done it.
Another explosion made him spin to a nearby house, stonework tearing through people nearby. He set his feet, gritted his teeth and strained to hold onto the barn shield as he tried to split his attention to the rest of the town.
“Can you do it?” Droll shouted, straining to be heard. “Is Terrifold gone?”
Pitt nodded. It was up to him. He pushed at the shield, as another shell hit the centre of the main road, flinging cobbles into walls and windows. With a roar, Pitt pushed at the shield and it spread, his energy flowing out, an umbrella not just for the barn but the street around it. He could do this. He tried to move, stepping towards the barn itself – needed to get in the loft, to his vantage point. He was almost knocked down as an impact came directly overhead, a shell exploding high above the rooftops. Pitt took a blow hard as a slap, feeling it through every inch of his body. But again, the shield held. Gasping for breath, he righted himself, with Droll’s help.
