Wrath of Storms

by Steven McKinnon

  Serena sat in the pilot’s seat, Scruff whining at her feet. She tickled his ear. ‘Look after Myriel while we’re gone, boy.’

  ‘Heinrich’s engineers are sewing up the hull, and he gave us fresh gear,’ said Gallows. ‘Guess he’s keen to get rid of us.’

  ‘Great. You ready?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Gallows checked to make sure no-one else was coming along the passage and into the bridge. ‘So, um… The thing inside Ventris—it shielded her from your power.’

  Serena nodded. ‘A little, kind of like your resistance. It’s still inside her. I don’t know what it is… First Arnault possessed it—I don’t know how or why he had it.’

  ‘I do—the Idari gifted it to him. Remember how I said Arnault made a deal with ’em so they could invade Dalthea? Protection from their witches was his price. That’s why he was immune.’

  ‘There’s so much we don’t know. How many witches do they have?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think she was a Siren, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Thackeray’s drug she used—she was just a woman. She told me the Idari made her.’

  ‘Do you know how?’

  ‘She was too busy torturing me to go into specifics.’

  ‘Right.’ Serena eased herself onto the edge of a console. ‘I know Musa broke the power the Orinul held over people—she was like me; I have the power naturally—Captain Vaughan and Pyron Thackeray made the drug, and the Idari can make witches—all with the same power.’

  Gallows ran his fingers through his hair. ‘When we took Thackeray down, he used the drug on you—how do we know the thing inside Ventris can’t get inside you, too, and use your powers?’

  ‘We don’t. But I think if it could’ve, it would’ve leapt from Ventris and killed me by now.’

  ‘That’s not a lot to go on.’

  ‘None of this is, Gallows.’

  He didn’t argue. ‘So how did Vaughan make the drug? And how did the Idari make witches like Nidra?’

  ‘Maybe we’ll find out.’ The console’s ignometer hummed, and its RADIOM apparatus flickered into life. ‘We’re almost ready.’

  Gallows turned to leave, but Serena grabbed his arm. ‘There’s one more thing.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You’re the only person we’ve met who’s immune to the drug—and you’ve got some resistance to my siren-song.’

  ‘Right, yeah.’

  ‘Gallows… I don’t know what’s gonna happen. I don’t know if I’ll end up like Musa. If things get bad… You might need to kill me.’

  Gallows ignored the knot in his stomach. ‘You’ve been listening too closely to Ventris.’

  ‘If I lose control, if I become a threat… Promise you’ll stop me?’

  ‘Serena, it won’t come—’

  ‘Promise me.’

  Gallows’ lips pursed. You can’t save everyone. ‘I promise.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘Stay here ’til I signal!’ Valentine yelled above the howling wind from the Vigilant’s hatch.

  Plumes of smoke uncoiled across the dark skies of Musa’s Harp, and blurred shapes swarmed through alleys and streets, clashing with one another.

  Focus on the objective: Find Catryn.

  ‘Lockwood won’t like this!’ called the pilot.

  Valentine secured her rappelling harness. ‘Just do it!’

  ‘Three minutes!’

  She couldn’t stop dwelling on the look of Fallon’s face as the Wraith’s sword entered him. He’d looked more disappointed than anything else.

  She kicked back from the edge of the Vigilant’s entrance and the wind seized her, jostling her from side to side as she snaked down to the garrison.

  Then the rope tautened. She unhooked and pelted across the roof.

  Valentine hauled the heavy sliding door to Catryn’s workshop open—the fact it wasn’t locked didn’t fill her with confidence.

  An empty, whirring chug rattled in the far corner, the only sound in the workshop. A flickering lamp lay on its side, suffocated by the shadows. Even in the darkness, she knew she was too late.

  A one-handed watchwoman. She lay by the foot of an active bandsaw, the source of the noise. Valentine stepped over her, unable to tell if she was alive,and not willing to bend down to check her pulse in case her attacker still lurked nearby.

  ‘I’m in here.’

  ‘Doctor?’

  Catryn appeared behind a steel cage door at the back of the room. ‘Valentine, right?’

  ‘I’m getting y’all out—what happened here?’

  ‘I can get myself out.’ The gate rattled inward and Catryn stumbled out, using the walls to steady herself. She wore an old, motor-less leg brace.

  ‘You injured?’

  Catryn shook her head. Without meeting Valentine’s eyes, she said, ‘It was that kid Tristan… He’s working with Korvan.’

  ‘I know. Catryn, where’s the Lightning Harness?’

  Catryn’s head bowed. ‘They have it. I fought back, but I’m no soldier.’

  Damn. ‘I’m taking you to Commander Lockwood, I got transport waiting—the shit’s about to get—’

  The ceiling quaked, toppling brick and unpinning Catryn’s banks of metal shelves from the walls.

  ‘Move!’ Valentine grabbed the doctor and ran upstairs—the few people remaining in the garrison spilled through its corridors.

  Valentine hauled a young male cadet over. ‘The hell happened?’

  ‘It’s the Vigilant, Sarge—it burst into flames and crashed, the eastern section of the roof is caving in!’

  Valentine’s mouth turned dry. Nandini.

  ‘What now?’ Catryn asked.

  ‘Change of plan—we take the road.’

  Swirls of light the colour of pus filtered through the clouds as the sun descended. Night crept in, but cold sweat rolled down Buzz’s skin as he ventured out of Tristan’s hideout—an old hardware store, going by the flaking paint on its signage.

  He clambered up a broken stone stairway and, with a clatter, cast Tanner’s Watch blade behind him. He didn’t know how to wield it properly, and it would only slow him down.

  At once, Buzz knew where he was. Foundry Quadrant—Arrowhead.

  Almost as grand as Rochefort Castle, the sandstone outline of Princess Anabelle Academy Hospital glowered over Arrowhead. Every other clinic in the kingdom squatted on streets like lumps of shit, surrounded by disease-ridden flies. Just once Buzz wished he’d catch something important enough to be treated at the Princess Anabelle.

  Keeping his head low, Buzz ventured through a busy thoroughfare. He passed Small Laurel Lane and the Wayfarer’s Rest café, then nipped through the derelict square where the opera house once stood. He kept to narrow alleys and abandoned areas. Everyone knew the Watch stuck to the places where they were most visible, rather than where they were really needed—but even so, Buzz didn’t pass a single copper.

  What in all hells?

  Royal Sky Fleet troops hustled past without giving Buzz a second glance. He hid behind a corner wall and got as close to a knot of soldiers as he felt comfortable with. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they stuck close to each other, wearing worried expressions. They argued and exchanged conflicting writs and orders.

  Not every day you see rotorheads and the grunts working—

  A gunshot snapped, and a soldier crumpled to the ground. A shout, a scream—and more gunfire.

  Buzz froze, watching wide-eyed as the soldiers died.

  Seconds later, it was over. Every soldier lay in the dirt, blood pooling around them. As though birthed by the shadows, men in matte-black armour and smooth, eyeless masks materialised.

  Buzz staggered back. He felt the glare of the shadow soldiers on him through their concealed masks.

  Then as one, they marched.

  Valentine’s Bulldog armoured personnel carrier tore across Musa’s Harp. Shrill notes from an onboard Bride’s Code transmitter spat static warning signals. All over the city, th
e Lightbearers marched, civilians fled, and looters ran rampant.

  ‘Is Fallon dead?’ Catryn clutched the door handle like she’d die if she didn’t.

  Valentine wanted to vomit. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you rally the whole damn barracks?’

  ‘I don’t know who to trust.’ And, sure as shit, no-one’s gonna come running to help a whistle-blower. ‘I was lucky as it is to requisition a Bulldog with half the kingdom gone to shit.’ Valentine’s gut screamed at her to take the armoured car across Queen Iona Bridge, fight her way through the Gravehold and kill Thackeray herself. ‘Listen, Lockwood’s convening the Council—I have to warn ’em what’s comin’.’

  ‘And what is that, exactly?’

  ‘The Wraiths. I don’t know how he did it, but that asshole Thackeray’s been playing us all along. He’s gonna use the Wraiths to march against Idaris—but he needs meat for his army. And now he has your Lightning Harness, whatever he’s planning is gonna kick off.’

  Catryn’s gaze fell. ‘The Harness was intended to take care of the water problem. It’s ten times as powerful as the Spires but a fraction of the mass.’

  ‘Well, you might’ve had good intentions, but Thackeray sure as hell don’t. He turned most of Dustwynd into his dead soldiers—he’s obsessed with taking the Idari on.’

  From the corner of her eye, Valentine saw Catryn stare at her.

  ‘He’s right to be.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t agree with his killing of innocent people, but if the Idari breached the city walls, we’d be dead. Thackeray’s an asshole, yes—but I understand his motivation.’

  Valentine had lost people in the war with Idaris, but there was an old Ryndaran proverb she liked: ‘To win at all costs is as bad as losing’. Was creating a weapon to beat the Idari worth the lives of the people Thackeray had killed to get it?

  Searchlights from Sky Fleet patrol craft glared through the streets, silhouetting the masses of rioters. The Bulldog turned onto Drythroat Road, heading towards Old Town Square. Looters ransacked homes and stores, overwhelming the army and Royal Sky Fleet troops. Even a few Watch had defied their own strike action and donned their uniforms, fighting alongside the RSF. The spires of the Fayth Collegium sparkled amber beneath the sunset, like they were afire.

  ‘Why are protestors clashing with the very people trying to protect them?’ asked Catryn.

  ‘It’s been brewing for a while. Thackeray’s doing, which means his endgame’s in play. Bastard’s probably out of the Gravehold.’

  ‘He has the resources to escape?’

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s been living in Rochefort Castle all this time.’

  Bricks and stone pelted the Bulldog—Catryn flinched every time. ‘Wherever we’re going, get us there soon.’

  ‘After I drop y’all off, I’ll find Thack—’

  ‘Wait—do you hear that?’

  An Info Tower poked up behind a bar called the Laguna Lounge, a vibrating drone emanating from its speakers.

  ‘Pyron Thackeray’s voice,’ said Catryn.

  Shit. Valentine barrelled through winding streets and narrow avenues, circling closer.

  ‘BROADCAST REPEATS: Citizens, this is Prime Councillor Pyron Thackeray broadcasting from a secure Watch House—do not be alarmed—the City Watch have ceased their strike action and are working alongside the military. The forces conspiring against our kingdom have been vanquished. The Lightbearer threat has been neutralised and preparations to reopen Dustwynd are being drawn up as I speak. The recent bloodlung outbreak was nothing but a lie propagated to sow fear throughout the kingdom. General Aramon Fallon and Arch Vigil Waltham have been apprehended and charged with treason. I ask that you return to your homes—and, above all, remain calm. Fortune find you.

  ‘BROADCAST REPEATS: Citizens…’

  ‘What does this mean?’ Catryn asked.

  ‘Means Lockwood’s in danger, and we’re screwed.’

  The Bulldog scraped across undulating cobbles, Valentine twisting the wheel to avoid a knot of rioters clashing with Watch. A brick shattered the windshield and sent glass showering over Catryn.

  Valentine spun the wheel. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Be better when I get away from here and start inhaling enough nicotine to drop an elephant.’

  The Bulldog burst onto a side street littered with trash cans and crates of rotten food. Low-hanging washing lines screwed visibility, and the alley walls ripped her wing mirrors away.

  Whole place has gone to shit—

  Valentine slammed the brakes. A young man stood frozen in front of them, eyes wide and readying a brick.

  ‘Either do something with it or piss off,’ Catryn snapped.

  The man chose the second option.

  Valentine accelerated, coming to a main road strewn with corpses.

  Catryn leaned forward. ‘Watchmen.’

  Valentine opened her mouth, but the glare of another Bulldog’s headlamps dazzled in her rear-view mirror.

  It picked up speed.

  ‘Doc, take the Vindicator from the back and open the hatch.’

  ‘I’ve never fired a weapon in my life.’

  Damn. ‘Can you drive?’

  ‘Not with this leg.’

  ‘Shit.’

  The car behind got closer.

  ‘Friend?’ Catryn asked.

  A shot from its roof-mounted gyrogun answered the question. The rear window shattered and the smell of burnt rubber filled Valentine’s nose and throat.

  ‘Hold on!’ Valentine accelerated, gunfire chasing her. Overhead, a patrol craft’s searchlight filled the road with frosty light. She turned a corner, then another.

  Brick and stone exploded and rushed over the motorcarriage, every shot echoing in Valentine’s ears. She accelerated—each turn threw her to the side.

  She circled a stone fountain. Rioters dived away from her approach and into the enemy Bulldog’s line of fire. Valentine hurtled past carriages and sent horses fleeing.

  She stole a glimpse in the mirror and saw the enemy gunner reloading.

  She seized the advantage. ‘Hold on.’

  The Bulldog roared beneath a skybridge and turned onto a narrow road. Sparks blazed as metal scraped against stone. Valentine wove through back alleys, losing the enemy in the unlit backyards. She drove back to the main road, sweating palms clenched around the wheel. Her limbs turned to jelly and—

  And the enemy vehicle burst of nowhere, ploughing into the side of Valentine’s Bulldog.

  Catryn screamed as the passenger window splintered. The Bulldog screeched, spinning across the road.

  The enemy engine growled as it accelerated—Valentine reversed at the last second, knocking through a decrepit water station. Then she shot forward, past the pursuer.

  Valentine raced downhill against oncoming traffic—motorcarriages, horses, all parting before her.

  The enemy gained. Bride’s Code stuttered in her ears, shrill and frantic.

  Gunfire tore through armour, sent Valentine veering off-course. Buildings rushed past in a blur.

  Adrenaline kept Valentine’s head sharp but made her fingers tremble against the wheel. Her hands slipped, costing valuable seconds, and the enemy closed ground.

  Valentine shot between two pillars and onto a wide, paved square. She smashed through a weak barricade, wheels spinning, and bounced up stone steps leading to an upper street. The engine snarled and the stone peeled the Bulldog’s front grille away.

  ‘Careful!’ Catryn yelled.

  A tall, chained gate blocked the way—Valentine hit the accelerator.

  The gate buckled, the chain snapped and she burst through. The vehicle skidded, sending trash cans flying. Soldiers and watchmen on horseback clashed with rioters and former comrades.

  Valentine twisted through any gap she could and bounced down narrow avenues and diagonal streets. Screams rent the air.

  Catryn glanced behind. ‘It’s not behind us.’

 
; ‘Good, but I’ll breathe when I’m safe.’

  The Bulldog smashed through a flimsy barrier on Harpist’s Way, sending rioters fleeing. Looted instruments lay strewn on the road; harps, violas, a rosewood piano—their strangled songs were smothered beneath the vehicle’s wheels.

  Valentine glimpsed a patrol craft floating between the silhouetted tower blocks, silvered in moonlight. It banked and headed west.

  ‘Almost home, doc—we ain’t far from the skyp—’

  A wail split the sky and the airship’s envelope burst into flame. It spun in the air—slow, lumbering. Smoke spiralled around it as it ploughed into the side of a tenement.

  What the hell?

  Valentine hit the brakes.

  A night-black fighter craft corkscrewed through the sky, twin thrusters blazing. Its wings curved out in a sharp arc, each embedded with a rotor.

  Valentine had only heard of one fighter like that.

  ‘A Wraith craft.’

  It turned and arrowed towards the street. She hit the accelerator—but the Bulldog didn’t move. ‘Gods damn it.’

  ‘Valentine…’ said Catryn.

  The Wraith craft swooped low and opened fire, peppering the road with bullets.

  Valentine twisted the ignition key—the Bulldog spluttered, then died.

  The Wraith grew bigger, its wail echoing off the walls like a choir of damned souls.

  Bullets chewed through the road, sending chips of stone erupting ahead of the Bulldog.

  ‘Valentine!’

  She twisted the key again.

  The Bulldog roared into life.

  Valentine accelerated and turned, avoiding the gunfire.

  The armoured car crashed through the window of a deserted restaurant and through the other side. It demolished a low brick wall, then skidded across a curving road.

  Valentine stuck to backstreets and narrow lanes, using whatever cover she could. Musa’s Harp’s Inner Wall loomed ahead.

  Close—so close.

  But the Wraith found them.

  It dived and opened fire. Valentine turned—a stone monument crashed against the Bulldog, but it didn’t stop it.

  In the rear-view mirror, the Wraith flipped sideways and shot between the walls of an alley. It soared into the sky, thrusters scorching the air.