Engines of Chaos, page 49
They squeezed through the open gate at the end of the yard, hugging the shadows as they worked their way up through the urban landscape. When they reached the edge of a long avenue of sparse trees, Keara signalled for her to stop.
“Go to the end of this street,” she whispered. “Your friends are waiting. And mine is there too. If she doesn’t come back to meet me here, your panther’s head will be mounted on my wall by sunrise.”
For a second, Tyreta considered thanking her, but that would have only rubbed salt deeper into her bitter wound. Instead she moved along the avenue without a word, wary of an ambush as she tried her best to stay out of the light. At the far end she saw the webwainer from the fight days earlier leaning against a wall, arms folded, eyes shielded behind black lenses despite the dark.
“Where are they?” Tyreta asked.
The woman reached to her side, unclipping a monocular and sighting back down the avenue. When she was satisfied Keara was in one piece, she beckoned to someone behind the wall. Sted and Donan walked into the open, their hands bound. Sted looked furious but with a gag across her mouth she was unable to fill the air with the usual colour.
With frightening swiftness, the woman pulled a knife and cut their hands free. Then, as she backed away she offered Tyreta a jaunty waggle of her fingers before she was gone into the night.
“Are you both okay?” Tyreta asked.
Sted wrenched the gag from her mouth. “I’ve been fucking better.”
“We’re fine,” Donan replied. “Where’s Nicosse?”
Tyreta just shook her head. “Dead. We have to get to the landship terminal as quick as we can. There’s not much time before they realise we’re gone.”
“What’s going on?” asked Sted. “Why did they let us go? And more to the point, why did they let you go?”
“I’m not sure. That Hallowhill is up to something. Whatever it is, I’m happy to try and work it out when we’re a long way from here.”
As though to press her point, a patrol of troopers made their way across the street ahead, and Tyreta signalled for them to get down. They were practically invisible on the unlit street, but she held her breath as those troopers in their tiger-shaped helms walked on by.
Once they’d gone Donan crept up beside her. “What do we do without Nicosse? I can’t believe we went through all this for nothing.”
“Shut up and move,” Sted hissed, before Tyreta could answer.
It saved her telling him that she had no idea what they’d do. They’d come so far, lost so much, and all for nothing.
As she led them on, she felt a growing ache within her—an overwhelming sense of loss nagging at her insides. It was more than grief, more visceral, as though part of her had been left behind in that cell. It took a moment for her to realise that the missing part of her was Cat. It had seemed the right decision to leave her behind to save her friends, but now it hurt her more deeply than she could ever have imagined. She and Cat shared a connection—a bond forged in the jungle. How could she just abandon her?
“Are you all right?” asked Sted, when they got closer to the terminal.
“Yes, I just… We need to keep moving.”
Tyreta forced herself to press on, and within minutes they could see their destination ahead. They stopped in the shadow of an old clock tower that overlooked the terminal.
“Doesn’t even look guarded,” Sted whispered.
Tyreta could sense her excitement. They were almost free of this damned place, but she couldn’t shake that overwhelming feeling of loss, like a thread knotted tight in her gut.
“You have to go,” she said. “Find a landship and get out of here.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sted demanded. “We all have to—”
“No,” Tyreta snapped. “I have to go back for her.”
Sted’s brow furrowed in anger. “For the panther? You’re risking your life for a dumb animal?”
Tyreta grasped her by the shoulders. “I can’t leave her here.”
“And I can’t leave you here,” Sted replied. “I have a duty to my Guildmaster. There’s no way I’m gonna stand in front of Lady Rosomon and tell her I left her daughter behind because of an overgrown house pet.”
Sted was a stubborn one, that was for sure. As for Donan, he looked scared, but she was sure he wouldn’t leave without her either.
“All right,” Tyreta said. “All right, let’s go.”
Sted breathed a sigh of relief before Tyreta led them closer to the terminal. She reached out with her senses, quelling the ill feeling inside her, and she couldn’t detect anyone waiting for them, no danger hiding in the dark. They rushed through the abandoned terminal, relieved to see a single landship engine standing on the platform.
“Let’s hope it’s operational,” Sted said, jogging along the platform and stepping up onto the driver’s cabin.
Donan hurried along behind her, but it was all Tyreta could do to put one step in front of the other. She was almost in tears, gritting her teeth against the grief she felt. Why had she done this? She should never have agreed to Keara’s demands.
Sted was already doing her best to power up the engine but her efforts yielded nothing. Donan pushed past her, pulling the activation lever and imbuing life in the central core.
“Here we go,” Sted said, unable to mask her excitement.
Tyreta grabbed her, one arm about her throat, the other locked around the back of her head. Sted struggled, but despite her sinewy strength, she could do nothing to stop Tyreta as she gently squeezed, blocking off her airway. Donan watched in horror as Sted’s struggling grew weaker and she sagged in Tyreta’s arms.
Gently she laid Sted on the floor of the engine and looked up at Donan. “Get as far north as you can, but make sure you stop short of the Anvil. Then head northeast and find my mother. Tell her… tell her I’ll see her soon.”
Donan nodded, before gesturing to Sted lying prone in the cabin. “She’s gonna be really pissed off when she wakes up.”
Tyreta glanced down at Sted’s unconscious body. “Yeah. Do your best to apologise for me.”
“Shouldn’t we just wait for you?” Donan asked.
That would have been nice, but she couldn’t risk it. She’d lost too much already. “I can take care of myself, Donan. Wouldn’t be surprised if I reach my mother before you do.”
He smiled, but it trembled slightly on one side of his mouth. She tried a smile of her own, but it wouldn’t come. Instead she turned, racing back through the terminal, back along the street, hugging the shadows, feet padding silently on the cobbled path.
The farther she went, the stronger the pull inside. Cat was waiting for her, and with every step Tyreta felt that connection grow. She moved more like an animal with each passing yard, feeling the claws ready to spring from her fingertips, seeing everything with crystal clarity despite the darkness. When a patrol wandered nearby, she easily avoided it, stalking through the night as they moved past only a few feet away, completely unaware of her presence.
She had no idea what was happening to her, but neither did she care. All that mattered was finding Cat. And when she released her, they would escape together and go on the hunt. Eat their fill.
The gaol came into view up ahead. Tyreta sprinted into the abandoned yard, hearing the noise of troopers within, laughing and joking, unaware they were being stalked by the most ruthless predator. She reached the bottom of the tower, leaping up and grasping the brickwork with her fingers. Nimbly she scaled the wall, hands probing for purchase, feet finding every nook to push herself higher.
At the lip of a balcony she paused, hearing the steel-shod feet of a trooper marching by. She should have let him go, should have spared him and concentrated on her task, but she was overcome by the need to hunt, to kill. No sooner had he marched by than she launched herself over the edge, falling on him like an unsuspecting doe. The splintbow fell from his fingers and he opened his mouth to shout in alarm, but her claws had already grasped his neck. She squeezed, feeling warmth gush over her fingers before she ripped out his throat.
He choked, desperate to breathe, drowning on his own blood. Tyreta reeled backward, staring down at what she’d done as her prey convulsed, arteries in his neck pumping a steadily ebbing stream. She was horrified and thrilled all at once. A sight that should have sickened her only filled her with the hunger for more.
Tyreta picked up the splintbow, checking it was loaded and primed, before creeping farther along the balcony. Hissing from nearby told her she was in the right place as she peered around the corner.
A cage sat at the far edge of the raised bastion. Tyreta issued a hiss of her own as she spied a trooper taunting Cat with his dagger. The panther snarled, clawing at him, and he laughed at her distress.
Tyreta could not hold herself back, stepping out from cover, aiming, firing. The trooper fell under a hail of bolts, and Tyreta dropped the bow before dashing to the cage. It was padlocked, a brief search of the trooper revealing no key. She desperately looked around for something to prise open the lock, spotting the trooper’s fallen dagger.
Before she could even reach for it, she sensed danger from inside the building. Footsteps approaching up the staircase. Someone was coming, and there was nowhere to hide. She had to be swift, and every muscle tensed as she prepared herself to leap on the approaching trooper.
The dragon helm of a Drake appeared from below. As he stepped up onto the bastion, Tyreta snarled in challenge, but the Drake was unperturbed, not even bothering to draw his sword as he advanced.
She leapt, high and fast, claws raking his armour, managing to score a deep three-grooved divot in his helm, but he had already grasped her, throwing her bodily against the wall. Her teeth clattered as she smashed into the brickwork and fell to the floor.
She howled in fury, leaping to her feet. He stood waiting, and it only amplified her frustration when he still refused to draw his blade. Did he not think her worthy? She would show him his mistake.
This time as she leapt he lowered a shoulder. She clawed at the edge of the plating, trying to slash at the flesh beneath, but he managed to grasp her arm, dragging her off him and slamming her to the ground. She scraped her nails across his breastplate but may as well have fought a golem of steel. One punch of his gauntleted fist and she felt the world spin.
Cat howled, thrashing in her cage as the Drake pressed his steel-shod boot against her neck. She grabbed it, writhing on the ground, desperate to get up again, but constricted as her throat was it took all her effort to fight for air.
Tyreta wanted to spit her hate, but with a boot on her neck she was growing weaker with every second. Another Drake appeared next to the first and they both watched as that boot on her neck got heavier, her thrashing growing weaker. The animal inside wanted to fight, but her body would not obey. Still she thrashed, still she raged, until she could fight the black no longer…
KEARA
It was only a matter of time until she’d have to face what was coming. Her plan was in tatters, and there’d be consequences for sure. Troopers were dead, Tyreta was still in chains, and they would want to know who set those prisoners free in the first place. Keara wanted to head straight back to the Web, but that would only have led to a dozen fingers pointing her way. Better just to sit tight and hope the wave of shit that was coming washed right by.
The waiting was the worst part of it all, but wait she would. At least it was comfortable in this little house. Whoever owned it had kept a small but decent wine cellar too. Not her usual vice, but it would have to do now the red drop had run out.
She rose from the couch, leaving the little fire to crackle in its hearth. Hesse was sitting in an armchair, feet up on a stool reading some book or other. Whoever owned this house had a decent library. If they ever returned, they’d at least find all their books still here—but not so much the wine.
“Should we have run?” she asked.
Hesse didn’t look up from the book. “I don’t know. I’m not in charge.”
“But you must have an opinion.”
Hesse sighed, looking at Keara from behind those dark lenses. “I know you’re probably fucked, whether you run or not.”
That wasn’t the help and advice she’d been hoping for, but it was honest at least. Any plan she might have had for setting Tyreta free and gaining the good graces of Rosomon Hawkspur were now crushed to powder. She took a sip of wine. Fuck she needed some red drop.
The door to the little house opened, agitating the fire with a breath of cold air. Keara was about to tell whoever it was to piss off, when she saw a glint of steel and a white surcoat. Those knights always gave her the creeps, looming around like statues, never speaking. Now was no exception.
He stood for a moment, letting the warm air out, surveying the room, before fixing her in his gaze.
“You have been summoned,” he said, voice warm and inviting like a comfortable bed. It only served to put her off guard.
“Summoned? I am Keara Hallowhill. I’m the one who does the summoning.”
He didn’t answer. She’d known this was going to happen sooner or later. Hisolda would want an explanation and there was no getting away from it now.
“Fuck,” she said under her breath, grabbing a cloak and following the Drake outside. She didn’t offer Hesse a second glance. Most likely she’d still be reading that book when Keara got back… if she got back.
The Drake led her across the street toward a tower next to the gaol. The scroll sigil crumbling on the wall marked it as a Corwen embassy. Hisolda had requisitioned it for her own use, not that she’d had to throw anyone out. Keara imagined those timid actuaries had been the first to flee the city when the fighting started.
Up a spiral staircase and Keara could see what was happening toward the south through a grimy window. There was a battle at the river, one last push to overwhelm the Viper Battalion positions. No way to tell who was winning, and all she could do was be thankful she wasn’t involved.
At the tower’s summit was a single door, guarded by the other Drake. He knocked once before opening it, then stood aside to let her enter. The top of the tower consisted of a single huge chamber, windows placed at the cardinal points, letting in the distant sound of fighting. A long table took up most of the room, with Hisolda sitting at one end in a high-backed chair. Opposite her sat Olstrum Garner.
Keara’s jaw clenched, the stitches pulling at her cheek. What was this snake doing here? Hisolda was the Archlegate’s faithful servant, but Olstrum was his eyes and ears. If she hadn’t already known she was in deep shit, it was pretty obvious now.
“Please, take a seat,” Hisolda said, as the Drake closed the door behind her.
Keara glanced at the table, at the array of chairs on offer, before choosing to seat herself midway between the pair of them. She glanced at Olstrum, who looked pleased with himself, but then he always did. She then turned to Hisolda.
“What’s he doing here?”
The High Legate gazed across the table, allowing Olstrum to speak for himself.
“The Archlegate was growing a little anxious,” he said. “As you know he is keen to know the progress of all aspects of his crusade. One might say he obsesses over the details.”
“We have everything under control,” Keara replied, trying not to sound defensive. “Tyreta Hawkspur is now in our care.”
Olstrum’s smile widened. “Marvellous. And what of the fabled artificer you were sent to find?”
“He has been eliminated,” Hisolda said, before Keara could use the word murdered.
Olstrum nodded his understanding. “Not the ideal outcome, but I’m sure the Archlegate will be relieved he is not in Guild hands.”
Keara could feel this situation getting away from her. Olstrum and Hisolda were acting like this was their feast, and they’d reserved all the juiciest morsels for themselves. For Keara there were only scraps.
She reclined in her seat, trying to at least look like she was in control. “We have a landship ready to leave for the Anvil in the morning,” Keara said. “Tyreta will be transported under Hallowhill guard. She has become quite the sorceress, demonstrating potent talents. I’m sure the Archlegate will—”
“None of that will be necessary,” Hisolda said.
Olstrum raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why not?”
“Because we are going to burn her.”
Keara’s chair almost tipped backward. “You’re what?”
Hisolda regarded her with narrowed eyes. “That… thing is an abomination. Whatever heretical powers she has manifested cannot be allowed to persist. She is a danger to us all while she lives, and most of all to the Archlegate. You’ve seen firsthand what she can do.” Hisolda raised a finger to point at Keara’s cheek. “It’s written all over your face.”
Keara could feel this all slipping right through her fingers. If Tyreta died, her one link to Rosomon was gone. If the Guildmaster of Hawkspur heard Keara had been involved in Tyreta’s death, there was no way they could form an alliance. Then where would she be?
Olstrum leaned forward. “Heretical sorceress or not, she could be the key to bringing Rosomon’s resistance to an end. The Archlegate will want to see his cousin at least. Speak with her. Find out what she knows.”
“You have no idea what the Archlegate wants, Olstrum,” Hisolda replied. “You are an adviser, nothing more.”
Keara placed her hands on the table, trying to stay calm. “You can’t do this.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what I can and can’t do. I am the divine hand of the Wyrms. In the absence of the Archlegate, I represent the Ministry’s will. And the Ministry’s will takes precedence over all else.”
This was slipping yet further from her grasp. Keara’s fingers pressed into the tabletop lest she clench them into fists. “Olstrum is right—the Archlegate needs her. She could be a key factor in ending all this.”
