Skeelana looked up, eyes glassy, and smiled, her teeth bloody. She wiped away some red spit bubbles with the back of her hand and coughed before replying, “First for me, too.”
Braylar watched her, lips tight. “You were working with Soffjian this entire time, weren’t you?”
Skeelana nodded once and coughed some more.
“Who has control? Of the Memoridons?”
Skeelana’s chin started to drop but Braylar cupped it in his hand and tilted her head up. “Who. Has. Control?”
She swallowed hard, her entire body convulsing, and she said, “You just don’t get it.”
Braylar squeezed her chin, and she dripped bloody spit on his palm.
I said, “No one. No one has control. The Memoridons are free. Aren’t they?”
Skeelana looked over at me, laughed and coughed immediately, a deep, racking thing. “Reason I knew . . . reason I knew I . . . liked you . . .”
Mulldoos repeated the word as if it was totally foreign. “Free? What are you plaguing going on about, free?”
Braylar released Skeelana’s face and stood up. “I was a fool. Of course they are free. Everything she told Darzaak, us, it was simply to keep her close in case a way presented itself to sever all the bonds. She never intended to hand the tethers to Thumaar or anyone else. Every Memoridon in the empire . . . they are beholden to no one but themselves now.”
Rudgi said, “But . . . what did Nustenzia mean, going on about doom like that? It sounded like she was as surprised as we were.”
Braylar started towards the door. “I have no idea. Let’s go find out, yes?” He looked back at Skeelana and then to me. “I leave her fate to you, archivist. Let her die slowly, or take pleasure in putting a blade in her, even if it gives her mercy she doesn’t deserve. The choice is yours.”
The captain, lieutenant, and sergeant rushed out. I listened to them taking the stairs quickly, descending, their footfalls growing distant, then looked over at Skeelana.
Her eyes were locked with mine. I bent down to one of the Eagles Soffjian had slain with memory magic, pulled a suroka off his belt, and stared at the unbloodied blade.
Skeelana said, “Probably been hoping . . . for this reunion, huh?” Then she hacked and wiped her bloody mouth again.
I nodded slowly, hoping to stoke my anger again, to build it into a furious bonfire, but it wouldn’t light. There was only ash. My feet moving of their own accord, I walked towards her, limbs heavy.
Skeelana tried to smile and only spit up a little blood instead, then said, “Saw you . . . fighting. Come a . . . long way.”
“I nearly got myself killed,” I replied, realizing those were the first words I spoke directly to her since she first betrayed me in Sunwrack.
“But you . . . didn’t. I did.” She convulsed again. “Dying . . . hurts.”
“Dying slowly, yes,” I said. “The others, that Soffjian slew, they died quickly. For once. At least there’s that.”
Skeelana looked at the suroka in my hand. “I don’t . . . deserve it . . . I know. But—” She swallowed hard, and it looked like even that was agony. “Please.”
I crouched down. Shooting a man with a crossbow was one thing. So was trying to kill a man who was trying to do the same to me in the heat of battle. But this . . .
Skeelana said, “I . . . I just wanted to say . . . for what it’s—”
I drove the blade into her chest, pressing hard with both hands and all my weight, keeping it parallel to the ground to avoid getting it hung up on a rib. I closed my eyes after it punctured where I aimed, just left of her sternum. I felt her jerk twice under me, her legs kicking out into mine a few times quickly until they suddenly stopped.
I pulled the suroka out, ignoring the small sucking sound it made coming free of her flesh and stood up without bothering to look at her or close her eyes. She might have deserved a merciful death, but she didn’t deserve anything beyond that.
And then I headed down the stairs after the others.
I exited the tower door and was confronted with the scene I’d hoped not to see but feared the most. Soffjian and Nustenzia were nowhere to be seen. And the Syldoon—Leopards, Jackals, and Eagles—were lying everywhere, as the Memoridon must have drawn deep into the Focus well to fell them all so quickly. It looked as if she had slain the Leopards and one or two Eagles, but had only stunned or debilitated the Jackals, as Braylar and his men were rousing several, slapping faces, shaking them hard as if they were just experiencing a drunken stupor.
I had to bite my lip to avoid laughing. Not the natural laughter that comes from witnessing something truly funny, but the nervous, hiccupy, unhinged laughter borne of madness or mania or exhaustion.
Vendurro was already awake, but disoriented, leaning against the wall, his legs not ready to support him. Some of the other Jackals were in the same condition. Azmorgon was one of the last to rise, but he seemed to recover his wits the fastest, perhaps for having so few. He looked at Braylar, eyes beady under his eyebrow shelf. “Bitch sister. Betrayed us. Just like I done told you she would.”
The captain said, “So she did.” He addressed the rest of the Syldoon. “We have to get to the Well of Stairs. Now.”
One of the Eagles stepped forward. “Where is Lord Thumaar?”
Another soldier who had been with us in the tower replied, simply, “Dead,” as he glared at the captain as if he had slain the deposed emperor himself.
Braylar breathed heavily out his nostrils. “We were all betrayed. But him most of all.”
Azmorgon shook his head. “Thumaar, dead, us, betrayed. All on account of you.” He walked towards his captain, towered over him, beard seeming to bristle as he said, “This is on you. All of it. Every last bit of it. On you. Every last plaguing dead soldier, your own Hewplaguingspear, boys we lost to those Deserter cunts, and now the emperor who trusted you to set things right. All—”
Mulldoos stepped forward. “Watch your tongue, Ogre.”
Azmorgon looked at Mulldoos briefly. “What are you going to do about it? Plaguing nothing. That’s what. You know I’m telling it true.” He looked at Braylar again. “This plaguing bastard has a lot to answer for.”
Mulldoos laid his hand on the hilt of his falchion. “This plaguing bastard is your plaguing commanding officer, and no matter what you got to say, you’ll say it with respect, you hear me?”
Azmorgon shook his head. “Not any plaguing more he ain’t.” He snapped an elbow out, catching Mulldoos in the side of the head, sending him spinning onto the floor, then took one step and grabbed Braylar by the neck, pushing him against the wall, lifting him onto the balls of his feet. “You ain’t Cap of nothing no more. You hear me? You’re done.”
Braylar grabbed Azmorgon’s wrist, not to pull it down, which was impossible, but to pull himself off the ground, and used his legs to push off the wall, kicking out at the lieutenant’s groin.
But Azmorgon must have expected it, as he turned and caught the blow on his thigh and then grabbed Braylar’s neck with the other hand and held him dangling in the air, ignoring the captain’s kicks and punches.
Vendurro drew his sword, as did Rudgi, but Benk and an Eagle stepped between them and Azmorgon, weapons drawn as well, and then everyone was pulling steel, several Eagles siding with Azmorgon, some uncertain, and the rest of the Jackals standing alongside Vendurro.
I pulled my sword from the scabbard as well, but yelled, “This is madness! We’re in the Citadel surrounded by enemies! We have to get out of here, not kill each other!”
Braylar’s face was turning purple as Azmorgon choked the life out of him.
Then the huge man screamed, dropped the captain, and nearly fell over himself. Mulldoos had rolled over and driven his suroka through one side of Azmorgon’s knee and clean out the other. The Ogre instinctively tried to kick Mulldoos, but his leg buckled and he staggered back several steps.
And then chaos erupted, blades flashing as Benk and some Eagles fought Vendurro, Rudgi, and the
remaining Jackals.
I pulled the buckler off my belt, kept my sword hand behind it, and shuffled sideways to move closer to Vendurro.
Braylar was on his side, clutching his throat, sputtering, as Azmorgon pulled the suroka out of his knee, bellowing as blood started to flow freely down his leg. The blade looked tiny in his oversized hand, and he threw it aside, bent over with effort to retrieve a discarded spear on the ground, then staggered forward towards the captain again, dragging his damaged leg behind, beady eyes full of murder.
I circled behind the Jackals, barely catching one sword blow with the buckler but breaking one of Mulldoos’s first rules, blinding myself with it. I stepped back as I lowered the buckler to see my assailant, sure that I was about to be cut down by the next blow, but a Jackal interceded and slashed the Eagle across the forearm.
I scooted around behind the other combatants but wasn’t going to make it there in time. I called out, “Mulldoos! The captain!”
Mulldoos was getting to his feet unsteadily, embattled shield strapped on his left arm, the falchion in his right hand, and turned to see Azmorgon nearly on top of Braylar.
The pale boar stepped in, deflecting an Eagle blow on the way, and yelled, “Azmorgon, you horsecunt!”
The huge lieutenant turned, and even though he was bleeding profusely and hobbled, he came at Mulldoos, spear held in two hands like a quarter-staff. Mulldoos not only waited for him, but retreated a few steps, and a huge grin split Azmorgon’s beard, ugly and the color of ear wax. “That’s right, you little cunt, I’m going to kill the lot of you!”
Mulldoos’s retreat shocked me until I realized he was drawing Azmorgon away from the prone captain, probably hoping the huge lieutenant would bleed more and weaken.
I was moving to help Mulldoos when an Eagle knocked into me, driven back by the Syldoon he was fighting. As he turned to see whether I was friend or foe, I instinctively swung something. I had poor form, worse aim, and had inexplicably chosen to attack with the buckler over the sword. But it clanged off the man’s helm, sending reverberations up my arm, and distracted the Eagle just enough for the Jackal to send him backpedalling, trying to deflect a combination of blows.
I looked up and saw Azmorgon beating Mulldoos back, gripping the spear in the middle, the spearhead and buttspike lashing out from either end, high, low, keeping Mulldoos on the defensive. Mulldoos blocked the spearhead with the shield, and the falchion came out in a blur but Azmorgon caught it on the haft and stepped in more, spreading his grip as he slammed the haft into the shield and sent Mulldoos flying back into the wall, his helm banging off the stones.
I stepped in, sword high, screaming, knowing I was going to be too late, as Azmorgon ripped the shield aside with the lugs on the spearhead and drew back to drive the spear into Mulldoos’s exposed belly.
And then the left side of Azmorgon’s head exploded in red mist, as the flail heads caved in the huge lieutenant’s skull and took off a good chunk of it as they ricocheted away.
But to be safe, Braylar whirled Bloodsounder around and struck Azmorgon again as he was falling over, the spiked Deserter heads thankfully hitting him in the back of the skull this time, so I couldn’t see the damage.
The huge lieutenant was on the stones, blood pooling around his head and knee, and Braylar stepped over the body without another glance. He looked at me. “Stay on my shield side.”
I nodded, obeying, and the captain looked at Mulldoos, who was shaking off the effects of being slammed into the wall. “Lieutenant.”
Mulldoos pushed himself off the wall. “Cap.”
And the three of us waded into what remained of the melee. Only a few Eagles and Benk still fought on, backing towards the entrance to the frame tower. When they saw they were outnumbered and that Azmorgon was dead, they ran into the tower, slamming and bolting the door behind them.
Mulldoos and some Jackals started after them, but Braylar called out, “Leave them. They are trapped. Leave them for the Leopards.”
The lieutenant spit against the wall. “Gods and devils, but this sure turned to shit in a hurry, didn’t it?”
Braylar twitch-smiled and rasped, “Are you about to lead another mutiny, Lieutenant?”
Mulldoos shook his head. “Are you plaguing kidding me? I got enough trouble just keeping the sergeants in line. No desire to wrangle mouthy lieutenants on top of it. Your throat OK?”
Braylar looked down at the blood dripping off the flail heads. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve been choked.” He looked at Mulldoos and nodded once. “Thank you.”
“For what, Cap? I gave you a hand, you gave me one. We’re square. But you mentioned something about getting out of here.”
“So I did.” The captain turned to the remaining Jackals. “To the Well of Stairs. If anyone attempts to intercept us, we kill them all and keep going. Stealth is no longer our objective; survival is.”
We navigated around the bodies of Jackals, Eagles, and Leopards scattered around the tower door and ran down the corridor, weapons out, gear clattering, our mission in shambles.
In the corridor leading to the Well, we passed a battalion of Leopards heading the other way at a jog, their own weapons and gear jangling, clacking, slithering. My heart was lodged in my throat, but even though we had obviously been in a fight, we were still dressed as Leopards, so they didn’t stop us.
The closer we got to our exit the more I felt like my nerves were tied in fiery knots. As we descended the Well, I looked up, half expecting to see Benk or Soffjian or someone else looking down, ready to fill us full of arrows or knock us off the stairs with memory magic, but no one appeared. But we made it through the garden and down the stairs along the wall of the Well without incident.
After swapping out our gear and leaving behind the Leopard arms and armor, we made our way through the emperor crypts and more generic catacombs, reversing the path we’d taken and I’d mapped out. No one said a word for a long stretch. There was only the clomping of feet and heavy breathing.
But I knew if anyone had a comment it would be Vendurro. He was ahead of me and turned to Rudgi as we rounded a corner. “He was a right proper giant bastard—mean, belligerent, nasty piece of work, sure as spit Nasty. But this? Just never . . . just never figured is all. A Towermate? Plague me.” He shook his head.
Rudgi kept pace but didn’t respond. But I said, “Is it really that strange?”
They both glanced back at me, and I continued, “What I mean is, the Syldoon are sort of experts at infighting, aren’t they? Betrayal is something of second nature. Is it so strange that Azmorgon would—”
Rudgi replied, “Gods, but you don’t know anything. Towers betray Towers, Arki. Natural order of things. That’s how the Syldoon function. You can barely even call it betrayal.”
Vendurro said, “But Towermates? The men you hung with, fought with, squabbled with? Doesn’t matter whether you hate the bastard next to you or not, he’s your brother—”
“Or sister,” Rudgi amended.
“Or sister. You defend your Towermate to the death. Against any and all.” He sounded forlorn just talking about it. “And before you ask, it ain’t just a Jackal thing. It’s a Tower thing. True for Eagles or Leopards or Serpents or Wheels or whatnot. The Tower is . . . everything. You obey your commanding officer, you obey your Tower Commander, and you fight for your Towermates, no matter plaguing what.”
Rudgi agreed through tight lips. “No matter plaguing what.”
I watched the lantern light flicker over the countless bones as we passed the compartments and rounded another corner. “Has a Jackal ever—”
“No,” Vendurro said. “Never. Not plaguing ever. Not until that giant whoreson nearly killed Cap. Wish he had died slower. A lot plaguing slower.”
“Aye, Lieutenant,” Rudgi said. “Bastard got off easy.”
They seemed intent on not naming Azmorgon at all.
I looked at racks of skulls alternating with vertebrae in an arrangement that might have been ca
lled aesthetically pleasing. If it had been a mosaic and not the remains of the dead. Stymieing a shiver, I said, “And what of Soffjian and Skeelana’s betrayal? Wresting control of the Memoridons, breaking the frame?”
Vendurro replied, “No clue. Mems always been controlled by the Towers. And then Cynead. Hoping for Thumaar next. But with no masters to answer to . . . who plaguing knows?”
He didn’t stymie a shiver, and Rudgi started to say something, but Mulldoos had heard enough, shouting, “Shut your plaguing holes, the lot of you!”
He was clearly angry, there was something else there as well. Hate? Fear? Fury for allowing himself to feel uneasy over unshackled memory magic? I imagined he would rather face a freed ripper on his own with no weapons than engage a Memoridon now.
While Azmorgon’s mutiny had thrown the Jackals’ concepts of Tower and self wildly off balance, it could be written off as an aberration. But the prospect of the Memoridons being truly free, operating independently, unchecked, creating their own agenda for the first time in history . . . That seemed to unnerve all of them.
With my map, heading back to the cistern tower took less time than going the other way, though it was still a matter of hours. We discovered it in exactly the same state as we left it, bloodied, full of bodies, and in total disarray. At least the Leopards hadn’t discovered it and closed off our escape route. The only real difference was that the Eagle Emmert had joined the ranks of the dead, having bled out as he leaned against the wall. It was just as well his Towermate was trapped with Benk in the Citadel.
The captain commanded everyone to raid the larder and pantry once more. “It has been a long day already. But will be longer still. Rest a bit and fill your bellies.”
Mulldoos pulled the captain aside and pointed towards the door that led to the cisterns. “Even if we’re waiting on dusk, ought to get up to the roof, away from the front door here, Cap. Let’s get topside.”
Braylar replied, “No, Lieutenant. We will have use of the front door.”
Chains of the Heretic Page 50
