The only thought that gave her comfort was that Grittle was safe. And she wasn’t here.
That meant she wouldn’t ever have to know what Nola decided.
47
ASHLYN
Dampmire Village
When Willem and Cabbage walked into Ashlyn’s hut, she had just failed to penetrate Ward’s system for the seven hundred and seventeenth time.
“Queen Ashlyn,” said Willem. “I have bad news.”
That was obvious from the look on his face and the fact that he’d returned half a moon’s turn early.
“Tell me.”
He took a breath. “We started the ambushes as planned. Six of the first seven attacks went perfectly. Wardens approached in disguise, waited for the hatches to open, and threw the bombs in. The skyships were destroyed.”
“And the seventh?”
“Sounds like it was a mixture of screwups. A few men missed their throws. A few bombs didn’t go off, or blew up in a place that didn’t cause enough damage. Result was that the skyship managed to take off and fly for about two leagues before crashing again. The men tracked the ship and blew up the remnants.”
Ashlyn relaxed. “We were never going to be successful one hundred percent of the time.”
“No, Queen. And we didn’t lose any men.” He paused. “But the skyships aren’t coming anymore.”
“No more drops?” Jolan asked.
“Oh, there are still plenty of those. But the extraction points changed.”
Ashlyn frowned. “You’re sure you mapped them correctly?”
“The first seven all checked out. We’ve set fifteen ambushes since then and they all came up empty. That’s when I headed back to you.”
“They switched up the pattern.”
“Yeah. That was my thinking, too.”
“Black skies,” Ashlyn hissed.
Everyone went quiet.
“We could start mapping the locations again,” Willem said eventually. “I doubt they changed the general approach, just the pattern.”
“That will take another full moon’s turn,” Ashlyn said. “And Wormwrot will just change them again when we start the ambushes. Plus, they’ll be ready for attacks now. No, that pathway is closed to us.”
Another silence.
“I just don’t see how they adapted so quickly,” Willem said. “It should have taken days, even weeks, for them to realize what we were doing. Lost ships. Salvaged wrecks. Trips back and forth to Floodhaven where captains could speak to each other…”
Ashlyn tried to think. “Unless the skyships have a way to communicate with each other,” she said. “The skyship that was able to take off might have sent a message before it was destroyed.”
“We kept archers in the trees looking for pigeons. Didn’t see any.”
“Not pigeons,” Ashlyn said. “It would be invisible. Two machines linked by a lodestone system.”
Jolan perked up. “Ward was able to bring the entire fleet to Floodhaven last winter with some kind of long-distance communication. Maybe he’s adapted that?”
“What does it matter how it happened?” Oromir asked. “It’s done.”
“Oromir’s right,” said Ashlyn. “All that’s left is to decide how to react.”
“Well, how’s progress going on your end?” Willem asked. “If you figure out that annihilation protocol, maybe we don’t need the armada gone anyway?”
Ashlyn shook her head. “I’m blocked, too.”
Everyone went quiet again. Lost in their own dismal thoughts.
Jolan cleared his throat.
“I do have one idea,” he said. “Well, more of a guess. But the mention of long-distance communication between the skyships made me think of it.”
“Go on.”
“This whole time, we’ve been able to execute the remote connection command. The problem is that it always fails. But when I accidentally left the astrolabe on that setting, the whole thing lit up when a skyship flew over Dampmire. It was just for a moment—I barely got a look at the matrix—but it happened. And I guess I’m just wondering if … I don’t know … they’re all related.”
“Related how?”
“We know that Osyrus Ward built a back door into the armada so that he could draw them to a single point. I’m wondering if that door is still open, and the acolyte is our key to walking through it.” He motioned to Ashlyn’s arm. “You might not be strong enough to break through the acolyte system, but Ward designed that specifically to stop you. The back door to the armada was built long before that. It might not have the same level of security.”
Ashlyn thought about that. “You could be right.”
“I could also be very wrong,” Jolan added. “And if Osyrus closed his own loophole, this won’t work, either. I just … I can’t think of anything else to do.”
“Neither can I,” Ashlyn said.
“We’d need to increase the range of the astrolabe as far as possible.”
“Definitely,” Ashlyn agreed.
Willem cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, you guys realize you’re not really communicating the complete picture of the issue, right?”
“Huh?”
“What the fuck are you two talking about?”
Ashlyn swallowed. “We need to get me and that acolyte as close as possible to a skyship, for as long as possible.”
Willem frowned. “Why in the name of all the forest gods would you want to do that?”
“Because if Jolan’s right about this, I’ll be able to take control of the entire armada—just like Ward did. I’ll bring the ships to me, then I’ll destroy them.”
“But even with the armada destroyed, there’s still the issue of storming Floodhaven, remember?”
“Yes,” Ashlyn said. “But without the skyships, Floodhaven will be isolated. Ward won’t be able to bring more acolytes to the city. We can use our surplus of explosives to break through the walls of Floodhaven and sack the city.” She looked at Oromir. “No sorcery. Just a simple attack.”
Oromir gave her a long look. “That’s something I understand, at least.”
“We still have one real big problem,” said Willem. “I can’t think of a single place in the Dainwood where you can get close to a skyship and stay there without getting porcupined.”
A silence.
“I can,” said Cabbage. “The Gorgon Bridge.”
“Oh, the bridge with a fortress on either side that’s been crawling with Wormwrot and grayskins nonstop for the last year. That bridge?”
Cabbage shrugged. “That’s the one.”
48
BERSHAD
City of Deepdale
Bershad ran through the Dainwood jungle at a full sprint with Felgor on his back, only stopping to take bites of Gods Moss and hiss at Felgor to stop whooping and hollering as if he was riding a horse.
They reached Deepdale less than a day later.
When they got there, Bershad and Felgor climbed a Daintree outside the city to look at the fortifications and enemy positions. A black skyship was anchored above the castle. It was flying Wormwrot’s flag—a red face on a black field. The main gate to Deepdale was sealed and bolstered with caltrops and razor wire. Twenty sentries stood watch above it.
“Well, this doesn’t seem at all good,” said Felgor.
“Agreed.”
“Can’t you just sic ol’ Smokey on ’em?” Felgor asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’ve got ballista teams set up all over city. Too high a risk of her getting shot. I’ve gotta go in first and soften the ground. Need to free the people of Deepdale, too, so Vergun doesn’t have the chance to start killing them once the chaos starts.”
“Do you know where they are?”
Bershad could feel a cluster of human pulses in the livestock district. Their scent was roiling with a mixture of panic and fear. That had to be them.
“They’re pretty deep in the city. And there are about two hundred and fifty Worm
wrot between us and them.”
Felgor scratched at the rash on his neck, which had cropped up as soon as he returned to the Dainwood. “This is a nightmare.”
“Could be worse,” said Bershad, eyeing the city ramparts.
“How could it possibly be worse?”
“They’re expecting an attack. Got every section of wall covered. But if I can get over the wall unseen, the city itself is lightly guarded.”
“How are you gonna get over the wall? Wait. Could you ride Smokey in?”
“She isn’t a fucking horse.”
“Then how?”
Bershad gave him a look. “Do you know how to work a catapult?”
Felgor smiled. “Oh Silas. I don’t know what you’re planning, but I think I’m going to like it.”
* * *
They climbed down from the Daintree and hiked away from the city for about half a league, until they reached a shallow ravine.
Inside the ravine, there were three catapults gone to rot in the jungle.
“Still here,” Bershad muttered, picking his way down and examining the rigging and ropes. “And between the three of them, I’m thinking we can scrounge enough rope for one final shot.”
“What’re they doing here at all?” Felgor asked.
“Before the Balarian Invasion, my father and Cedar Wallace got into a years-long piss fight over who controlled the different bridges of the Gorgon.”
“Why spend years fighting over bridges?”
“Control the bridges, collect the tolls.”
“Ah.”
“They’d been skirmishing. Trading off control of the different crossways for years. Before the war, my father and King Hertzog didn’t really know or like each other, so Hertzog let the thing drag out. Weak high lords are the best high lords, from a king’s perspective.”
Bershad started untying the hemp ropes that seemed the strongest and bundling them in a pile.
“Wallace got tired of the endless exchange, so eventually he took a bridge, but instead of waiting for my father to come take it back from him, he rolled a score of catapults across and spent the whole spring sneaking them down to Deepdale, through jungle and over hills. My father hated Wallace to the bone, but he was always impressed with that feat. He said that nobody was as good as Wallace at moving men unseen through unfamiliar country.”
Bershad tested the strength of some hemp by giving it a hard tug.
“Anyway, Wallace started a siege that summer. I was very small, but I remember the sound of the catapults firing in the night.”
“How’d the siege end?” Felgor asked.
“My father put Deepdale on starvation rations. Waited until the Blackjacks had picked the surrounding trees clean. Then, just before they were about to migrate again, he launched massive stores of meat and fruit back over the walls, targeting the places that Wallace had positioned his siege engines.” Bershad wiped some sweat off his brow. “Didn’t take much for the Blackjacks to swarm. Most of Wallace’s men were killed. The few catapults that weren’t destroyed got dumped into this ravine.”
Felgor nodded. “History’s interesting and all … but if it took all those men months to lug the catapults down here, how are you and I going to drag this decrepit thing back into range in the next few hours?”
Bershad glanced up at the Nomad, who was watching them from a nearby Daintree.
“I’m going to ask her real nicely for a little help.”
49
NOLA
City of Deepdale, the Swine Pens
People continued debating the merits of eating Lord Cuspar all day.
Nobody had anything particularly original or compelling to say. Some felt that eating people—especially highborn—was wrong no matter what. Others were so hungry they didn’t really care about right and wrong anymore.
Others still thought Cuspar was an asshole for what he’d done to Shelley, and deserved to be eaten.
Nola said nothing. Eventually, people gave up and hunkered down into their respective groups and corners. That’s when Cuspar had come over to her.
“I’ll give you back your tavern,” he said. “Full stake.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“I own four more taverns on the sunny side,” he added quickly. “They’re far larger. More profitable. They’re yours, too.”
“Do you honestly think I care about taverns right now?” she asked him. “I left my sister locked in a cellar. She might be dead, or dying. Our city is under siege. We’re all more likely to get eaten than released. You’re just at the front of the line is all.”
Cuspar blinked, rapid and panicked. “I could … I could help you find her! My household wardens are—”
“Dead.”
“But there must be something,” he whispered. “Please. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be eaten.”
“Neither did Shelley,” said Nola. There was no venom in her voice. She didn’t have the energy for that anymore. But what happened had happened. And seeing as there was no way out of this cage, there was no way to avoid what was coming next.
Around sunset, the gates opened with a rusty rattle. Nola’s heart sank as a shadowy figure approached. But it wasn’t Vergun, returned to hear her decision.
It was Grungar. Again.
He’d brought a massive shank of venison that was coated with a thick layer of mustard and pepper. He ate it using a hunting knife and that same fancy silver fork with pearl inlay. And he offered each bite to her with a smile, sometimes waiting ten or fifteen heartbeats before popping it into his own mouth.
“Girl hungry,” he said while chewing. “Girl starving. Grungar see it.”
Then he looked around the pen.
“Others hungry, too. Want meat?”
He motioned to Cuspar, who’d retreated to his lonesome corner.
“Eat lord?”
“Maybe I’ll eat you,” said Pern. “You ass—”
Fast as lightning, Grungar pulled a stone from his pocket and threw it at Pern. Hit him square in the temple. The old warden dropped to the mud with a curse. Put a hand over the impact spot. Blood poured from between his fingers.
“Talk more,” Grungar said. “Plenty rocks.”
He cut another slice of venison, slow and clean and against the grain so Nola could see the marbling of the meat. Took another bite.
Behind him, the gate opened again. Vergun walked through it.
He marched forward with his hands clasped behind his back. Two Wormwrot trailed behind him. The blond one, and a stocky bald man.
Vergun strolled over to Nola like a man selecting flowers in a shop.
“Good evening,” he said pleasantly. “How did you sleep last night?”
“Wonderfully,” said Nola. “I dreamt of a warm bath and a Blackjack eating you alive.”
Vergun smiled. “See?” he asked Grungar. “Bitter bravery.”
Grungar just grunted and stuffed another slab of venison into his mouth.
“Time for a decision about the good Lord Cuspar,” Vergun said. “Let’s have it.”
Nola swallowed. Each time she’d tried to think about her choice directly, her fingers had started shaking and her thoughts had locked down. “What happens if I refuse?”
He shrugged. “Nothing particularly sinister. You and your people continue to go hungry. But I think I’ll give Lord Cuspar as much food as he can fit into his stomach.” He waved a hand outside the pen. “This would be a good place to set up the dining table.”
Nola tensed. Glanced at Pern, Suko, and Kiko, who all stayed quiet.
Dervis stirred. Whispered to her. “If you don’t pick Cuspar to die, I will kill that coward myself anyway. Might as well get him cooked for those of us willing to eat him.”
“I’ll kill you if I have to watch that bastard eat a meal in front of me,” said someone else.
“Everyone shut up!” Pern shouted, standing. “Can’t you see that this is what he wants? He revels in the suffering and the anguish. He wants us to
turn against each other. He wants us to eat each other like demons. And you’re giving it to him. I’m ashamed to call you my countrymen. I’m ashamed to call you Almirans.”
There was a silence.
“Old man, if you think a little patriotic pep talk is going to fill our bellies, you’re dumber than I thought,” said Dervis. “And it’ll be you who goes next.”
Pern straightened. “Is that fact?”
“Enough,” Nola hissed. Stopping them. “Enough.”
She turned back to Vergun, who’d watched all of this unfold with an expression of barely contained glee.
“Take Lord Cuspar. Do whatever you want with him.”
“Oh, I am afraid I will need you to be a little more specific if you want—”
“Fucking cook him!”
Vergun’s smile widened. “By your orders. I will even do the members of your pen the courtesy of preparing him elsewhere. A nice spice rub, I think, with plenty of turmeric.” He turned to his men. “Take him.”
The blond Wormwrot opened the cage and dragged the screaming Cuspar out of it.
“Commander.” Grungar stood. “What of girl?”
Vergun weighed that.
“An interesting question. Was it bravery that forced the girl’s decision, or the opposite? Are you stronger for choosing one life over the comfort of many, or weaker for giving into a coward’s compulsion?”
“Grungar doesn’t know.”
Vergun sighed. “This is the problem with an army of brutes. They lack introspection.”
He stared at Nola for a while, no doubt giving her fate serious introspection.
“She broke your teeth. So, you may break hers. Nothing more.” He turned to the two men who’d come in with him. “Stay here. Make sure Grungar does not get carried away.”
Vergun left.
Grungar sat back down and stabbed at the hunk of venison.
“First Grungar finish dinner. Then, Grungar take teeth.”
Fury of a Demon Page 31
