The Iron jackal totkj-3

by Chris Wooding

  The Juggernaut hadn’t seen them. Its attention was elsewhere. The ascending shriek had begun again, and bright motes were being sucked out of the air, warning of an imminent blast from its cannon.

  ‘Go! While it ain’t lookin’!’ Samandra urged the group. She ushered them past her, onto the bridge, her eyes never leaving the beast.

  Bess led the way, with Malvery, Pinn and Ashua close behind her. Silo and the Century Knights brought up the rear.

  The shriek reached its apex. There was a taut moment of anticipation. Then the beam blasted forth with a scream of expelled energy, devastating everything it touched. The Juggernaut swept its head left to right, raking the beam in a wide arc through the streets in front of it.

  Swinging towards them.

  Silo saw it coming an instant before it happened, but far too late to do anything about it. There was an instant of blinding light, and a terrible sound like the fury of Mother herself. Then the bridge behind him exploded.

  A wave of heat and force made him stagger. The world tipped. The ground shifted beneath him, and was suddenly gone. He threw himself forward, clinging to something, anything that would save him. His chest smacked against the surface of the bridge, now tilted almost vertical. He slipped and scrabbled, pulled down by invisible hands. Then his fingers found an edge and locked there.

  Behind and below him was empty space. The bridge was a ruin, ripped through the middle. The sides of the tear drooped downwards in broken sections, attached to the main structure by thick cables of a tough, rubbery material that ran through the ceramic.

  Silo lay flat against a dangling piece of the bridge’s floor. He got his other hand up to the edge and hung there. Ten metres below him was a moon-grey mass of treetops, vines and rubble.

  Up on the bridge, the others were shouting over one another. He heard Malvery and Pinn calling out names and arguing, and Samandra was swearing repeatedly through gritted teeth.

  To his right, he heard the Juggernaut lumbering away. It hadn’t even noticed his plight. They were insects to it.

  His fingers were already beginning to burn. He pawed for a toehold, but the surface was frustratingly smooth. Looking around, he saw a thick cluster of vines to his left, straggli

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Hey!’

  Ashua’s face appeared above him, face shadowed against the moon.

  ‘Silo’s down here!’ she called. She scanned the terrain beneath her, a crazed ladder of cracked ceramic and strings of rubbery Azryx substrate. He was only a few metres below her, but it was too far for her to reach without climbing down herself.

  In that moment, he froze her image like a ferrotype. His mind, suspecting the end, was eager to drink in every detail before his extinction. He saw her quick, wary eyes, the delicate tattoo on the left side of her face, her lean, spare frame to match her lean, spare existence. She was an opportunist, a scavenger, a survivor. Merciless and unemotional, because that was what she had to be. Whatever her true motives for joining the Ketty Jay, they were certainly selfish. The crew were useful to her, nothing more.

  She wouldn’t help him. Not at the risk of her own life. She wasn’t crew.

  If it had been Jez there, or Frey, they might have come down to save him. But Pinn was wounded, and Malvery too hefty. The Century Knights might have tried, but the noises coming from Samandra sounded like someone suppressing a scream, and he’d heard nothing of Colden Grudge.

  His fingers began to shake. His tendons were on fire. He was going to fall. It might not kill him, but it would probably break him enough to make no difference.

  Ashua’s eyes shone, hard in the shadow. Then she shook her head and gave a tut of disgust. ‘Shit,’ she muttered. And she slipped over the side and went climbing down towards him.

  She was from Rabban, a city of rubble, and she negotiated the shattered face of the broken bridge with ease. When she was low enough, she found a good foothold, hooked one hand into a crack and reached down with the other.

  Silo didn’t question his fortune. He reached up with his right hand and grabbed on to hers. She hauled, thin arms straining. He added what strength he could, but he didn’t have enough left. He tried again for a toehold and failed.

  ‘You’re too heavy,’ she said.

  Malvery and Pinn had appeared at the lip of the bridge. Gunfire rattled in the distance. ‘Hang on!’ said Malvery. ‘I’ll find something to throw down!’

  But there wasn’t time for that. Ashua was willing, but she didn’t have the muscle to lift him, and he was weakening fast. If she didn’t let him go, he’d pull her off time fwith him. And besides, what would Malvery find up there? Vines?

  Vines!

  ‘Swing me!’ he said. He looked to his left. Ashua saw the bundle of vines, just out of his reach. She nodded, her jaw tight with the effort of holding him.

  ‘Back and forth, alright?’ she said.

  ‘Ready.’

  ‘Go.’

  He let go with his left hand and grabbed on to her wrist, putting his whole weight on her dangling arm. At the same time he pushed himself away from the vines with his feet, swinging out like a pendulum, then back again. He heard Ashua cry out with the effort of holding him up, and then he felt her jerk and she shrieked and her grip came loose. He let go, flailing through the air for the briefest of instants – and his hands clamped firmly to the body of a thick vine. He crashed into the bundle, scrabbled for an instant, and then his feet found a loop and he pressed on it, taking the weight from his arms and hands. Relief flooded through him. He clutched himself to the vines, enveloped by their sharp green scent.

  Ain’t dead yet.

  He looked over at Ashua. Her arm was dangling by her side, the other still hooked in a crack. Above her, Pinn was lying on his belly, reaching down.

  ‘Doc!’ Pinn called. ‘Quit messing about. Get back here and help!’

  She let Pinn pull her up, and once Silo saw she was safe, he began his own climb. Malvery appeared at the top in time to lend his arm.

  Silo wasted no time on recovery. He was assessing the situation the moment he had his feet under him. The crew was all safe, thankfully. Bess sat on her arse against the side of the bridge, looking as bewildered as a faceless metal golem could. Samandra was sitting as well, in the midst of several slabs of rubble. Her teeth were clenched in agony and one leg was stretched out straight in front of her. The foot of her boot was twisted at an unnatural angle.

  ‘Where’s Grudge?’ Silo asked.

  Malvery looked about as if it had only just occurred to him. ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘ ’Scuse me, I gotta see to Ashua.’

  Silo followed. Ashua had collapsed to her knees, holding her shoulder. Her face had gone a darker red than her hair. Malvery took one look at her and said ‘You popped the socket.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, between deep breaths. ‘You gonna pop it back?’

  ‘Have to,’ he said apologetically. ‘I ain’t joking. This’ll hurt.’

  ‘You think?’ said Ashua, with a sarcastic and slightly hysterical laugh. Then she sobered. ‘Do it.’

  He told her to lie back, and she did so. He put his boot on her chest and lifted her arm so it stood out straight. She screwed her mouth shut, trying not to make a sound.

  ‘On five,’ he said. ‘One… two! ’

  There was an audible crunch of cartilage as he pulled on the straight arm. She made a small whimpering noise in the back of her throat, then let out a long gasp.

  ‘Better?’ Malvery asked.

  ‘Shit, yes,’ said Ashua, with transcendent joy in her eyes.

  Malvery snapped his fingers at Pinn. ‘Come here. I need that sling.’

  ‘It’s my sling!’ Pinn whined.

  ‘You’re wearing a sling ’cause you shot yourself like an idiot. She just saved Silo’s life. See the difference?’

  ‘No,’ Pinn said stubbornly, but he let Malvery undo the sling anyway.

  Ashua sat up, massaging her shoulder tenderly. Her eyes met Silo’s. He gave her a gra
ve nod of thanks. He’d misjudged her, it seemed. He didn’t do that often.

  ‘Colden!’ Samandra cried. He looked up and saw the Century Knight trying to get to her feet.

  ‘Hey! Stay down!’ Malvery barked at her. ‘I’ll get to you in a sec. That ankle’s broken.’

  She ignored him. ‘Where’s Colden?’

  Silo went to the break in the bridge and looked over. Colden had been behind him when the bridge went. He wasn’t there now. He felt a detached sort of regret, but he was more concerned with his own people.

  The Juggernaut was moving away from them, but the ground still shook with its footsteps. Silo heard a crunch behind him, and saw a new crack appear in the floor.

  ‘This place ain’t safe,’ he said. ‘Everybody off the bridge.’

  Pinn helped Ashua up, muttering jealously about her new sling. Silo went to Samandra, after checking that Bess was doing what she was told. Malvery followed›

  ‘Colden!’ Samandra cried. The desperation was plain on her face. ‘Colden! Answer me, damn it!’

  ‘He gone,’ said Silo.

  ‘He’s down there somewhere! We need to go back! Find a way down!’

  Silo was impassive. ‘I ain’t riskin’ my people. He ain’t one of us. Nor are you.’

  ‘Then I’ll go!’

  ‘You ain’t in no state to save anyone. And this bridge could be comin’ down any moment.’

  He put his arm under her to take her weight, but she fought him. ‘Colden!’ she called over his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Malvery.

  ‘He ain’t one of us,’ Silo said again, firmly.

  But Malvery had that look on his face, a look that Silo knew well. Like a man who just had to do a thing.

  Samandra gazed at the doctor with feverish hope. ‘Please!’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Malvery again, hefting his shotgun.

  Silo knew there was no more to be said. He wouldn’t order the man. Malvery wouldn’t obey if he did. There was only so much responsibility you could take for another man’s life; after that, it was all down to them.

  ‘We’ll wait for you at the pad, long as we can,’ he said.

  ‘See you there,’ said Malvery, and headed off.

  Silo lifted Samandra’s weight again, more roughly than he needed to. He was suddenly angry with her. For getting injured, for asking Malvery to save her companion, for putting one of the crew in danger.

  ‘Satisfied now, Miss Bree?’ he said. ‘Now get movin’, or you gonna end up down there with your partner if this bridge goes.’

  For once, Samandra Bree had no comeback. She leaned on him and hopped alongside, white-faced and silent.

  Forty-Seven

  A Long Walk – Foreign Object – The Boulevard – Malvery versus the Crew

  Malvery huffed and puffed as he scrambled down an incline of vines and rubble. It had taken him longer than he’d thought to find a way back to the street under the bridge. While he’d been following Silo, he hadn’t paid attention to how complex and strange these Azryx paths were. He was already wondering if he’d be able to find his way back.

  Not too far away, there was a huge explosion from the power station, loud in the night. He cast a worried glance at it and hurried onward.

  If Colden hadn’t been obliterated in the blast – which, to be honest, he probably had – then he’d have fallen into the foliage beneath the bridge. It was a long way down, but branches and vines made for a better landing than most surfaces. While there was a chance, Malvery had to look.

  He had no special love for the man. In fact, he barely knew him, and Grudge had been an enemy as often as an ally. But that didn’t matter. There was a rightness to what he was doing, a certainty of purpose that propelled him forward. That man was a Century Knight, one of the Archduke’s loyal elite. The cream of Vardic warriors. And he was damned if he’d leave a soldier of his country behind.

  He stopped to catch his breath. If only he didn’t drink quite so bloody much. If only he’d stayed in shape. But all those soft years in Thesk had made him sluggardly, and in the years that followed he’d been more interested in booze than exercise.

  Well, he might have the body of a fat bastard, but he had the heart of a young man. A young man who’d gone to war for his country once. A young man who’d been betrayed by the old man that succeeded him.

  Angered by that thought, he stormed on, calling Colden’s name. A Sammie soldier burst out of the undergrowth, attracted by the noise, waving his rifle. He was a young man too, and he seemed startled to find an overweight Vard with a flowing white moustache and round, green-lensed glasses perched on his nose. Maybe he’d never seen one before. His hesitation meant he never got a chance to see one again.

  Malvery cranked a new round into his shotgun and walked on. The bridge was almost overhead now. Despite Silo’s misgivings, it hadn’t collapsed yet. The Juggernaut was still somewhere nearby, ripping up the city. Malvery did his best to ignore it.

  Out on the battlefield, you couldn’t think about all the dangers around you. If you did, you’d be paralysed. Every man knew they might be hit by a shell or nailed by a sniper at any moment, and they’d never see it coming. It didn’t matter how careful you were, or how highly trained. It was blind bloody chance. You just had to get on with it.

  He found Grudge at the foot of a tree, barely suspended in a cradle of vines, a dark shape in the moon-shadows. There were broken branches all around him, and his autocannon lay nearby. Malvery put fingers to his throat and felt for a pulse.

  ‘Blimey,’ he said.

  He checked him over for broken bones, but all he found was a lump on his head the size of an egg, buried beneath his shaggy hair. He tilted Grudge’s head towards the silvery light and peeled back the eyelids, looking for blood in the whites. Then he slapped him a couple of times to see if it would get any reaction.

  Head trauma. Possible skull fracture. He might wake up in a minute, or never. Maybe he’s already dead, but his heart and lungs ain’t worked it out yet.

  ‘Let’s get you out of all that armour, then,’ he said. ‘ ’Cause you can bet your arse I ain’t carryin’ you in that.’

  Armour or no armour, he hadn’t gone far before he realised exactly how heavy a man who stood over two metres tall could be. Malvery had always been strong, with a bulk that belied the delicacy of his profession, but he suspected that he’d overestimated himself this time. He’d been taken with visions of pulling a Century Knight’s fat out of the fire, just like he’d done with those soldiers in the First Aerium War. Belatedly he remembered that he’d been in his prime back then, fit from Army training, and those men he’d saved had all been a good sight smaller than Grudge.

  His legs burned. His back ached. He’d barely gone a hundred metres.

  Gonna be a long walk.

  There was no point backtracking; he’d never catch up with Silo. He decided to make his own way.

  The streets were confusing, always curving, sloping, splitting into different levels. The Azryx seemed frustratingly fond of dead ends. Malvery kept having to readjust his heading, navigating by glimpses of the landing pad between the buildings. The Juggernaut was still nearby, but thankfully its attention seemed to be focused in another direction. The sound of collapsing walls was an almost constant background noise, and Malvery tensed every time he heard the steadily climbing squeal that heralded another blast from the cannon. Gunfire floated up from the streets as the Sammies fought back.

  He put his head down and kept going. All he could do was put one foot in front of the other and hope no one – no thing – noticed him.

  After a short time, which seemed like an age, he found himself standing on the edge of an enormous plaza. He knew this place; he’d seen it earlier. It was the Samarlan base camp, where dozens of tents had been set up as barracks, command centres and the like. The hub of the Sammies’ operation.

  Where there had once been orderly rows of tents, now there were only smoking rags, flapping in the r
ising thermals. The burnt-pork stink of cooked human flesh was thick in the air. The debris of a military encampment was everywhere: blackened stoves, melted weaponry, scorched foot lockers. To either side of the plaza was a trench olapping inf rubble that cut through the surrounding buildings, marking the path of the Juggernaut’s beam.

  Malvery stared for a moment, rocked by the raw power of the thing.

  The author of the devastation was lumbering across his path, several streets away, searching for new targets. Its smooth white armour sparked now and then as bullets bounced off it. Beyond it, a short way upslope, was the landing pad, rising like some ancient tree above the city.

  He deliberated a moment, catching his breath, then struck out across the plaza. To go around would be a detour he wasn’t sure he could manage. He was hot and damp and red-faced, every muscle hurt, and he didn’t know how much he had left in his legs. It frightened him to be so exposed with that thing nearby, but there it was. No help for it.

  He just had to hope the damned thing didn’t look his way.

  He staggered on through the wreckage of the camp. The smell of burnt bodies seeped its way down the back of his throat. They lay bundled up among the tatters of the tents, curled in on themselves or clawing grotesquely at the sky. There must have been a lot of Sammies here when it got hit.

  The carnage didn’t much bother him. He’d seen enough bodies in his time as a medic. After a while they became like dead trees or blasted vehicles: just another part of the battlefield scenery.

  He was most of the way across the plaza when he saw something he recognised. Something that shouldn’t have been there. He came to an unsteady halt.

  It was the shape of it that caught his eye. A cluster of straight lines and regular circles amid a landscape of bent and broken things. A bright emblem of gold, glinting in the light of a nearby fire. It was set into a small metal box lying amid a scattering of curled papers that skidded and rolled in the updrafts from the baked surface of the plaza. He glanced up at the Juggernaut, which had turned away from him.