‘Lucky,’ Osa spat.
‘You been teaching kids too long.’
Gallows heard footsteps—Kirivanti was near.
Even if he won this fight—which he wouldn’t—Gallows would have to contend with the Guildmaster and the Watch.
He had to think of something.
He stepped backwards, nearing the white piano.
‘No escape,’ Osa growled.
But earlier, Gallows had had time to analyse the backstage—see its rigging and pulley systems, its layout and its curtain drawing mechanisms. He stepped towards a thick rope hanging from the rafters.
‘Before you gut me,’ he said to Osa, ‘why are you convinced I’m lying?’ For a split second, Gallows’ eyes flitted to the rigging above him.
Osa was good enough to spot it. The corner of his mouth curved and he slowed his advance, sensing something. ‘Your time’s running out, friend.’
Gallows laughed. ‘Been living on borrowed time anyway. Mind your head.’ Gallows cut the rope.
Osa’s eyes widened and turned to the sky, free arm shielding his face.
Nothing happened.
Gallows lunged and batted his opponent’s sword away, then launched his knee into his groin and punched him into the ground. Osa crumpled to the floor in agony. Gallows kicked his sword away.
Kirivanti closed in on him; he raced across the stage after the Watch. ‘Serena!’
But he was too late.
The coppers came into view, dragging the girl into the centre of the floor. Gallows’ heart sank.
Kirivanti’s voice came behind him. ‘Tyson Gallows, you are under arrest for treason and conspiring to assassinate the Prime Councillor-’
‘Sheva...’
‘-aiding and abetting a fugitive, perverting the course of justice-’
‘Sheva, listen, I-’
‘Don’t!’
The Guildmaster closed her wet eyes and balled her fists. ‘Don’t.’
‘With us, girl,’ commanded the watchwoman. She motioned to her male colleagues. As they dragged her off, Serena stared at Gallows, helpless.
And again he was powerless to do anything, too weak to-
A blinding white flash stole his vision.
The world tilted.
The floor connected with Gallows’ face. A piercing razor scream filled his brain, agony flaring inside his head.
Inch by inch, colour reappeared. Flash bomb.
The Watch flailed and grasped at Serena, but she wriggled free.
Damien sailed down on a rope and swung onto the stage, somersaulting in the air, unsheathing two swords as soon as his feet touched the floor.
‘Tyson!’ he called.
‘Damien! What the hell?’
Osa sprung to his feet; he was closest to Damien.
And Gallows could only watch as he retrieved his shamshir and swung it in a wide circle.
Damien flipped in the air, avoiding it, and blocked Osa’s backswing, sending the sword master reeling with both blades twirling.
But not for long. Osa advanced, he and the five Watch officers circling Damien, weapons readied.
Osa struck first.
Damien blocked his attacks, sent him slashing in the wrong direction, outmanoeuvring him at every turn. Where Osa failed, the Watch strove to succeed—but at once, Damien cut and thrust, parried and deflected. Not for a moment did they look like they’d penetrate his defences. He took them all on, flipping over their strikes, like the acrobats at the Remembrance.
The rage in Damien’s eyes became more pronounced with every second.
Gallows had seen it before.
He yelled at Damien to stop, but his words were lost among the clamour of steel.
Damien whipped a roundhouse kick into a watchman while turning both blades against Osa. The sword master may have had the reach, but Damien had the speed; he sent Osa turning the wrong way, disarming him. The old man stumbled, and Damien turned on the Watch. He didn’t break a sweat as he wove between them, knocking their batons and blades away.
But Osa was quick; while Damien had his back turned, the sword master drew a knife from nowhere and slashed it towards the back of Damien’s neck. He must have sensed it somehow—he side-stepped at the last possible moment—but the knife grazed Damien’s cheek. A hair’s-width line of blood appeared like fresh ink dripping onto a page.
Gallows had never seen him bleed before.
In an instant, Damien’s face transformed.
Gallows recognised it.
Damien’s eyes widened.
His teeth gleamed.
‘No…’ Gallows said.
Damien sliced both of Osa’s wrists.
‘Stop!’ Gallows yelled. ‘Stop!’
Blood welled on the ground.
‘Damien! Damien!’
Fieri raised his blades.
‘Kirivanti, get him away! Get him away!’
But it was too late.
The blood arced and spread like butterfly wings as Damien cut two diagonal swathes into Osa’s torso.
He flailed to the ground, a picture of perfect agony etched on his face.
A yell, and a watchman came at Damien.
He analysed him: Pathetic wooden baton raised, exposing no less than a dozen immediate vulnerabilities. What to choose, what to choose…? A quick lunge to its throat? Sever an artery? Pierce its heart?
His blades sang to him, their sweet, silent serenade, audible to him and him alone.
No, no, no, we should take our time, savour its agony…
Damien’s heart danced. His body tingled, every molecule on fire.
All you have to do is let go.
He could resist no longer. He severed the watchman’s hand, cut his throat and drove both blades through his chest. The victim’s face contorted in sweet anguish. Blood drenched Damien’s blue robes.
Voices shouted at him, but they were white noise.
He leapt into the air, his swords spinning. Arterial blood from another watchman fountained into the sky.
See its eyes as the life runs from it…
The last watchman stood—a young man, still in his teens. He stared in frozen wonder, skin as pale as death itself.
But we have seen the Death God, haven’t we?
Damien lopped the man’s left arm off at the elbow. He staggered back like an unstrung marionette before Damien ended him with a slash to his throat. His wide eyes pleaded with Damien as he fell to the ground.
Just one more…
The last of the Watch—a woman—raised a sword.
The watchwoman swung her blade but her attack was undisciplined—nothing more than a thug—a novice with a blunt tool in the company of an artist.
He sliced into her leg first of all, then spun away, filling the air behind her before her knee hit the ground.
I’ve missed you, ‘Damien’.
He put the sword to her throat.
Have you felt my absence as keenly as I’ve felt yours?
Her body shuddered against the steel.
Do it!
He drew the sword along her throat and watched as an arc of blood curved from the wound.
It was beautiful.
Damien stood, slick with blood, chest heaving, fire surging through his veins. He sensed their breathing—Kirivanti’s, the girl’s and Gallows’.
Thank you.
Thank you for bringing me back.
Together, we’ll paint the world red.
Chapter Twenty
Gallows couldn’t move.
His worst fears manifested in front of him.
Damien’s wild eyes—as white as bleached bones against the crimson smeared over him—flitted between him and Kirivanti. The blades in his hands tremored, droplets of blood gliding to the floor.
‘Move behind me!’ Gallows yelled to Serena. ‘Sheva!’
Kirivanti recoiled from Damien. She clasped at the pendant hanging around her neck. ‘My Gods above…’
Gallows inched into the space be
tween Damien and Sheva. ‘Kirivanti, go. Go. You’ve secured the perimeter right? It’s safe out there?’ He didn’t take his eyes from Damien as he spoke.
Damien snarled like a wolf.
‘Y-yes.’
‘Good. Keep Serena with you.’
‘Like hell!’ the girl spat.
‘Quiet!’
Damien stood there, like a jackal sizing up its prey. ‘Damien, this ain’t you, it’s-’
‘This is me,’ he rasped, head cocked to the side. ‘And you know it.’
Ice flowed through Gallows’ veins. He was right; in the back of his head, Gallows had always housed the fear that came with the terrible knowledge of his partner’s urges. He’d seen the blood frenzy take hold of Damien in the Sanctecano Isles and he’d caught a glimpse of it again with Buzz in Dustwynd. He should have stopped him.
Gallows gripped his sword. ‘Damien, listen to me: You don’t-’
The sky ruptured and the auditorium shuddered with a moan. Great sections of the ceiling tore like fabric. Stone and marble collapsed in rushing falls of black and grey.
‘What the-’
Another cannonade.
They were under attack from the Schiehallion.
The ceiling cracked, and slabs of stone split the stage at Gallows’ feet. A thick blanket of dust rose up, sweeping Sheva and Damien from view. A sharp chunk of rock speared the grand piano like a nail hammered into soft wood. Metal peeled away from the ceiling.
‘Sheva!’ he screamed. ‘We gotta move!’
‘I can’t leave, not without Dam-’
‘I’ll leave your ass behind!’
The world quaked as the airship’s artillery hit its mark. Another bombardment and the opera house would be nothing more than rubble. Scaffolding and stage gear tumbled from above, a chunk of masonry almost pummelling Gallows into pulp.
‘Come on!’ Serena pulled at Gallows, but a hole opened up at their feet.
Gallows’ stomach launched into his throat as he tumbled through darkness as black as a tomb, his palms scraping against rough brickwork. He landed hard, missing Serena by inches. He could already feel the bruise on his ribcage.
Snarling in pain, he pushed himself up with his elbows. His eyes fell on his shortsword—it was stuck in the ground, wavering an inch from his head.
Serena hawked dirt from her mouth and, shaking, got to her feet. ‘Are you okay?’ She offered Gallows a hand, pulling him to his feet.
No. ‘Yeah.’
Ceiling lamps stuttered in and out of the blackness as another explosion erupted above.
‘You’re sure there’s an entrance to the sewers here?’ She had to yell.
Gallows sheathed his sword. ‘It goddamn better be.’
They ran through the same narrow passageway he’d discovered earlier, heart loud in his ears. Every inch of him ached; the invincibility he’d felt when charging after Thackeray had long passed.
‘There!’ Gallows motioned to the black cellar door. His heart buoyed when he noticed it was ajar. Genevieve.
‘Huh,’ said Serena, head angled to the brass levers and wiring. ‘That’s like the RADIOM console Drimmon uses.’
‘I saw this earlier,’ said Gallows. ‘Figured it was power generators.’
‘Well yeah, they’re there too, but this is a Burston & Macaro type-12 nav unit, same as the Wind. It doesn’t have any antennae but it looks like it’s hooked into the power system. There’s a bricode transmitter too-’
Dirt and rubble poured through cracks in the ceiling like sand in an hourglass. The cracks extended, accompanied by a loud, low rumble.
‘We can figure it out later! Run!’ he called.
‘What do you reckon I’m doing?’ Serena ran through the door ahead of him.
Wooden braces were the only things keeping the walls from toppling, and they were far from sufficient.
Fixtures pinged and snapped, beams cracked and rubble funnelled in. Dirt and stone exploded everywhere. The cave-in continued at their heels—and it was catching up.
I am not dying here. Not like this.
His muscles protested but Gallows pushed harder.
‘Whoa-whoa-whoa!’ Serena halted, arms flailing at her sides.
‘Move!’ Gallows screamed.
‘Into the pit beneath us?’
He slid to a halt, and saw what she was talking about: A vast black hole.
Across the expanse was another door. Hope you got out in time, Ginny.
Gallows glanced behind him. The lamps disappeared as the avalanche rushed towards them.
‘Screw it, we don’t have a choice!’ Serena said.
Before Gallows could respond, she grabbed his elbow and leapt.
They careened down a rocky slope, jerking from side to side. Pain prickled Serena’s exposed skin, sharp edges slicing into her gown. Her arms shielded her face, but that didn’t stop it from being battered from side to side during the descent. More rock and dirt rained down upon her, carrying her with its momentum. Gasping for breath, she instead received a mouthful of dirt.
Serena’s hands shot out in front when the avalanche spat her out, her knuckles scraping across the rough stone. She tried to call out, but the words failed.
Gallows’ body launched through the air and fell into a heap next to her.
‘You alive?’ she asked after finding her voice.
The Hunter forced himself to his knees. ‘More or less. Tell me you knew there was a bottom to that hole?’
‘Uh…’
He stood upright, gazing to the blackness above. ‘The landslide covered our fall but everything else could cave in. We gotta go.’
Serena’s eyes strained but she couldn’t see a damn thing. ‘Don’t suppose you fancy leading the way?’
‘Sure. Just let me get my bowels back.’
For an hour or more, they trekked through the darkness. Every now and then, they heard voices—watchmen, Serena guessed, scouring the sewers, searching for something. A chill nipped at her skin.
Serena’s eyes had got used to the darkness, but even then she couldn’t make out much—they could have been going in a circle for all she knew, and all they had to navigate with was Gallows’ flashlight.
The layout was weird here; the brickwork didn’t feel the same, it was rougher and not worked and cut. Most of the tunnels under the city had been smoothed out and well-kept from ignicite mining. Even when she lost her bearings on her way to Petrel’s Tail for the funeral, the sewer tunnels were easy enough to navigate—she could picture, just about, which streets were above her.
But down here, the passages rose and fell like crests in a wave—the walls twisting in cramped, awkward angles. More than once they’d had to squeeze through cracks left behind from a cave-in.
She had no idea where they were. Her neck stiffened at the thought. Could be underneath Petrel’s Tail or even The Sands—and still we ain’t seen a way out. Her muscles pulled as tight as the tangled wires in the Liberty Wind’s engine room.
‘You got any idea where we are?’ she asked.
‘Nah,’ said Gallows, ‘but we’ll find something soon.’
‘That’s… Not reassuring.’
‘Trust me. These old tunnels, they were used for smuggling during the ignicite gold rush. Whoever built ’em dug deep to keep away from prying eyes. It’s plain sailing.’
‘That’s… Still not reassuring. Surely all that means is we’re miles away from anything. Who’s gonna smuggle old rock out anyway?’
‘Uh, it’s more what they smuggled in. Miners would sometimes spend a week or more down here and, well, I guess they got lonely.’
‘Right. Drink and hookers, then.’
‘Drink and hookers.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘My mum told me.’
‘Oh… She was a Courtesan?’
‘Huh? No! She was a miner, and a tanner.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘Hang on…’
‘What is it?’
‘There’s a chamber up ahead… I recognise it.’
All Serena could see was more rock.
But sure enough, the chamber opened up. Serena picked out the sloping curve of a roof, like-
‘Is this a chapel?’ she asked.
‘It’s the Church of Sol. The day they consecrated the ground, an earthquake tore through town and swallowed it up. The blind priest who hangs around Dustwynd says it was Terros’ punishment against mankind, some parable about how digging up ignicite means we’re waging war against the earth and sun and… Well, who knows, he’s off his rocker. Gods, I don’t reckon anyone’s been here in near a hundred years.’
‘I thought you said it was used for smuggling?’
‘Uh, yeah, well, except for the smugglers. Gods, look at it…’
Gallows marched ahead of her, but Serena could hear the wonder in his voice. It didn’t look like anything special to her; the Raincatchers’ chapel was more or less the same. Granted, that wasn’t half-destroyed and submerged underground, but still.
‘You like architecture?’ she asked.
‘I like history. I was a bit of a collector, when I was younger. Artifacts, old relics, treasure.’
‘Sounds like a Captain Crimsonwing book. My friend Angelo would love you.’
‘You can tell him the reality ain’t the same as books.’ Gallows stood mesmerised by the remains in front of him. ‘The earthquake was pretty minor, but it tore up a chunk of The Sands. That was when the government drafted the Ignicite Mining Limitation bill, so we-’
‘So we wouldn’t mine too much and end up like Palthonheim, yeah, yeah.’
‘C’mon, we’re on the right track.’
Serena followed, massaging warmth into her arms.
After another hour, the air grew warmer. The voices grew in frequency, and more than once they had to hide from a passing patrol. At one point, Serena thought she saw Confessor Cronin, but she told herself it was just paranoia playing tricks on her.
‘This way.’ Gallows motioned for Serena to follow along an incline. Serena, exhausted but buoyed by nearing the surface, took point. She squeezed through a crack, coming through the wall of an adjoining sewer tunnel lit by ignium lamps. In flaking paint, she saw ‘Tunnel TS-South West’ scribbled onto a wall. A cordon had been set up to her right; the steel mesh lying on the floor had rusted, but the warning tape wrapped around it was legible enough: WARNING! CAVE-IN HAZARD.
Symphony of the Wind Page 42
