Wrath of Storms

by Steven McKinnon

Solassis snatched a jug of ale from a small table and drank deep. ‘We should take Arnault’s poxy fleet and go elsewhere—there’s nothing in Dalthea.’

  ‘Pyron Thackeray is in Dalthea—we stick with the plan,’ said Ventris. ‘And we survive, for what little time we have. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘Gods, what did they do to you in that Dalthean prison? You ain’t been right since—’

  ‘Tell the servants to bring us more food,’ Ventris commanded. ‘More wine. More of everything. Get the courtiers, men and women. Tell Qitarah to slake her lust and fill her belly. She’s a hero.’

  Tiera bit her tongue. Qitarah gets special treatment for not killing Morton Brunswick?

  Solassis snorted more of that blue shit she enjoyed so much. ‘Suits me.’

  Tiera crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. ‘Surprised you can even think with all that saphpowder in your system.’

  ‘I ain’t the one who lost sight of the mission.’ Solassis spat a wad of phlegm onto the floor and stood in front of Tiera. She reeked of alcohol. ‘When we was without a captain, I led our crew. What did you do? Fought for Dalthea against the Idari, hauled rainwater for a pittance.’

  Tiera’s eyes narrowed. ‘It was honest living.’

  ‘Reckon you spent too long down in that shit hole.’ Solassis angled her head. ‘How do we know you won’t sell us out to your Dalthean masters?’

  ‘Piss on you.’

  ‘Aye, you would, wouldn’t you—“back-stabber”?’

  Tiera’s knuckles burst Solassis’ lip.

  Solassis reeled, spitting blood, her shoulders convulsing with laughter. ‘That’s what the green-haired rat called you, wasn’t it? Back-stabber.’

  Tiera froze. She made a show of easing the ache from her fist. ‘Means nothing. When we disembark in Dalthea, I’ll be the first to bleed it dry.’

  ‘Good,’ Ventris said without looking. ‘Then you won’t mind starting with Solassis’ green-haired rat.’

  Gallows pressed his back against the wall, staring down at the wild, black expanse of the Discordant Sea. Icy wind cut his skin, and his pulse beat like the thump of a machine gun. More than half of the cell floor had disappeared, and so far, his pleas for help had yielded nothing.

  ‘Hey! Hey!’

  Like every other time, no-one answered, and the floor scraped further and further away.

  With sweat-slicked palms, Gallows inched along the edge of the cell, where a wedge of floor remained. The wind clawed at him, threatening to hook him over the edge and thrust him into the black sea.

  ‘Is someone there?’

  No answer. With a chug, the floor shifted.

  Gods damn it… He pictured the pirate Thommo sitting by the cell, listening to him—he refused to give the little bastard the satisfaction of screaming.

  Again, the floor rumbled beneath him.

  Gallows clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and thought of Sera.

  Then something burst through the cell door and hauled him away, a split-second before the entire floor disappeared.

  Gallows pushed off and raised his fists, fear tightening in his chest.

  Damien Fieri materialised from the darkness permeating the dungeon’s corridor. ‘We have to stop meeting like this.’

  ‘Damn the Gods.’ Gallows embraced his friend, confusion and relief replacing terror. He had a hundred questions—but right now, Gallows was just glad to see his friend.

  ‘You’re hurt.’

  Gallows ran shaking fingers through his hair. ‘Yeah—long story.’

  ‘You duelled a man named Thruzgaz Blood-Dancer in the Challenge arena and won.’

  ‘All right, not that long. That why you’re in Rhis?’

  Damien glanced across the passage ahead, concentrating. ‘No—but I suspect you were put on display to lure me here. The way ahead is clear, come on.’

  Gallows moved as fast as his legs would carry him, happy to let Damien lead the way. ‘What do you mean, you were lured here?’

  Damien’s pace faltered but he didn’t meet Gallows’ eye. ‘Can you fight?’

  Gallows struggled to stand. ‘Reckon I’d be more useful shouting words of encouragement as you run around kicking people in the face. Don’t suppose you got a gun?’

  ‘Firearms are banned among the palace guard—they go against the Book of Belios. That said, there is an armoury, but it means doubling back when we reach the upper levels.’

  ‘“Weapons forged are only as strong as the hands that made them”. Well, reckon old Belios wouldn’t say no to a shotgun if he was around today. Listen—Serena, Myriel and Enoch are somewhere in the palace—we gotta get ’em out.’

  Damien halted. ‘They’re in one of these cells?’

  Gallows shook his head. ‘Myriel’s convinced ’em she’s some royal cousin twice removed. Serena and Enoch are her wards.’

  ‘But you were placed in captivity?’

  Gallows ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Guess I have that effect on people. I reckon we’ve stumbled onto something big here, Damien. At first, I thought pirates attacked the Queen of the North to get to Serena, but they’re working for Arnault—I don’t reckon they know about her powers. Something weird’s going on. The blood-dancing guy was a Wraith, straight out of Thackeray’s lab.’

  ‘We’ll dwell on it later.’

  They climbed a rickety iron staircase and darted past row after row of cells, surrounded by whimpering and shrill screams.

  Damien checked the way ahead—all clear. ‘Perhaps they smuggled the blood-dancer from Dalthea after the prime councillor was arrested?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ Gallows had to force his gaze away from a barred cell with an absent floor. ‘Tiera Martelo’s working with Helena tal Ventris—they’re the ones who stormed the Queen.’

  ‘I see—then it is possible Martelo revealed Serena’s secret. We may have to eliminate Tiera.’

  ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that. You sure you can handle this?’

  ‘I am in control.’

  They wended through a warren of passages, across mechanical bridges joining one cell block to another. They slipped past a pair of Crimsoncloaks urinating through the missing floor of a cell, and, every step of the way, machinery rumbled within the walls.

  Gallows shook his head. ‘The industrial ignicite revolution gave us airships and motorcarriages, but we choose to use machines for torture.’

  ‘These machines aren’t used for torture,’ Damien corrected. ‘Not physical, anyway.’

  ‘Good to hear—you know how big a fan of mental torture I am.’

  ‘Every inmate is sentenced and placed in a cell,’ said Damien, ‘which is connected to the machines we hear. When their sentence is up, the floor disappears. All automated and calculated.’

  Gallows stuck his bottom lip out. ‘Efficient. And godsdamn horrible.’

  ‘Indeed. The best clocks in the world are Ryndaran.’

  ‘They better be—I’d be pissed if the floor disappeared a minute early.’

  Damien signalled to halt while a guard passed. When he did, Damien led Gallows through a narrow passage with two huge iron doors at the end.

  ‘The exit,’ Damien said. ‘When we’re in the palace proper, I’ll interrogate a guard for Serena’s whereabouts, knock him cold and lend you his uniform. Following which, I’ll smuggle you out of the city.’

  ‘I’ll never not be creeped out at how easily you come up with these plans. And what do you mean “you”? You got somewhere else to be?’

  ‘Come, we haven’t much… Wait.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ sighed Gallows, ‘you can hear heartbeats from fifty feet away and they’re coming our way?’

  ‘More like twenty feet.’

  ‘Can we turn back?’

  ‘No; there’s an elevator shaft but barriers close around the central cable as the cab passes each floor. Can you scale the exterior of a floorless cell and climb up the palace walls?’

  Gallows arched an eyebrow.
‘Only when the mood takes me.’

  ‘Then we fight.’

  ‘Love your optimism, but I don’t reckon we can.’ Regardless, Gallows eased an ache from his shoulder and raised his fists.

  ‘Oh, before I forget,’ Damien started. ‘If you’re accompanying Serena for much longer, there’s something you should know.’

  ‘What? Now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Gallows didn’t know what to do with the information Damien passed on—and he didn’t have time to think about it.

  The doors rumbled open, and an old man with his nose buried in a clipboard strode inside. Gallows recognised him as the dungeon’s chief warden.

  Two prison guards accompanied him; one of middling years and a kid barely into his first beard-braid.

  ‘Who in the name of Sol are you?’ the warden demanded.

  The young guard stared at Gallows, no doubt recalling his victory against the blood-dancer. He looked more frightened of him than Damien.

  Bless.

  ‘Well?’ the warden pressed.

  But the two guards didn’t leave room for an answer—they unsheathed their swords.

  Damien held a palm out. ‘Halt! This man is to be released.’

  ‘On whose authority?’

  Damien took one step forward. ‘By order of Prince Arros tal Ryn-Ståljern of Ryndara.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sleep escaped Serena. She listened to the rattle of the windows in their frames, and to the song of the wind.

  She climbed out of bed and pulled jeans and an old ghillie shirt on—items liberated from the Queen—and paced her room, taking care not to alert the guards outside. She’d spent more nights like this than she could remember back in the orphanage, and on Jozef’s boat. She’d always rebel—always find some way to use her pent-up energy—like sneak off into the city or run around on deck during dangerous conditions. She told herself it was boredom—but the truth was that silence frightened her. It made her think too much—made her question. Why didn’t my parents want me? Why was Jozef always such an asshole?

  Because they knew what I am.

  With a creak, her door teased open.

  ‘Tiera?’ Serena’s throat dried at the sight of the pirate. ‘The hell are you doing here?’

  Tiera’s face was as hard as raw ignicite.

  Serena backed against the window. ‘Tiera?’

  Wordless, the pirate unsheathed a curved knife.

  ‘Whoa, okay, okay. You don’t have to do this.’

  As if sensing the danger, Flicker awoke and sang in alarm.

  ‘Shut your bird up.’

  ‘Screw you.’

  A war drum thumped in Serena’s chest. Gods, she’d seen Tiera angry before, but not like this—not cold and calculated.

  ‘Have you told ’em the truth about Myriel?’

  Tiera shook her head. ‘But it won’t matter.’

  The cold glass of the window pressed against Serena’s palms. ‘So, what, you’re gonna kill us both?’

  Tiera raised one of her knives and pointed it at Serena. ‘Fitz died because of you.’

  Shit. Tiera was crew, family—they’d served aboard the Liberty Wind, drank and broke bread in the Raincatchers’ guild house.

  ‘No, Tiera. Fitz died because Farro Zoven killed him.’

  For a split second, the blade wavered.

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ Serena said. ‘And you don’t want to kill me. If you did, that knife would be buried in my gut right now. So, I’m asking—please drop it.’

  ‘Why don’t you make me?’

  ‘I will—if I have to. We were crew, Tiera—that has to mean something, even now.’

  ‘You’re even dumber than I thought.’

  Gods damn it. ‘What about the Liberty Wind? What about the Raincatcher’s Ballad?’

  Tiera scowled. ‘Screw the godsdamn ballad—it was written by bureaucrats and peddled to the Guild to make people like you believe there was honour in what we were doing.’

  Serena’s heart plummeted. What?

  Tiera prowled closer, the wicked edge of her blade glinting.

  ‘Fine, screw the ballad,’ said Serena. ‘What about Fitz? What would he think of you now?’

  Tiera scythed the blade through an empty vase, destroying it. ‘Don’t say his name.’

  ‘Screw you, Tiera—he was my captain, too. And my friend.’

  ‘If it wasn’t—’

  ‘Yeah, if it wasn’t for me, Fitz would still be alive. So would a load of other people. But you know what? I didn’t ask to be a Siren—I didn’t ask to be abandoned and hunted down. You wanna be pissed off at the world? Get in line.’

  Tiera kept her blade levelled.

  Last chance. Serena summoned the siren-song. ‘I can get inside your head and you wouldn’t even know it, Tiera—I’d rather not have to.’

  Tiera flinched at the threat—her mind had been manipulated before, by Pyron Thackeray.

  ‘This is the last time I’m gonna ask you,’ Serena said. ‘If not for Fitz or the ballad, then because I know you don’t really want to kill me.’

  For a long moment, Tiera said nothing. Then she lowered her weapon. ‘You piss me off, girl.’

  The tension in Serena’s muscles evaporated. ‘That’s the right call. Is it too much to ask you to help me get out of here?’

  ‘Don’t push your luck. The floors crawl with Crimsoncloaks, and if Helena realises I let you live, she’ll knife me. This is a one-time deal.’

  Behind Serena, the window trembled from the force of the storm.

  ‘And Myriel?’ Serena asked.

  The pirate held Serena’s eye. ‘I got you… Solassis got the mage.’

  ‘What? Where is she? Where is she?’

  Tiera’s lips pressed into a sharp slit. ‘I don’t know.’

  Shit.

  ‘Everything okay?’ one of the guards called.

  ‘I’ll handle the Crimsoncloaks.’ Tiera pointed to the window. ‘Go.’

  Serena thrust the window open, and wind filled the room. Flicker shot past, leading the way.

  Serena stepped onto the ledge. Clock’s ticking.

  ‘You’re the Lost Prince of Ryndara?’ Gallows asked for the third time.

  Damien cracked his knuckles. ‘Still.’

  The two Crimsoncloaks and the warden sat bound and gagged in a cell, each looking as confused as kippers on a drying line.

  One of the guards trembled from the cold. As well he might, given his lack of clothes.

  Damien handed Gallows the guard’s uniform. ‘Wear these.’

  Gallows took the clothes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’

  ‘To ensure your safety. And because I didn’t want to. Here—the warden’s keys. Find Serena and the others.’

  ‘This uniform reeks of tobacco. Why do I get the feeling you didn’t come to Rhis to save my ass?’

  ‘As much as liberating you from prison cells is fast becoming a hobby, Tyson, I’m here for personal reasons. Something happened in the Solacewood—there’s a sick child who needs my help, and I believe my father can help me cure her.’

  Gallows adjusted the uniform—it was a poor fit. ‘We’re headed to Tarevia—any ideas on how to escape the city?’

  ‘Between sky pirates and AFR patrols, I’d say ignore the skies and take the train—a service leaves from Rhis every morning and terminates in Frosthaven.’

  Gallows shook his head. ‘Airships are quicker.’

  Gallows unlocked the cell block’s exit and stuffed the keys into his pocket. ‘Damien, you ain’t here to do something stupid, right?’

  ‘Time may not be on our side, Tyson—you should hurry.’

  Serena inched along a ledge, back pressed against a smooth wall. Wind tugged and whipped hair into her eyes. Flicker sang an encouraging tune, but right now, she didn’t appreciate the distraction.

  The palace wall felt as cold as a sheer wall of smooth ice—no reassuring nooks, no grip. Like Garald’s gardens, t
he palace was constructed in tiers. If I can get to the nearby roof, I might be able to climb to the next one, and so on…

  Below, Rhis rustled like autumn leaves. Serena sensed Myriel somewhere nearby, but between the thudding of her heart and the violent wind in her ears, it was difficult to pin down.

  A window to Serena’s left shot open. It startled her, and for a horrible moment her palms left the wall.

  A palace guard poked his head out.

  His eyes locked on Serena’s.

  Bile rising in her throat, Serena peeled a hand from the wall. The siren-song uncoiled from her fingertips and flooded through him.

  ‘No,’ the guard said to someone unseen. ‘She’s not here.’

  He disappeared and closed the window, and only when Serena sensed him walk away did she breathe.

  They know I’ve escaped. That’s gonna make finding Myriel harder.

  Like an elastic band, the connection between Serena and the guard stretched—but as long as she maintained it, she could separate her mind and keep a voice in his head.

  She inched further along, taking slow and steady steps, edging past the window.

  The palace stretched on forever; a narrow, perpendicular wall jutted out and veered off on a diagonal plane; she spotted a rusted, barred window set into it. If the bars hold, I can use it to anchor me and follow the ledge around…

  She eased forward. A Ryndaran harrier bird shot past, uttering a shrill song. It reminded Serena how high up she was, and the thought of grabbing onto a rusty bar to inch around a ledge didn’t appeal so much.

  Easing one foot down onto the corner ledge between the walls, Serena reached out for the rusted bar—

  The ledge crumbled into dust. Serena recoiled, stepping back and pressing herself against the wall. Frosty sweat ran down her face and Flicker sang in alarm.

  She struggled for breath, but the air was too thin—it made her dizzy, and the Rhis skyline tilted.

  Think, think… The guard…

  She tried to command the guard back to open the window and let her through, but the ledge was crumbling at her feet—she needed an escape now.

  From somewhere nearby, she heard a metallic groan, and a twisting squeal.