Engines of Chaos, page 40
The sword swept left and right, blade slicing through shrivelled flesh, arms and heads sent flying into the night. Conall could only stare in horror, his body no longer his own, as the things were hacked asunder and reduced to crumbling bone, as though they’d been dead as long as their city.
He retreated up the stairs, all the while that demon sword cut a swathe around him. The creatures seemed unaffected by the death of their brood, but then he supposed they were already dead—what would they have to fear?
The ground flattened out as Conall reached the top. He was at the summit of a huge structure, walls rising high behind him, but through a narrow corridor he could see the structure fell away into the night.
Below, the creatures hesitated, unable or unwilling to follow beyond the summit of the ancient temple.
You have to run now.
Conall stared back into the dark, into the wastes beyond. Gritting his teeth, he ran through the gap in the wall before leaping into the night.
The ground hit him almost instantly, but he had no time to think, no time to rest, and he was on his feet, ignoring the bruises, the gash in his arm. He risked a glance back to see if he was being pursued, but nothing dared follow him beyond the boundary of the city.
Then he turned and ran, letting the night take him.
TYRETA
Despite the liberal attentions of Crenn’s wrench, the landship limped north at a slug’s pace, engine protesting with every laboured mile. All the while, Tyreta tried to stay focused on the task at hand, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened at Windstone.
How had the Ministry learned of her mission? Was it a spy in her mother’s camp? However they had found out, the Ministry obviously felt this important enough to send webwainers and Drakes to stop her. She could only hope they were long gone, and whatever waited in Castleteig was an easier obstacle to overcome.
As the landship crested a bridge across the Serpentspin, those hopes were quickly dashed.
Above the sound of the whining engine, she heard the dull boom of artillery to the north. Gripping the bulwark of the engine’s observation platform she spied the city in the distance—smoke rising from its broken towers in long grey plumes, casting a dark haze across the horizon.
Sted was by her side, squinting through the stiff breeze. “That doesn’t look good.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Tyreta replied. “But we don’t have any choice but to enter the city. We need to reach the northern terminal and find a landship that’ll take us as close to my mother as possible. If we have to travel on foot, it’ll take weeks to reach her, and we might already be too late.”
Sted shrugged. “All right. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
She didn’t sound too sure at all. A voice behind them bore even less confidence.
“You’re mad if you think I’m walking into that. I never agreed to go into battle.”
Tyreta turned to see Nicosse staring ahead fearfully. He was pulling on his beard with one liver-spotted hand as though it was trying to strangle him.
“It’s our only option,” Tyreta replied.
Nicosse shook his head. “I left all this behind years ago. I shouldn’t even be here. If I’d known what was waiting, I’d never have agreed to come. This war has nothing to do with me.”
Tyreta took a step toward him, doing her best to quell her frustration. “This has everything to do with you, Nicosse. You have to pick a side. If the Hallowhills aren’t stopped, Torwyn is doomed. Do you want to live under the rule of the Ministry? Do you think they’ll let you live in peace once they find out what you’re capable of?”
“Even so, he does have a point,” Sted said. “We’re walking straight into a bear pit. It won’t do us any good if we’re captured by a battalion faithful to the Ministry. Maybe we should enter the city after dark, rather than just rolling up to the terminal.”
That was uncharacteristically cautious of her, but Tyreta couldn’t disagree.
“All right. Let’s see what we can do here…”
She looked out from the observation deck. Though the sound of bombardment had all but cleared the skies over Castleteig, she spied a crow perched on a tree next to the river, watching their landship roll by. Tyreta closed her eyes, focusing her power, trying to home in on the creature. She connected in an instant, her consciousness sliding along the web at shocking speed, so that she was peering from the creature’s eyes faster than she’d ever thought possible.
With a flap of wings the crow took flight, gaining altitude as it made its way toward Castleteig. The closer it got, the clearer the devastation became. Half this once-great city had been reduced to rubble. The crow’s keen eyes could see cannon emplacements on the northern bank of the Serpentspin as it wended its way through the city, lobbing munitions across the span of the river.
She urged it to wheel about, swooping low across the shattered rooftops toward the city’s southern extent, dropping toward the landship terminal. A few Armiger troopers patrolled the area, and she recognised a tattered banner emblazoned with a writhing snake.
Tyreta opened her eyes, cutting off her connection with the bird. “The Viper Battalion holds the southern half of the city.”
Nicosse looked a little relieved at the news. “I hear they are still loyal to the Guilds.”
Sted nodded her agreement. “They’ve always been staunch allies. I can’t imagine they’ve gone over to the Ministry, not yet anyway.”
Tyreta turned her head north, toward the broken buildings looming ever larger in front of them. “We’ll just have to take the chance. And hope they can help us get north of the city.”
The three of them made their way down into the landship. Crenn and Donan waited in the engine room, while Cat sat patiently in the corner. Her hackles were up, and she had hated every moment of the deafening journey.
Through the viewing port, Tyreta could see they were approaching a tunnel that led to the terminal beyond. The landship was suddenly shrouded in darkness, the whine of the engine momentarily amplified, before they emerged in the city. Crenn eased back on the throttle, and the engine cruised to a standstill at the platform.
Tyreta was the first to peer out of the engine door. The air was thick with cloying dust, and the distant rumble of artillery. Through the curtain of smog she could see the engine was surrounded by troopers.
“Here we go,” she said, stepping down from the engine. “Nice and easy.”
None of the troopers made a sound from within their viper helms as Tyreta raised her arms. The others debarked behind her, likewise holding up their hands to signal they were no threat. Even Sted had her hands up as she chewed her lip frantically in place of her usual stick of redstalk.
Cat jumped down from the engine, moving to stand at Tyreta’s leg. Immediately, half a dozen splintbows were levelled at them, and Tyreta lifted her arms higher.
“Wait,” she said. “My name is Tyreta Hawkspur. We are here on a mission for my mother, Lady Rosomon.”
One of the troopers stepped forward, a captain from the green snakeskin band on her upper arm. She wore no helm, and Tyreta saw fresh scars on her cheek and forehead.
“What kind of mission?” she asked, glancing nervously at Cat.
After what had happened at Windstone, Tyreta had no idea who she could trust. “I—I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
The captain raised her splintbow. “You’ve got about three seconds to tell me what you’re doing here, or you will be sorry.”
Before Tyreta could think of something, a cloaked figure stepped forward to speak in the captain’s ear. There was a hint of blue beneath the dirt on his grubby uniform. A Talon scout.
“All right,” the captain said, after listening to the man. “You’d best come with us, Lady Tyreta. The frontier marshal will want to see you.”
The rest of the troopers lowered their weapons, and the captain led them out of the terminal. Sted offered a reassuring wink as they moved north, but it did little to allay Tyreta’s fears.
The wide stairs up from the platform emerged on a scene of utter carnage. Through the eyes of the crow, Tyreta had thought the devastation shocking. Up close it was nothing less than sickening. Almost every building along the parade had been destroyed. The distant drawl of artillery frayed at her wits, and she had only been here a few short minutes. She could scarcely imagine what it would do to anyone forced to endure it for days on end.
Smoke hung heavy, carrying the stink of death with it. The farther along the street they went, the more hunkering figures were hidden in the shadows. Ordinary folk caught up in the carnage. A stark reminder of this war’s consequences. More evidence of why the Ministry had to be stopped.
The Viper troopers seemed unmoved by the sight. Tyreta could barely imagine what they had suffered over the past days.
“How long have you been fighting here, Captain…?”
The woman glanced back over her shoulder. “Captain Moraide. And we’ve been fighting pretty much since the day we got back from the Karna. We pushed north as far as we could, but the Tigris Battalion had already beaten us to Castleteig and claimed it for the Draconate. We engaged, and were doing well too, until the Phoenix Battalion got here. Since then it’s been a battle of attrition. Lines are pretty much drawn along the Serpentspin, but it’s not looking good for us. Word is the Hallowhills are sending more ’wainers. That means more artillery, more stormhulks. Unless we get some reinforcements soon, we’ll lose the city altogether.”
“Has no one come to help you? No one from the Guilds?”
Moraide shook her head. “We’ve sent requests to Windstone, to the Rock, anywhere we could think of. So far nothing. And so we fight alone.”
“I know my mother is grateful for the support you have shown us. As are the other Guildmasters.”
She offered a wry smirk. “Gratitude is all well and good, but it’s not going to win this war. And not every Guildmaster still stands for the Guilds. Ingelram Hallowhill for one.”
“If I succeed in my mission, Ingelram Hallowhill will become a distant memory,” Tyreta replied.
“Tell that to—” She stopped, raising a closed fist.
No sooner had she done so than someone screamed, “Incoming!”
The troopers scattered. Tyreta grasped hold of Nicosse and pushed him toward the cover of a nearby wall. She felt the pyrestone missile before she saw it plummet into their midst, bouncing once before coming to rest in the middle of the street. There was a surge of energy, followed by a seismic blast that threw Tyreta to the ground.
Her ears rang, dust filling her lungs, but she managed to stagger to her feet. Nicosse was curled up in a ball, hands clamped tight over his ears. There was no sign of Cat or Sted, but hunkering behind a slab of fallen masonry was Donan. He managed to give her a reassuring nod, before she heard the distant whistle of more missiles.
This time she did not cower. Tyreta stepped out from behind the cover of the broken wall, glaring up into the sky. Her vision dimmed, darkening at the edges, allowing the light of the approaching pyrestone device to glow distinctly against the shadow.
Raising her hand, she channelled all her energy, all her anger, toward that flying missile. It shuddered in the air before she sent it flying down an abandoned street with a sweep of her arm. The sound of the detonation echoed from between the ruined buildings, and there followed an ominous silence.
Sted and Crenn crept from their shelter, as did Captain Moraide and the rest of her troopers.
“Any casualties?” called the captain.
Her men began to sound off, calling their names until they were all accounted for. Nicosse brushed himself down, and Donan breathed out a long sigh of relief. Of Cat, there was still no sign.
“How did you do that?” Moraide asked when she was satisfied no one was hurt.
Tyreta could only offer a shrug. “It’s a long story.”
“Then I guess it’ll have to wait. We need to keep moving.”
The deeper they moved into the city, the more vigilant the troopers became, aiming their splintbows at every darkened alley for fear of attack. Tyreta followed as the street rose to reveal a devastated amphitheatre. She had heard of the tiltyard of Castleteig before, of how tourneys had been held here since the Age of Kings. Warriors still fought every year, some even riding their steeds at one another with lances, as they had done a thousand years past. Now it was little more than smashed rubble.
From their vantage point she could see the city dropped away to the river below, marking the Viper Battalion’s forward defensive line where hundreds of troopers manned stout barricades. The two bridges across the Serpentspin were blockaded with huge rocks, and every jetty looked to have been smashed and cast into the river.
“We’ve held this position for more than a week,” said Moraide. “No telling how much longer we can defend it, and we don’t have the munitions to bring down the bridges.”
Tyreta could offer no words of advice. She had no idea if her mother had even retaken Wyke. If she could get Nicosse back north, maybe they’d have a chance to turn this tide, but until then there was nothing she could say to reassure Moraide that help was coming.
The Viper troopers moved swiftly down the hill toward the river, passing several hovels that had been requisitioned as barracks. The stink of decay was ripe, and Tyreta couldn’t bear to look at the soldiers as they lay festering in their wounds. At the riverside, the ashen faces of the defenders looked more determined. She could only hope they would hold out long enough for the Guilds to strike back.
Moraide led them down to a makeshift bunker—what might have been a two-storey house a few days before, but now the upper levels were little more than smashed brick.
“The rest of you will have to wait here,” she said, before beckoning Tyreta to follow.
Inside, three armoured warriors glared at a table on which was unfurled a weathered map of the city. The most striking of the trio stood well over six feet, bedecked in scaled armour of bronze, hands resting on the two swords at his waist. There was a long, jagged scar running through his left eye, which was bright blue, the other deep brown.
Moraide stood quietly for a moment, but none of the men noticed her as they pawed over the map.
“Frontier Marshal Sonnheld,” she said eventually.
The man with the mismatched eyes glanced up with a severe expression. He was clearly unused to being interrupted.
“What is it, Captain Moraide?”
Moraide stood to even sharper attention. “This is Tyreta Hawkspur.”
The severe expression drained from Sonnheld’s brow as he looked Tyreta up and down. Then he bowed formally.
“Lady Tyreta. What are you doing here? This is far too dangerous a place for a Guild heir.”
She took a step forward, trying to ignore another explosion that detonated all too close to the bunker. “I am on a mission for my mother.”
“Might I ask its nature?”
Tyreta wondered if she could trust this man, but from what she had seen so far the loyalty of the Viper Battalion was without question. “I am accompanying an important artificer north.”
“To where?” he asked.
“To Wyke, at first. Where my mother awaits us.”
Sonnheld looked gravely back at the map, gripping tighter to the swords at his waist. “Then you haven’t heard.”
“Heard what?” Tyreta began to feel a dread knot tighten in her gut.
“Wyke is no more. It was destroyed over a week ago.”
That knot tightened yet further. “What? Destroyed how? What about my mother?”
“All I know is the city was flooded. The great dam sabotaged. The deluge claimed the lives of thousands. Of your mother we have received no word.”
She suddenly felt faint, the stench of smoke and rot making her head spin. How could Wyke be gone, just like that? And what of her mother? If she was dead, then who would lead them against the Ministry?
No. Until she knew better, she had to assume her mother had survived. Tyreta would finish what she had started.
“I still have to complete my mission,” she said, doing her best to sound determined but sure she was failing. “There is a landship terminal to the north of the city. I must reach it.”
Sonnheld shook his head. “Out of the question. Our enemy holds all the territory north of the river. It would be too dangerous to risk—”
“From what I’ve seen it would be more dangerous to do nothing, Frontier Marshal. If I don’t succeed in this mission, that danger only gets worse. The artificer I have with me could hold the key to defeating the Hallowhills. Without them, the Ministry will be severely weakened. I’m sure you would agree.”
As though to punctuate her point, more munitions blasted their tune outside the bunker. Sonnheld sighed, looking to the two officers standing beside him, but neither had anything to contribute.
“Very well. Captain Moraide will see you safely across the river. But you will have to navigate the rest of the way yourself. I can spare no more troopers for the job. There is no guarantee there’ll be a landship that’s operational, even if you do make it to the northern terminal.”
“That’s a risk I’m prepared to take, Frontier Marshal. You have my thanks.”
“Then I suggest you rest here for the time being and wait for cover of dark. Good luck to you, Lady Tyreta. May the Guilds guide you.”
She nodded her appreciation and left the bunker. Outside, the rest of her sorry band were being fed and watered with what little provisions the Viper troopers could spare.
“What’s the verdict?” asked Sted. “Are we ploughing on to certain death?”
Tyreta could only nod. “We leave at dark.”
She considered telling Sted about Wyke, about the devastation of their city, but what good would it do now? They all needed to hang on to as much hope as they could. There was no telling how long before it ran out completely.
KEARA
They drifted along the river, no one making a sound. The puttering of the boat’s engine had been silenced a while back, and now there was only the occasional swish of an oar as the Drakes rowed them along the Serpentspin and into the city. Night was falling, but Keara could still see the devastation wrought upon Castleteig. Blasted buildings squatted on both banks, not a window intact, not a roof without shattered slates.
He retreated up the stairs, all the while that demon sword cut a swathe around him. The creatures seemed unaffected by the death of their brood, but then he supposed they were already dead—what would they have to fear?
The ground flattened out as Conall reached the top. He was at the summit of a huge structure, walls rising high behind him, but through a narrow corridor he could see the structure fell away into the night.
Below, the creatures hesitated, unable or unwilling to follow beyond the summit of the ancient temple.
You have to run now.
Conall stared back into the dark, into the wastes beyond. Gritting his teeth, he ran through the gap in the wall before leaping into the night.
The ground hit him almost instantly, but he had no time to think, no time to rest, and he was on his feet, ignoring the bruises, the gash in his arm. He risked a glance back to see if he was being pursued, but nothing dared follow him beyond the boundary of the city.
Then he turned and ran, letting the night take him.
TYRETA
Despite the liberal attentions of Crenn’s wrench, the landship limped north at a slug’s pace, engine protesting with every laboured mile. All the while, Tyreta tried to stay focused on the task at hand, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened at Windstone.
How had the Ministry learned of her mission? Was it a spy in her mother’s camp? However they had found out, the Ministry obviously felt this important enough to send webwainers and Drakes to stop her. She could only hope they were long gone, and whatever waited in Castleteig was an easier obstacle to overcome.
As the landship crested a bridge across the Serpentspin, those hopes were quickly dashed.
Above the sound of the whining engine, she heard the dull boom of artillery to the north. Gripping the bulwark of the engine’s observation platform she spied the city in the distance—smoke rising from its broken towers in long grey plumes, casting a dark haze across the horizon.
Sted was by her side, squinting through the stiff breeze. “That doesn’t look good.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Tyreta replied. “But we don’t have any choice but to enter the city. We need to reach the northern terminal and find a landship that’ll take us as close to my mother as possible. If we have to travel on foot, it’ll take weeks to reach her, and we might already be too late.”
Sted shrugged. “All right. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
She didn’t sound too sure at all. A voice behind them bore even less confidence.
“You’re mad if you think I’m walking into that. I never agreed to go into battle.”
Tyreta turned to see Nicosse staring ahead fearfully. He was pulling on his beard with one liver-spotted hand as though it was trying to strangle him.
“It’s our only option,” Tyreta replied.
Nicosse shook his head. “I left all this behind years ago. I shouldn’t even be here. If I’d known what was waiting, I’d never have agreed to come. This war has nothing to do with me.”
Tyreta took a step toward him, doing her best to quell her frustration. “This has everything to do with you, Nicosse. You have to pick a side. If the Hallowhills aren’t stopped, Torwyn is doomed. Do you want to live under the rule of the Ministry? Do you think they’ll let you live in peace once they find out what you’re capable of?”
“Even so, he does have a point,” Sted said. “We’re walking straight into a bear pit. It won’t do us any good if we’re captured by a battalion faithful to the Ministry. Maybe we should enter the city after dark, rather than just rolling up to the terminal.”
That was uncharacteristically cautious of her, but Tyreta couldn’t disagree.
“All right. Let’s see what we can do here…”
She looked out from the observation deck. Though the sound of bombardment had all but cleared the skies over Castleteig, she spied a crow perched on a tree next to the river, watching their landship roll by. Tyreta closed her eyes, focusing her power, trying to home in on the creature. She connected in an instant, her consciousness sliding along the web at shocking speed, so that she was peering from the creature’s eyes faster than she’d ever thought possible.
With a flap of wings the crow took flight, gaining altitude as it made its way toward Castleteig. The closer it got, the clearer the devastation became. Half this once-great city had been reduced to rubble. The crow’s keen eyes could see cannon emplacements on the northern bank of the Serpentspin as it wended its way through the city, lobbing munitions across the span of the river.
She urged it to wheel about, swooping low across the shattered rooftops toward the city’s southern extent, dropping toward the landship terminal. A few Armiger troopers patrolled the area, and she recognised a tattered banner emblazoned with a writhing snake.
Tyreta opened her eyes, cutting off her connection with the bird. “The Viper Battalion holds the southern half of the city.”
Nicosse looked a little relieved at the news. “I hear they are still loyal to the Guilds.”
Sted nodded her agreement. “They’ve always been staunch allies. I can’t imagine they’ve gone over to the Ministry, not yet anyway.”
Tyreta turned her head north, toward the broken buildings looming ever larger in front of them. “We’ll just have to take the chance. And hope they can help us get north of the city.”
The three of them made their way down into the landship. Crenn and Donan waited in the engine room, while Cat sat patiently in the corner. Her hackles were up, and she had hated every moment of the deafening journey.
Through the viewing port, Tyreta could see they were approaching a tunnel that led to the terminal beyond. The landship was suddenly shrouded in darkness, the whine of the engine momentarily amplified, before they emerged in the city. Crenn eased back on the throttle, and the engine cruised to a standstill at the platform.
Tyreta was the first to peer out of the engine door. The air was thick with cloying dust, and the distant rumble of artillery. Through the curtain of smog she could see the engine was surrounded by troopers.
“Here we go,” she said, stepping down from the engine. “Nice and easy.”
None of the troopers made a sound from within their viper helms as Tyreta raised her arms. The others debarked behind her, likewise holding up their hands to signal they were no threat. Even Sted had her hands up as she chewed her lip frantically in place of her usual stick of redstalk.
Cat jumped down from the engine, moving to stand at Tyreta’s leg. Immediately, half a dozen splintbows were levelled at them, and Tyreta lifted her arms higher.
“Wait,” she said. “My name is Tyreta Hawkspur. We are here on a mission for my mother, Lady Rosomon.”
One of the troopers stepped forward, a captain from the green snakeskin band on her upper arm. She wore no helm, and Tyreta saw fresh scars on her cheek and forehead.
“What kind of mission?” she asked, glancing nervously at Cat.
After what had happened at Windstone, Tyreta had no idea who she could trust. “I—I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
The captain raised her splintbow. “You’ve got about three seconds to tell me what you’re doing here, or you will be sorry.”
Before Tyreta could think of something, a cloaked figure stepped forward to speak in the captain’s ear. There was a hint of blue beneath the dirt on his grubby uniform. A Talon scout.
“All right,” the captain said, after listening to the man. “You’d best come with us, Lady Tyreta. The frontier marshal will want to see you.”
The rest of the troopers lowered their weapons, and the captain led them out of the terminal. Sted offered a reassuring wink as they moved north, but it did little to allay Tyreta’s fears.
The wide stairs up from the platform emerged on a scene of utter carnage. Through the eyes of the crow, Tyreta had thought the devastation shocking. Up close it was nothing less than sickening. Almost every building along the parade had been destroyed. The distant drawl of artillery frayed at her wits, and she had only been here a few short minutes. She could scarcely imagine what it would do to anyone forced to endure it for days on end.
Smoke hung heavy, carrying the stink of death with it. The farther along the street they went, the more hunkering figures were hidden in the shadows. Ordinary folk caught up in the carnage. A stark reminder of this war’s consequences. More evidence of why the Ministry had to be stopped.
The Viper troopers seemed unmoved by the sight. Tyreta could barely imagine what they had suffered over the past days.
“How long have you been fighting here, Captain…?”
The woman glanced back over her shoulder. “Captain Moraide. And we’ve been fighting pretty much since the day we got back from the Karna. We pushed north as far as we could, but the Tigris Battalion had already beaten us to Castleteig and claimed it for the Draconate. We engaged, and were doing well too, until the Phoenix Battalion got here. Since then it’s been a battle of attrition. Lines are pretty much drawn along the Serpentspin, but it’s not looking good for us. Word is the Hallowhills are sending more ’wainers. That means more artillery, more stormhulks. Unless we get some reinforcements soon, we’ll lose the city altogether.”
“Has no one come to help you? No one from the Guilds?”
Moraide shook her head. “We’ve sent requests to Windstone, to the Rock, anywhere we could think of. So far nothing. And so we fight alone.”
“I know my mother is grateful for the support you have shown us. As are the other Guildmasters.”
She offered a wry smirk. “Gratitude is all well and good, but it’s not going to win this war. And not every Guildmaster still stands for the Guilds. Ingelram Hallowhill for one.”
“If I succeed in my mission, Ingelram Hallowhill will become a distant memory,” Tyreta replied.
“Tell that to—” She stopped, raising a closed fist.
No sooner had she done so than someone screamed, “Incoming!”
The troopers scattered. Tyreta grasped hold of Nicosse and pushed him toward the cover of a nearby wall. She felt the pyrestone missile before she saw it plummet into their midst, bouncing once before coming to rest in the middle of the street. There was a surge of energy, followed by a seismic blast that threw Tyreta to the ground.
Her ears rang, dust filling her lungs, but she managed to stagger to her feet. Nicosse was curled up in a ball, hands clamped tight over his ears. There was no sign of Cat or Sted, but hunkering behind a slab of fallen masonry was Donan. He managed to give her a reassuring nod, before she heard the distant whistle of more missiles.
This time she did not cower. Tyreta stepped out from behind the cover of the broken wall, glaring up into the sky. Her vision dimmed, darkening at the edges, allowing the light of the approaching pyrestone device to glow distinctly against the shadow.
Raising her hand, she channelled all her energy, all her anger, toward that flying missile. It shuddered in the air before she sent it flying down an abandoned street with a sweep of her arm. The sound of the detonation echoed from between the ruined buildings, and there followed an ominous silence.
Sted and Crenn crept from their shelter, as did Captain Moraide and the rest of her troopers.
“Any casualties?” called the captain.
Her men began to sound off, calling their names until they were all accounted for. Nicosse brushed himself down, and Donan breathed out a long sigh of relief. Of Cat, there was still no sign.
“How did you do that?” Moraide asked when she was satisfied no one was hurt.
Tyreta could only offer a shrug. “It’s a long story.”
“Then I guess it’ll have to wait. We need to keep moving.”
The deeper they moved into the city, the more vigilant the troopers became, aiming their splintbows at every darkened alley for fear of attack. Tyreta followed as the street rose to reveal a devastated amphitheatre. She had heard of the tiltyard of Castleteig before, of how tourneys had been held here since the Age of Kings. Warriors still fought every year, some even riding their steeds at one another with lances, as they had done a thousand years past. Now it was little more than smashed rubble.
From their vantage point she could see the city dropped away to the river below, marking the Viper Battalion’s forward defensive line where hundreds of troopers manned stout barricades. The two bridges across the Serpentspin were blockaded with huge rocks, and every jetty looked to have been smashed and cast into the river.
“We’ve held this position for more than a week,” said Moraide. “No telling how much longer we can defend it, and we don’t have the munitions to bring down the bridges.”
Tyreta could offer no words of advice. She had no idea if her mother had even retaken Wyke. If she could get Nicosse back north, maybe they’d have a chance to turn this tide, but until then there was nothing she could say to reassure Moraide that help was coming.
The Viper troopers moved swiftly down the hill toward the river, passing several hovels that had been requisitioned as barracks. The stink of decay was ripe, and Tyreta couldn’t bear to look at the soldiers as they lay festering in their wounds. At the riverside, the ashen faces of the defenders looked more determined. She could only hope they would hold out long enough for the Guilds to strike back.
Moraide led them down to a makeshift bunker—what might have been a two-storey house a few days before, but now the upper levels were little more than smashed brick.
“The rest of you will have to wait here,” she said, before beckoning Tyreta to follow.
Inside, three armoured warriors glared at a table on which was unfurled a weathered map of the city. The most striking of the trio stood well over six feet, bedecked in scaled armour of bronze, hands resting on the two swords at his waist. There was a long, jagged scar running through his left eye, which was bright blue, the other deep brown.
Moraide stood quietly for a moment, but none of the men noticed her as they pawed over the map.
“Frontier Marshal Sonnheld,” she said eventually.
The man with the mismatched eyes glanced up with a severe expression. He was clearly unused to being interrupted.
“What is it, Captain Moraide?”
Moraide stood to even sharper attention. “This is Tyreta Hawkspur.”
The severe expression drained from Sonnheld’s brow as he looked Tyreta up and down. Then he bowed formally.
“Lady Tyreta. What are you doing here? This is far too dangerous a place for a Guild heir.”
She took a step forward, trying to ignore another explosion that detonated all too close to the bunker. “I am on a mission for my mother.”
“Might I ask its nature?”
Tyreta wondered if she could trust this man, but from what she had seen so far the loyalty of the Viper Battalion was without question. “I am accompanying an important artificer north.”
“To where?” he asked.
“To Wyke, at first. Where my mother awaits us.”
Sonnheld looked gravely back at the map, gripping tighter to the swords at his waist. “Then you haven’t heard.”
“Heard what?” Tyreta began to feel a dread knot tighten in her gut.
“Wyke is no more. It was destroyed over a week ago.”
That knot tightened yet further. “What? Destroyed how? What about my mother?”
“All I know is the city was flooded. The great dam sabotaged. The deluge claimed the lives of thousands. Of your mother we have received no word.”
She suddenly felt faint, the stench of smoke and rot making her head spin. How could Wyke be gone, just like that? And what of her mother? If she was dead, then who would lead them against the Ministry?
No. Until she knew better, she had to assume her mother had survived. Tyreta would finish what she had started.
“I still have to complete my mission,” she said, doing her best to sound determined but sure she was failing. “There is a landship terminal to the north of the city. I must reach it.”
Sonnheld shook his head. “Out of the question. Our enemy holds all the territory north of the river. It would be too dangerous to risk—”
“From what I’ve seen it would be more dangerous to do nothing, Frontier Marshal. If I don’t succeed in this mission, that danger only gets worse. The artificer I have with me could hold the key to defeating the Hallowhills. Without them, the Ministry will be severely weakened. I’m sure you would agree.”
As though to punctuate her point, more munitions blasted their tune outside the bunker. Sonnheld sighed, looking to the two officers standing beside him, but neither had anything to contribute.
“Very well. Captain Moraide will see you safely across the river. But you will have to navigate the rest of the way yourself. I can spare no more troopers for the job. There is no guarantee there’ll be a landship that’s operational, even if you do make it to the northern terminal.”
“That’s a risk I’m prepared to take, Frontier Marshal. You have my thanks.”
“Then I suggest you rest here for the time being and wait for cover of dark. Good luck to you, Lady Tyreta. May the Guilds guide you.”
She nodded her appreciation and left the bunker. Outside, the rest of her sorry band were being fed and watered with what little provisions the Viper troopers could spare.
“What’s the verdict?” asked Sted. “Are we ploughing on to certain death?”
Tyreta could only nod. “We leave at dark.”
She considered telling Sted about Wyke, about the devastation of their city, but what good would it do now? They all needed to hang on to as much hope as they could. There was no telling how long before it ran out completely.
KEARA
They drifted along the river, no one making a sound. The puttering of the boat’s engine had been silenced a while back, and now there was only the occasional swish of an oar as the Drakes rowed them along the Serpentspin and into the city. Night was falling, but Keara could still see the devastation wrought upon Castleteig. Blasted buildings squatted on both banks, not a window intact, not a roof without shattered slates.
