Siege of Rage and Ruin

by Django Wexler

  “We’re not done yet,” I manage to gasp out. Bravado, from my ward boss days. Defiant to the end.

  “Aren’t we?” She raises her blades, and the golden aura around her flares. Her form flickers.

  Isoka! The voice is Tori’s, but it doesn’t come through my ears. It rings in my skull like a bell, and a flood of emotion comes with it. Fear, determination, and a weight of crushing guilt that forces the air from my lungs. The angel! Use the angel!

  The Immortal is coming. A cut glances off my shield, and she’s already blurring away, trying to get between me and the stone flank of the construct. I haven’t tried contacting the angel since it collapsed—I haven’t had the time or concentration. Distract myself for a moment, and I’m likely to get skewered—

  Trust her, Meroe said. My little sister is in my head. The thought makes me shudder. Trust her.

  I reach out with Eddica, and the angel responds.

  It surges forward, pushing itself upright, catching the Immortal completely off guard. One shoulder of the massive construct slams into her, drawing a brilliant flare from her armor and sending her flying. She hits the front of the closest building with another burst of green, then drops to her knees, blades vanishing.

  “Not. Done. Yet.” I let my shield and armor fade, feeling blessedly cool air wash over my burning skin, and push Eddica commands into the angel. It moves forward, enormous and implacable.

  The Immortal woman gets to her feet, and our eyes meet for a moment. Her smile is gone. She gives me a small nod, as though in acknowledgment, and then golden light flares around her again. Between blinks, she’s gone, leaving a trail of gold sparks lingering behind her.

  * * *

  Tori and I reunite atop the outer wall.

  My arm is agony, matched by spots all over my body where flares scorched my skin. For now I can still move, but bitter experience tells me that by tomorrow powerburn will have me feverish and nearly immobile. Meroe has an ointment, prepared from Soliton mushrooms, that eases the pain, but it’s never a pleasant experience.

  Better than being chopped to bits, though.

  After the Immortals retreated, the rest of the Fourth Ward fell without serious fighting. The panic of the main Imperial force in the Onion Market sapped the morale of the rest of the defenders, who mostly abandoned their positions and poured back out through the gates. We have a few hundred prisoners, militia cut off when the Red Sashes took the wall, and probably hundreds more scattered in hiding through the district. Many will probably just throw off their uniforms and blend in with the civilians. Any that surrender, I’ve made it clear, are to be treated well. The conscripts, at least, aren’t our enemies.

  Once I caught my breath in the square, I got hold of one of the Blues and told Tori and Zarun to go to the gatehouse while I followed the troops pushing south. Now, satisfied that there are no major pockets of Imperial resistance remaining, I head back to meet them. The surviving Blues—less than half of the force that had accompanied Tori this morning—are waiting at the bottom of the steps, which keeps the rest of the Red Sashes away.

  I watch one woman bind up her hand, missing three fingers and spurting blood, with all the careful calm of someone dressing a chicken. Poor bastards. My skull still itches from Tori’s phantom touch. I have to believe she wouldn’t hurt me, but the strength of her voice—

  Trust her. I swallow, and ascend the stairs.

  Zarun is sitting on the top step, his shirt open, reddening tracks of powerburn visible across his smooth brown skin. He looks at my arm, which I cradle carefully against my body, and raises his eyebrows.

  “Rough day?” he says.

  “We’ve had rougher,” I say, and he chuckles. “Have you heard from Jack?”

  “Yeah. She’s fine. Someone gave her a flag and she’s running back and forth along the wall waving it at everybody.”

  “Fair enough.” I pause. “Are you all right?”

  “Just a little burn,” he says. “I went head-to-head with an Immortal who turned out to be a Tartak adept. Just about held my own for a while, but I wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Tori was the one who broke through.” He shakes his head. “Your sister’s a lot tougher than she looks. One of them must have been Kindre. Tori got cooked pretty bad, too, but she beat her.”

  There had been a third Immortal, the one with a long blond braid. By process of elimination, she must be Naga’s Eddica user. Whatever she’d done to cut me off from the angel, it had been shockingly effective. It reminded me, a little, of my fight with Prime, where we’d struggled to block one another from accessing the power of the Harbor system. But there was no store of Eddica energy here.

  I give Zarun a nod and move past him, up onto the battlements. Most of the wall is lined with Red Sashes, looking down at the Imperial siege camp and making rude gestures. Here, though, Tori sits alone except for a couple of Blues. Her legs are crossed, eyes closed, but she looks around as I come closer.

  “Please don’t hug me this time,” I say, raising my injured arm.

  “I’m too tired to hug anyone.” She’s showing signs of powerburn, too, red lines forming across her face and neck. “And I’m aching already.”

  “Just wait until tomorrow,” I say, wearily taking a seat beside her. “We’ve got some stuff that will help, but it smells awful. Meroe can show you how to put it on.”

  “Something to look forward to.” She cocks her head, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. “But we made it.”

  “We made it,” I agree. “And without many losses. The Imperials just dissolved after the line broke in the market.”

  “A lot of Blues died,” Tori says. “I’ll ask Giniva if she has anyone waiting.”

  “Waiting?” I shift uncomfortably. “They’re—”

  “Criminals,” Tori says. “Murderers, hoarders, deserters, that sort of thing. People who would be executed otherwise. I take them and … make use of them.”

  “Oh.” I pause a moment to digest that.

  “It’s not an excuse,” Tori says. “I don’t ask them to volunteer. Most of them would probably rather die.” She lets out a breath and looks up at me. “Like I told you. I know what I can do is wrong. But—”

  “But it’s all you have.” I remember the brief connection between us, the surge of guilt. “It’s what you had to do.”

  “You don’t know everything.”

  “I don’t need to. I know you.” I sigh. “At least, I’m starting to feel like I do.”

  There’s a long pause.

  “You saved my life,” I tell her. “That Immortal—”

  “Kadi,” Tori says. “She was the one who kidnapped me.”

  “She doesn’t like us very much.”

  “She mentioned that,” Tori says.

  “Anyway.” I shrug awkwardly. “Thanks.”

  She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. We sit for a while in silence, almost comfortably. I’m going to have to move soon, before my aches solidify into a screaming mass of pain, but for the moment I don’t want to go anywhere.

  That moment is shattered by Jack, running along the battlements toward us, cloak flapping behind her.

  “Sisters Gelmei!” she shouts. “Perspicacious Jack has made a discovery of ominous portent that she needs assistance interpreting!”

  Tori looks at me. “Is she always like this?”

  “Pretty much.” I raise my voice. “What’s going on, Jack?”

  “Movement on the horizon!” Jack waves her spyglass in my direction. “Jack is not sufficiently well versed to guess at the meaning. Here, observe!”

  I clamber painfully to my feet, and she hands me the spyglass. I get it focused and look out past the Imperial siege camps, up the rising hillsides beyond, in the direction of Dragonback.

  “What exactly am I looking for?” I ask.

  “Riders,” Jack says, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun. “There!” She grabs my arm and pivots me until I catch a glimpse of a cloud of dust and zero in.r />
  Riders. A column of them, in a neat three-abreast formation, coming down from the hills. The line snakes back up the road until it vanishes from sight into a cloud of dust that promises many more marching feet following behind. Flapping over the head of the lead riders is a long banner, black-and-silver with the heraldry of the Empire.

  Silently, I hand the spyglass to Tori. I hear her breath catch.

  “Well?” Jack says. “Whose is this formidable-looking vanguard?”

  “I’m not an expert,” I tell her. “But it looks like the Legion has arrived.”

  16

  TORI

  Despair spreads across the city like a cloak. I can feel it, filling my Kindre senses with the taste of ash.

  The fear is not surprising. We all grow up hearing the stories of the Empire’s Invincible Legions. For as long as I can remember, they have been faraway things, out in the northern borderlands, along the southern frontier, in the disputed islands. But the government assures us that our safety depends on their continued bravery and prowess, which are fortunately undisputed. Even the Emperor offers gratitude to the Legions, and prayers for their victory.

  The Ward Guard are one thing. Everyone knows they would rather collect bribes than fight. And the militia are just peasants with spears pressed into their hands. But the Legions are the true strength of the Empire, trained and disciplined soldiers. Their ranks are thick with mage-bloods, officers drawn from the noble houses and commoners drafted after their abilities were discovered. Whatever hope we felt after the recapture of the Fourth Ward and its vital stores evaporates like smoke.

  Isoka and I return to headquarters, but she stays barely an hour, just long enough to let Meroe spread ointment across her powerburn. Then she’s off again, back to the western wall, to organize defenses in the newly reclaimed territory and start moving food out of the Fourth Ward storehouses. She must be in enormous pain, but her energy seems limitless.

  She tells me to get some rest, and I make a show of reluctance, when in fact all I want to do is retreat to my bed and curl up into a ball. Meroe applies her medicine to my face and shoulders, and it’s cool and earthy-smelling on my skin. She admonishes me to rest as well, with a gentle smile. I return to my room, burrow under my blankets, and press my face into the pillow before letting out a muffled sob.

  The Legion.

  I’d convinced the others they weren’t coming. I’d half-convinced myself—at least, we had to act like they weren’t, because if this was only going to end with us getting crushed, what was the point of anything? Now they’re here, settling in on the western rim of the city, ready to storm our walls at their leisure. And there’s nothing we can rotting do about it.

  Naga had been right. Garo had been right. Rot, Isoka was right, the first night she came. She’d been able to see clearly what was going to happen. Stupid, naïve little Tori didn’t get it. Didn’t understand that you can struggle all you like, but none of it is going to matter once the Empire brings the hammer down. Now we’re all going to get smashed flat.

  I should have stayed in the palace. Talked Isoka into leaving. Let Garo rut me. It might have ended the same way, for the other rebels, but I might have been able to convince Lord Marka to advocate for leniency. And afterward, Garo and I could have pushed for reforms, slow and sensible, just like he wanted. It wouldn’t have done anything for the poor rotscum shipped off to die in this war, but we might have stopped the next one. And those same poor rotscum, because they’d believed in what I told them, were now going to die trying to put up a fight against an unstoppable force. So what did I really do for them, after all?

  At some point, I fall asleep. When I wake up, it’s night, and my skin is a dull agony. Lines of itchy fire run across my scalp, and my face and shoulders still throb. My chamber feels icy cold, and I wrap the blankets tightly and still shiver.

  More sleep. Bad dreams. I’m burning, fire consuming my flesh, blackening my skin, shriveling my hair, and no one seems to notice. They talk, joke, laugh as I walk among them, and when I scream for help they only look confused. Even Isoka.

  I wake again in the morning, desperately thirsty, my skin damp with cool sweat. At least the pain has subsided, though my scalp still itches. I send mental orders to the Blues, and one of them fetches me a pitcher of cool water while the others draw a bath. Between blood, sweat, and Meroe’s goop, I feel disgusting, and cleansing myself in the lukewarm tub helps a lot.

  Out of habit, I dress, then realize I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know anything about what’s happened in the past day. It might all be over by now. It would be a relief, in a way, to slide the door aside and find myself facing an armored legionary. No more decisions to make.

  Instead, there’s nothing more alarming in the corridor than a waiting Blue, who bows slightly as I come out.

  “Miss Gelmei. Miss Giniva requested to be told when you were awake. Shall I inform her?”

  “Go ahead,” I say. “Tell her I’m headed over to headquarters.” I hesitate, then add, “Where’s my sister?”

  “Asleep,” the Blue responds. “Shall I wake her? Miss Meroe requested she not be disturbed.”

  “Let her sleep.” If Isoka’s resting, the situation can’t be that critical. “Just tell me when she gets up.”

  “Understood.”

  By the time I make it over to the old barracks, I can almost feign normality. The square is empty, no crowds cheering or hurling abuse, and the building itself feels mostly deserted. A few guards are on duty, but the constant back-and-forth of rushing messengers is gone. I see Red Sashes huddled in corners, talking in low tones, conversations that break up as soon as I come into sight.

  Giniva is waiting for me in the conference room, which we have to ourselves. She’s standing over the big map, which has been annotated in crimson pencil with the positions of the Legion along the western wall.

  “Tori,” she says. “It’s good to see you. How are you feeling?”

  “Itchy,” I answer honestly. “But better than I expected. Meroe’s ointment must really work.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Giniva smiles slightly. “Meroe dragged Isoka back by her ear to put her to bed. Not a person I would want to cross.”

  I smile, too, at that image. Then my eyes fall on the red marks on the map, and all the energy seems to drain out of me. Giniva follows my gaze, and her face falls, too.

  “How bad is it?” I ask quietly.

  “Bad,” she says. “Our best guess is five or six thousand infantry and a couple of thousand cavalry. Even if they were more militia, that would probably double what the Imperials have around the city. But—”

  “They’re not just militia,” I finish. “Are they taking over the siege lines?”

  She shakes her head, touching the map. “They’re all camped near where we first saw them, in the west. As far as I can tell they plan on taking the walls by storm.”

  “Or tearing them down.” Get enough Tartak users in one place, and it’s not an idle fancy.

  “We’ve also had a message from their commander. Lord General Gymoto. He offers mercy to anyone who throws down their arms, and says the Emperor is prepared to be generous to all but the leaders.”

  “Which is a small comfort to us,” I murmur. “Have there been desertions?”

  “Not many, thus far,” Giniva says. “But the reports I’m getting say that it’s pretty close. If we don’t do something soon…”

  “Maybe it’s time to let it go.” I look away from the map, refusing to meet Giniva’s eyes. “We can’t stop a Legion. The more we fight, the more people are going to die for no reason.”

  “What’s the alternative?” Giniva says. Her features, normally as calm as a Blue’s, take on a hint of animation. “Throw ourselves on Kuon Naga’s mercy?”

  “He hasn’t got any,” I say. “But maybe this Gymoto does. Or maybe the Emperor will intervene.”

  “I can’t…” Giniva trails off and is silent for a long while. When she finally
speaks, her voice is thick. “You may be right. The ordinary soldiers will probably be pardoned.”

  “And Legion troops are less likely to hurt civilians than the Ward Guard and militia, at least.”

  “If you think it’s the best we can hope for…” Giniva stops again, and swallows. “I would ask you for one favor.”

  “Of course.”

  “Have one of the Blues kill me quickly.” Giniva looks up and meets my eyes, calm again. “My sister and I came to Grandma Tadeka’s mage-blood sanctuary because we knew what would happen to us if we fell into the hands of the Immortals. I do not intend to face that, whatever happens.”

  “It won’t come to that,” I tell her. “Isoka has been trying to convince me to leave with her on Soliton since she got here. If I agree to go, and ask her to take a few others with me…”

  “Take us where?” Giniva says.

  “I honestly don’t know,” I say. “But it’ll be away from here, at least.” I stand up, unable to look at the map any longer. “I’ll talk to Meroe about it right now.”

  “Thank you,” Giniva says, as I slip away.

  I can’t get her look of quiet determination out of my mind. I’d thought of killing myself, when Kadi had me stuck in a hole. But there hadn’t really been any chance I’d go through with it, even knowing what horrors might be waiting for me when the Immortal returned. Giniva faces the same choice, but she’s stronger than I ever was.

  I find Meroe in the sitting room of her quarters, with the bedroom door closed behind her. She’s crushing mushrooms with a mortar and pestle, making up more of the powerburn ointment, but she gets up and gives me a bow as I come in.

  I return it, uncertainly. I don’t quite know what to make of Meroe, to be honest. The way she carries herself and her foreign features make her feel strange, inscrutable, but that all seems to melt away when she’s laughing with Isoka. Or kissing her.

  “How do you feel?” she says. Her Imperial is flawless, with only a hint of an accent. “Do you need more ointment?”

  “I think I’ll be all right,” I tell her. “I was feverish last night, but it seems to have broken. But there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”