They grinned before they charged.
Gallows didn’t miss a beat as he batted a sword away with his own, his other hand plunging a knife into his opponent’s belly.
The other guy wasn’t as dumb—he dodged right then left, shouldering Gallows to the wall and nearly over the edge.
But Serena was the prize—the thug lunged for her, his pristine white teeth shining as he grabbed her. He drew back from Gallows, his back against the wall, and brought a silver straight razor to Serena’s throat. ‘Come closer and she’s dead!’
Gallows took a step closer.
‘I mean it! Back off! I swear to the Great Gods and the Lesser, I’ll open her throat!’
Gallows’ face twisted. ‘And then what’ll you have to bargain with?’
Without thinking, Serena’s leg kicked out across the narrow path, into the wall opposite. It was a gamble—the angle was awkward and the man grasping her was heavy, but he needed her alive. He stumbled to the side, keeping the blade away from her throat. Serena kicked out again, this time both feet anchored on the flat of the wall.
‘Bitch,’ the bastard spat.
With only one hand grasping her, Serena managed to twist from the thug’s grip. Acting on instinct alone, she shoved him a third time.
He didn’t scream as he toppled over the edge.
‘Oh Gods…’ Serena rushed to the wall and gazed down. He lay on the cobbles at an awkward angle, eyes staring up at her, blood blooming around his skull.
Ice laced Serena’s blood.
‘We have to go,’ urged Gallows. ‘C’mon.’
A hail of dirt and stone exploded nearby, but the Bulldog’s gunfire might as well have been a million miles away.
‘We have to go!’ Gallows repeated.
‘Why is only one of them shooting?’ Gallows wondered. The Bulldog’s cannon spat slow, thumping shots at them, but it was firing blind.
With the knife in his hand, Gallows took tentative steps down through the tower—it was better than the sword for close quarters.
Like so many of the city’s towers, this one was in disrepair. Boards took the place of glass in many of its window frames, making it easy to get inside. This floor was dusty but bare—untouched.
Doesn’t mean Zoven’s goons ain’t near.
They reached the ground floor without disturbing anything, but the engine of a prowling Bulldog rolled past. Gallows knelt down by a window.
‘Is that the one that’s shooting?’ Serena asked, her voice small.
‘No. Reckon this one’s saving itself ’til it sees us.’
He didn’t have the words to comfort her—but right now, all that mattered was staying alive.
The Bulldog drove past, a beam of light flooding the lobby..
Gallows waited until it turned a corner.
‘Let’s go!’ He lifted the window and climbed through, then, with Serena, darted across the street and into an alleyway.
‘Are the Hunters with us now?’ Serena asked.
Gallows couldn’t tell from the look Drina had given him. ‘I don’t know, but if they keep Pierro and the Watch busy, I’m good with it.’
A stillness settled over them. The air smelled of iron and salt. Gallows permitted himself a breath to calm his heart. ‘Reckon we’re past the baying mobs of cut-throats,’ he said.
Serena looked to the sky. ‘And what about that?’
Shearing through the clouds, the silver swell of a Royal Sky Fleet patrol craft sailed from the moon, its beam cutting into the ground and drowning them in light.
‘Shit.’
Like a beacon atop a lighthouse, their enemies converged on the airship’s beam.
No warnings, no announcements. The patrol craft hovered above Serena and Gallows, a silent executioner waiting for the blade to fall.
Zoven’s militia trickled in at first—Gallows fought them one by one, but more followed—some Hunters, the Watch, Pierro and his dogs.
They ran, but this quarter of Coppertan Road still served as a checkpoint from Proclamation Six Nine Seven Two. Barricades choked every avenue, strangled every escape route.
The world spun past Serena’s eyes. Blurred faces appeared in windows and on rooftops. A weight pressed on her.
‘Serena, stay behind me,’ said Gallows. They stood in an industrial district, an extension of the same one they’d negotiated before. After all the running and fighting, they’d barely made any progress.
Serena and Gallows backed up against a wall. Next to them towered a heavy wooden gate—despite the heavy chain and padlock wrapped around its iron handles, Serena gave it a tug.
‘Didn’t think so,’ she muttered.
Nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
Serena turned to face her pursuers—she could see Pierro in the distance, Drina hanging over his shoulder.
Gallows stood with his sword in one hand and a knife in the other, looking like he wanted to go down fighting.
But Serena refused to let another person die for her.
‘It’s over.’ Serena shook her head. ‘They can have me. I’ll demand they let you go, in exchange for me.’
‘No.’
‘We can’t fight a whole mob.’
Gallows raised an eyebrow. ‘Not with that attitude.’
One of the Bulldogs screeched across the road. The man at the turret didn’t look like military, and now that it was closer, Serena saw the red paint and graffiti smeared over it.
‘Farro Zoven’s got mates in high places,’ Gallows observed.
Pierro marched to the head of the horde. ‘It’s over!’ He tossed Drina to the ground like she was a sack of potatoes. Her face was bloody, but she was still breathing.
Serena planted her feet wide apart. ‘Oi, Toothless—take me, let him go.’
Pierro tossed his head back and laughed.
‘Thanks anyway,’ said Gallows. He poised his sword.
A last stand against ridiculous odds, like a Captain Crimsonwing novel. Angelo, I reckon you’d be proud of me. ‘If we’re gonna fight, can I at least get your knife?’
Pierro charged like a bull, closing the gap-
The wooden gate burst apart in a shower of shards and splinters, the chains snapping like string.
The second Bulldog.
Gallows shielded Serena from the rupture. ‘Get back!’ the Hunter yelled.
Gunfire mowed Pierro’s men and turned them into bloody paste. Its shells bored into Zoven’s Bulldog; glass and metal flew out, followed by tongues of fire. It exploded, sending Pierro’s men and women fleeing.
The giant—foaming at the mouth—swore and retreated, taking his surviving allies with him.
His face was covered in dirt and blood, but Serena recognised the man sitting by the second Bulldog’s cannon.
Damien.
The armoured vehicle’s door flew open. A soldier—a woman—with cropped, fire-red hair snarled out at them. ‘How about y’all stop bloody running from us and get in the damn car?’
‘Valentine, meet Serena.’
The Bulldog swerved and raced along Coppertan Road, charging through barriers and narrow paths—but it couldn’t shake the airship’s searchlight. It bathed the vehicle in brilliant white, despite Damien’s attempts to extinguish it with the turret.
Gallows’ head was a mess, but for all the time he’d spent wishing otherwise, he was elated to find himself alive.
He wasn’t the only one.
Kirivanti sat across from him, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, eyes fixed on nothing. ‘I’m glad you’re alive, Sheva.’
Damien stepped down into the passenger compartment, securing the turret cupola. He sat without a word in the remaining seat, across from Serena.
‘Thanks,’ the girl said. ‘You saved our asses. Again.’
Damien nodded. Gallows’ gut twisted at the sight of him.
‘How did you find us?’ Gallows asked.
‘The motorcarriage’s Bride’s Code transmitter.’ Damie
n kept his tone flat. Black shadows concealed most of his face. ‘General N’Keres gave an order not to intervene with the Watch’s orders to kill you.’
‘How did you get out of the opera house?’ Serena asked.
‘I was incapacitated by falling debris. Sheva… saved me.’
Kirivanti turned to avoid Gallows’ gaze. ‘The Schiehallion’s cannonade afforded ample makeshift exits. Blind luck, really.’
‘Save the reunion!’ yelled Valentine. The Bulldog made a violent turn. ‘We got a whole city after us and I can’t go forever, so if anyone’s got any ideas, I’d damn well appreciate ’em!’
Our office and apartments are out. We need somewhere defensible where we can hole up and talk strategy, buy enough time to get Serena outta the kingdom. Gallows looked at Kirivanti. The whole Hunters’ Guild is out there looking for us.
And the answer presented itself.
‘I know where we’re going,’ he said. ‘But first we gotta lose the patrol craft.’
‘Flight Lieutenant Royce!’ called the patrol craft’s sole pilot and navigator, a lad barely out of his teens. ‘They’re heading towards Terros’ Crown.’
‘Stay on them,’ Royce ordered.
‘Aye, sir.’
It was right, for it to end this way; he should be the one to apprehend Hunter Gallows after letting him escape. It should be Royce who brought an end to this sorry affair.
At first he had believed the Hunter’s intentions to be good, but now? Commander Lockwood afforded him too much trust. Offer someone an inch and they walk a mile.
The airship’s searchlight pinned to the APC like sunlight magnified upon an ant. Such carnage had been wreaked upon the city’s streets. Guilt was not familiar to Lyndhurst—never before had his conscience been blemished—but he blamed himself for how things had transpired.
Well, he would make the most of this posting—this punishment—to prove himself worthy of the uniform. He would make his brothers proud, Nyr rest their souls. They’d sacrificed themselves for the good of their kingdom and if it came to it, so would he.
Royce marched to the captain’s console and activated the intercom. ‘All units, prepare for rappelling manoeuvre.’ His voice grated through the speakers. ‘Our targets know they cannot outrun us. I predict they will make for the high ground afforded by Terros’ Crown and attempt to deter us with gunfire in a last-ditch effort to escape—we will not let them. Suspects are considered armed and danger-’
‘Sir!’ said the pilot. ‘It’s made a sharp right… Towards the Church of Feria! Hah! There’s nowhere to run, we’ll have ’em snared now, sir!’
Unpleasant tingling danced up Royce’s back. The pilot was right to be confident, but with RSF numbers still thin, Royce was not prepared to take chances. ‘Keep your eyes open.’
The armoured personnel carrier swerved and zig-zagged along the empty cobblestones, leaving a cloud of ash in its wake. ‘It’s… It’s heading through the Church!’
‘Indeed.’ What are you planning?
‘Do we deploy?’ said the pilot.
‘Negative,’ answered Royce, ‘that would leave us stationery, surely their objective.’
‘But there’s nowhere for ’em to go… The gatehouse to Dustwynd is the opposite direction an’ the orphanage is crawling with coppers—where do they hope to hide?’
Royce didn’t answer. Something about this did not sit right; Hunter Gallows and his associates had outrun their pursuers. The crew of the RSF Overseer was the last line of defence—Gallows had to know that.
Royce wondered what Commander Lockwood would do, but he checked himself—he was loyal to her, but Aramon Fallon was a traitor and a deceiver. Had she raised concerns about him, she would have avoided so much bloodshed.
Gallows does not deserve to die. But orders are orders, and I have already shamed myself and my family name. Royce felt the ghosts of his brothers watching him.
‘Sir?’ came a female officer’s voice at Royce’s back. ‘What are your orders?’
Instruments hummed and crackled in the Overseer’s cockpit. The moon shone its frosty glare. ‘Circle the Church of Feria but not too closely. They will come out sooner or later—ensure all units are ready to deploy in case-’
The APC burst from the church’s western exit.
‘Maintain visibility!’ Royce yelled. What few pedestrians there were leapt away from the vehicle’s path as it bounced and rattled along the dirt road. ‘All units, we have resumed pursuit of target towards Terros’ Crown. Prepare to disembark.’
As predicted.
But then the APC did something unexpected.
‘Sir! Is that smoke?’ said the pilot.
The airship descended; Royce saw the dirt spraying out from beneath the APC’s wheels as it cleaved through Terros’ Crown.
‘Stay on it!’ Royce commanded.
‘But, sir-’
‘You have your orders!’ Royce’s fist hammered the console. ‘Do not let it escape!’
The smoke from the engine plumed and dissipated as the Overseer closed the gap. Still it ploughed along Terros’ Crown, climbing higher…
Until its front wheel glanced off the side of a rock and flipped onto its head.
Now the smoke was accompanied by deep, coal-red fire.
‘Royce!’
‘Ascend!’
The vehicle exploded, liquid igneus mangling its metal frame.
The Overseer lurched as it climbed the air, but Royce did not take his gaze from the smouldering ruin.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hunger made an animal desperate, but it also made it dangerous.
And Tiera knew what it was like to starve. She’d seen what it did to Yulia—seen the physical anguish it did to a person—all in the name of fanaticism. ‘Denial of physical needs enriches the spirit and brings one closer to the Gods.’
Piss on your holy lies! This is not hunger, Tiera. This is nothing.
Jynx had unlocked these memories with her poison.
Yulia’s pleading rang in her ears, tormented her even after years. She could feel the heat from the white-hot brand, squirming as the smell of Yulia’s cooking skin rose around her. ‘Fire purifies, the sign marks you out as a follower of the Indecim. Do you choose Belios over all other Gods, save Aerulus? This is the final test, Yulia. The Fayth will guide you. Give yourself to us.’
Better was when Tiera took the brand and turned it on Yulia’s captor and burned the monastery behind her. Fire purifies, and this place needs to be purged. Yulia’s pleas followed Tiera as she ran down the dirt path, followed her for miles, out into the wilderness. She’d left her inside.
This is nothing.
Filthy rags draped around her, and dirt caked her face—a disguise at first, but a second skin now. A stack of crates concealed her from the steel ring of Watch officers patrolling the skyport. She might have evaded prison, but scuttling between district cordons and sleeping in filth was not freedom. Security had been stepped up around the skyport too—but it would not be enough to save Vaughan. The time for looking was over—she’d rested as best she could. Now it was time to make Vaughan tell her where Fitz was.
And if she couldn’t…
She hissed. Weak thoughts breed weak actions. She had not abandoned Yulia to the predators—sold her knife to the Dread Pirate—burned through Phadrosi merchant fleets and massacred her way to the arse end of the world for it to end here.
She inched closer to one of the skyport’s entry ways, its colossal black maw infested with Watch. An Information Tower buzzed nearby, but its words made no sense. Her heart jabbed her chest, thirst and hunger pulling at the frayed edges of her senses.
An ice-white blur flitted past.
Tiera spun.
Her feet were unsteady but she told herself it was the dehydration and exhaustion.
Scraping, churning, whining, laughter… Every sound made itself known to her now, senses shedding their weariness and burning alert. She stood there, frozen. You will not ge
t near me again, witch.
She disappeared inside a side entrance when the two watchwomen guarding it decided to harass a vagrant.
The chaotic rhythm of the skyport embraced her. Its cavernous black interior swallowed her, the persistent rabble masking her movement. She concealed herself in the ignium steam hissing from every corner of the litter-strewn floor. Most of the airships had been locked down, but that didn’t mean much to the throngs that had nowhere else to go. Vendors peddling rat burgers and stoneroach kebabs did good business here. Her mouth watered as their aromas teased her. Her stomach tugged, eyelids weighing as heavy as sins. If she could just get close to slip something into her pocket, find water, rest for five minutes…
A two-man patrol turned a corner. Without missing a beat, Tiera knelt down by a group of homeless men and women sorrounding a battered ignium radiator.
Their glassy eyes didn’t even register her.
The coppers padded by, sneering at them, one of them tossing an apple core. Tiera wasn’t sure if it hit the ground before a scabbed hand snatched it.
Fresh fruit. Sometimes aerons are not enough to pay these finisa off.
Each landing pad in the skyport was elevated by thick, riveted iron struts, presenting a tangle of shafts and crawlspaces. Tiera pushed herself through, the acid stench from recycled ignium clawing her. Oil gummed her palms and her knees scraped as she pressed through, the chugging machinery drowning out any noise she made. Her limbs weighed like anchors, her head screamed for sleep. She snatched glances through the web of steel each time she negotiated a channel separated by a wider aisle, getting closer and closer to the landing pads reserved for the Raincatchers’ Guild.
Obstructed as it was, she recognised the belly of the Liberty Wind.
She pictured herself sailing into the sky with Fitz at her side, carving a bloody swathe through any bastard that stood in their way.
Don’t be something you ain’t.
At the far end of the hangar, the arse end of the Hurtling Whimsy hung open. Men and women wheeled cargo from its ramp—not barrels of water, but crates. She recognised a couple of ’em as casuals who’d worked shifts on the Liberty Wind once or twice.
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