Korvan.
He should have felt his presence, sensed the danger. After a lifetime of mastering his body and mind, not trusting his senses made fear run through him like a tumour.
And here, it could be the end of him.
The watchwoman tried in vain to help with the door. Children screamed, some of them lying unconscious.
Korvan took heavy steps towards Damien—scarred hands held out to his sides, saliva dripping from his grin. He brandished a small lighter in his left hand. ‘Funny what one small spark can do.’
Damien got to his feet. Everything ached.
Soon the fire would reach them.
Soon the floor above would cave in.
‘Officers, your swords!’ Damien demanded. The watchwoman didn’t protest. She unsheathed her sword and her partner’s, handing them to Damien. ‘Children, stay beneath the arch!’
‘There’s no way out!’ the watchwoman screamed.
‘There is always a way out,’ Damien said through gritted teeth. ‘Find it!’
He strode towards Korvan. More people had died than lived when engaging in combat with two swords, fools who had read too much Crimsonwing.
But they were not Damien Fieri.
He stepped across the stone floor, blades twirling. They were lightweight, mass-produced curved blades—similar to Tyson’s favoured sword. Not quality by any means—but a piece of string was deadly in Damien’s hands.
He recalled Tyson’s story of this man of stone; he could not reason with him. Any man ready to sacrifice children in a burning church did not deserve life.
Korvan stared at Damien with unblinking eyes. ‘Come here often?’
He swept one of the dining tables away and stomped towards Damien.
Big, powerful—unarmed. Cut ulnar arteries to disable hands. Cut anterior tibial and dorsalis pedis arteries to disable legs. Interrogate for alternative escape route before cutting throat.
…But if I kill him, I may not stop.
Damien pushed the gnawing doubt from his mind. He planted one foot in front of the other, one of his blades striking out as soon as Korvan was in range.
He was fast for his size, dodging each slash as Damien pressed forward. Korvan didn’t blink, didn’t betray any emotion—except that he was having fun.
He knows that time is on his side and will not relinquish that advantage by attacking.
Damien feinted left and sent his companion blade arcing down towards Korvan’s wrist. It bit into flesh.
No arterial spray.
‘You tease.’ Korvan launched a fist; Damien spun away but the monster yanked the sword from Damien’s right hand, tossing it behind him. Without interrupting his flow, Damien’s other blade scythed through Korvan’s greatcoat, slashing ribbons and biting into hard flesh.
The wails of the children burrowed into Damien’s skull.
Damien maintained his assault, ducking beneath Korvan’s hooks and slashing at the bigger man when he could—but he showed no sign of pain.
Cracks appeared in pillars and in the ceiling, chunks of stone raining down. No time to find a weak spot.
Korvan took all the punishment Damien could muster.
The sword hit its mark, severed Korvan’s veins and arteries, but no blood burst forth—no sign that it accomplished anything more than irritating him.
Then Korvan got bored.
With two hands, he seized Damien and hurled him into one of the pillars. Agony exploded through his body.
In the space of a heartbeat, Korvan was in front of Damien. ‘You’re stronger than all the other meat puppets.’
‘Why…’ groaned Damien. ‘Why do this?’
‘Every man needs a hobby.’ Melody ran through Korvan’s voice, like he would erupt into a fit of giggles at any moment. He grabbed the Hunter and threw him onto a table, breaking it in two. ‘And I got bored with crochet.’ Korvan booted Damien, sending him across the flagstones. He lost his sword.
As masonry fell around him, Damien struggled to his feet. An unfamiliar sensation took root inside him: Panic. Never had he been disarmed, not since his years in the Solacewood. He felt like a child playing with wooden swords against a monster from a storybook.
Korvan charged. Damien spun away, using a pillar for cover. Korvan’s fist cleaved through it.
‘Hurry!’ Damien yelled to the nuns as he deflected Korvan’s barrage of strikes, opening him up and punching his throat. Damien tucked and rolled, attempting to attain control of the fight. ‘There must be another way out.’
‘There is none, but for the clasp of Nyr around your throat.’ Korvan took slow, casual steps towards Damien, as though approaching nothing more dangerous than a kitten.
Damien sprang towards his opponent and grasped a tattered banner from the floor depicting Musa’s Salvation. He used it to mask his attacks, unleashing kicks and punches. Each strike changed the axis of the fight to Damien’s advantage, cold purpose behind every feint and gambit. He struck Korvan like lightning—quick, powerful, precise. Any other opponent would have been neutralised.
Korvan attempted to seize both of Damien’s wrists—as he knew he would.
The Hunter dropped to the ground and swept Korvan’s leg away, bringing him to one knee. He chopped the base of Korvan’s skull and rocketed his knee into his face, whipping his head back and breaking his nose.
The growl of pain was as sweet as a note from a cello.
Korvan charged; Damien vaulted over him. He snatched a broken table leg from the floor and buried it in Korvan’s right calf, then took the banner and tightened it around the monster’s throat. ‘How did you plan on getting out?’
Muted laughter was his answer.
‘As you wish.’
Damien pulled the banner around Korvan’s thick neck, closing off his airway. Musa’s face stared back at Damien.
This is music to me.
But Korvan didn’t gasp for air.
He didn’t even struggle.
The monster stood and snapped his head back into Damien’s forehead. It was like being hit by a brick.
Stunned, Damien took a moment to recalibrate.
That was all it took.
Korvan twisted—bloodless scars etched all over him—and slammed Damien into the ground. He gripped Damien’s throat, crushing his windpipe.
Damien fought to breathe, but it was no use. Korvan’s mass pinned him to the ground. Damien could only watch as the ceiling unstitched, bit by bit. Blackness invaded his vision. The supporting struts burned away, orange embers floating to the floor.
The fire had reached them.
They would burn together.
Korvan’s colourless eyes were inches from his own.
‘I am Death,’ he said.
Beyond him, the children choked and screamed.
Damien’s head grew light.
His heart beat in rapid bursts before stuttering.
Shadows covered the world.
His heart stopped.
Noise faded.
Then light flooded back into Damien’s head, accompanied by a crash and a scream.
Korvan’s fingers uncoiled. He was on top of Damien, throat gurgling in his ear, both buried beneath a mound of stone. Korvan’s bulk had shielded Damien. It had saved his life.
He dragged as much air into his lungs as he could and wriggled free from Korvan, heat and smoke flooding the room. Korvan got to his feet, but he was dazed. Damien took advantage of it.
He closed his eyes.
Pain reverberated through his bones, but with a thought, it faded like melting snow.
The web of cracks in the ceiling expanded, sounding clearer than everything else. He felt the heat of the fire as if he were next to it. And something else: A thudding sound coming from the entrance.
Any moment now, the orphanage would collapse around him.
And he knew exactly where it would start.
He is not Death, ‘Damien’. You are.
His eyes opened.
Da
mien launched a flying kick into Korvan’s chest, driving him into the recess where Aerulus had burned. He did not display any sign of pain—but he didn’t need him to.
Damien’s fists and elbows scythed into Korvan’s head. Confuse and disorient. Korvan took it all, amusement painted on his face. Damien’s knuckles bloodied. Compromise adversary’s field of vision. He flowed like water around Korvan’s own attacks, using the negative space to strike and lure his enemy. Deceive and redirect. Damien telegraphed his next move, a spinning roundhouse kick.
Growling, Korvan retreated from the assault—straight into the spot Damien needed him to be.
‘Give Nyr my regards.’ Damien performed a backflip as slabs of debris rushed from above, crushing Korvan.
The rest of the orphanage threatened to do the same.
Sweat rolled from Damien. The pain he’d kept at bay flooded his senses now. Summoning all his energy, he darted to the door. Something was tugging at it, something from the outside.
‘Help us!’ A girl of eight or nine clutching a teddy bear ran towards Damien.
‘No! Get back!’ he yelled.
But she didn’t hear him.
An almighty crack speared the air as the entire upper floor crashed around Damien. He looked to the ceiling and glimpsed the gleaming brass of the bell.
It was coming.
He pushed his legs to move faster.
Metal squealed as the bell plummeted, directly above the girl.
No!
‘Hel-’
Damien dived, clutched the girl in his arms and rolled away. The deafening boom of the bell dominated as it bounced and cleaved through the stone floor, robbing Damien of his hearing.
He released the girl.
The fire raged behind them. The building quaked. Blurs resolved into the shapes of children, adolescents and adults. Blackened faces, reddened eyes, bloodied wounds. They spoke but Damien could not discern the words.
He had failed.
I’m sorry.
But a hinge on the door flew off, and another—air rushed into the room.
The door wrenched away.
The nuns ushered the children out first. More men and women of the Watch came in, grasping small hands and delivering them to safety. One of the watchmen yanked at Damien.
Sergeant Waltham.
‘Up you get, lad!’ he said. ‘On your feet!’
Damien stood. Cold air caressed him. His eyes picked out horses; cables trailed from their harnesses and hooked into the door. ‘Sergeant… Thank you.’
‘Don’t speak, mate. Save your energy. Verimedes will get what’s coming to him, believe you me.’
Damien unhitched himself from Waltham. Pain stabbed his lungs. ‘Can you get a message… to the RSF?’
Waltham’s brow furrowed. ‘Indeed, my Watch house has a Bride’s Code transmitter.’
‘Good. I need you to send a transmission to Commander Lockwood. Have her respond to Sheva Kirivanti of the Hunters’ Guild. I’ll give you the frequency she uses.’
‘Surely, but what’s the message?’
Damien looked to Sister Catryn. ‘She needs to send a patrol craft to the Musicians’ Guild. We have something to show her. Tell no-one—especially not your comrades.’
Waltham stared for a moment before nodding. ‘As you wish. Highly irregular.’
Damien nodded his thanks and made his way towards Catryn.
Behind them, the orphanage blazed and crumbled.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘Look who it is.’ Sister Catryn embraced Serena. ‘Damn good to see you, kid.’
Serena felt the tears forming but she didn’t care. ‘I’ve got a lot I need to tell you.’ She tore herself from Catryn. She looked younger when she wasn’t surrounded by the orphanage’s walls. ‘I didn’t kill Marrin, I promise, it wasn’t me. Councillor Enfield, he and Captain Vaughan and the Watch-’
‘I believe you,’ said Catryn. ‘It’s okay. I believe you.’
Relief buoyed Serena’s stomach.
‘Me too,’ said Angelo.
Serena hugged him. ‘Missed you, mate.’
‘I missed you too. And… Sorry. At the opera house-’
‘Don’t sweat it. How did you even get here?’
‘Damien. He knows the layout of the whole city. Knew about all the secret passages of the Musicians’ Guild house.’
‘That’ll teach you to put your secrets into a blueprint,’ said Gallows.
Serena wiped her eyes. ‘Right, it ain’t like I’m not happy to see you, Angelo—but why are you here?’
‘When I told Sister Catryn she was in danger and you were safe,’ Damien began, ‘he insisted on accompanying us. Being a member of your crew, he’s probably still a target.’
Kirivanti cleared her throat. ‘I am glad you have returned safely, but if the Watch witnessed you, they may have followed you here.’
‘They didn’t,’ said Damien, and Kirivanti didn’t press the point. ‘In any case, the Watch are done. Tyson—Sergeant Waltham saved us. Without him, the children would have perished. The Arch Vigil’s order to strike the orphanage has sewn discord in his ranks. We don’t need to worry about the Watch any longer.’
‘Good old Wally,’ said Gallows. ‘You brought Catryn up to speed?’
‘Only reason I’m here,’ the sister replied. ‘Damien said you have Mathieson’s notes. Ordinarily I’d have told him to take a hike, but… I saw what was in the orphanage.’
Before anyone could ask, Damien said: ‘Korvan.’
‘Shit,’ spat Gallows.
‘Huh?’ Serena’s brow knitted. ‘Enoch’s brother was there?’
Damien nodded.
‘Enoch’s out there too?’ Catryn took a seat. The motors in her leg brace hummed low, like the Wind’s engine when it powered down. ‘Never believed Mathieson could pull it off. Reanimate the dead. Waking the imperatrix we found in the mines was crazy enough.’
‘Always a good time when we’re talking about the dead walking,’ Gallows commented. ‘Listen, we’ve all got more questions than answers—but right now, we don’t have time.’
Catryn looked from Gallows to Damien. ‘So why did you bring me here? Hey, don’t suppose any of you can give me a smoke?’
‘To warn you,’ said Damien. ‘Pyron Thackeray is preparing his endgame. He is removing every person he sees as a threat.’
‘Korvan takes his orders from the Prime Councillor,’ Gallows started. ‘He and the Wraiths wiped out everyone in Outpost One Three Seven. And a woman named Regina Hessian. We barely escaped alive.’
Catryn paled. ‘You were there? You saw what they were doing?’
‘Yeah,’ Gallows replied. ‘We saw what you were a part of.’
Catryn scowled. ‘I was a scientist, okay? I wasn’t into the crazy military shit. Is that a no for a smoke?’
‘Smoking has been banned,’ said Kirivanti, at which Catryn rolled her eyes.
Serena didn’t believe Catryn could be a part of all the torture and weird experiments—but she needed her to say it. ‘It says in the files you left to join the Fayth,’ she said. ‘Why?’
Catryn shrugged. ‘Only option left to me. I perfected Spire technology. The dumbasses before me might have invented ’em, but I refined the process. It’s all about ignicite and the weird ways it behaves around its environment. Same as the RSF’s new warship; you know ignicite regenerates over time, right? Well, the closer you get to its core, the more potent the minerals. But it’s unbalanced—if it gets ruptured, the whole vein could detonate.’
‘Like Palthonheim,’ said Gallows.
‘Did I say I was finished? The reason the Schiehallion can soar above the Steelpeaks is because of how big and heavy it is—it’s complex, but I’ll save time and put it simply: Mass plus ignicite equals greater power. It’s based on an old tal Varaldo theory. Ignicite doesn’t behave like any other mineral or resource. It absorbs the energy around it and uses it to refine itself—that’s how it regenerates. In the case of ign
ium, its ballast properties become greater. All you need is a mass volume of raw material to get the ball rolling, but it’s dangerous to mine at that level; the most potent ignicite is the most difficult to get, and the most difficult to refine.’
‘But Thackeray has been doing so,’ said Damien.
Catryn nodded. ‘He’s been illegally deep-mining to make weapons.’ The corner of her mouth turned up. ‘All those resources spent refining ultralight ignium and smaller craft, only for our ambitions to fall out of the sky. Our mistake was not thinking big enough.
‘But Thackeray doesn’t have that problem. Before, the lightning Spires could only stay active for a few minutes at a time. Enough, maybe, since they were built to defend us in case the Ryndarans invented tech to fly above the Steelpeaks. But when we needed water after Amberfire Night, it was me who perfected the technology. They can remain active for hours now. A perfect defence, unpredictable by enemy forces. That was the extent of my contribution to the war effort.’
‘What’s a “Lightning Harness”?’ Gallows demanded. ‘Or is it not question time yet?’
‘The Harness is a portable version of a Spire. Installing it onto an existing Spire would create the same storm but also stabilise it; instead of a barrage of lightning, the Harness would draw it all, absorb the lightning to keep itself powered up. Imagine that—a self-sustaining energy device.’ Catryn’s face lit up. Her fingers rubbed at the device strapped to her knee. ‘You see these servomotors? Run on batteries and need charging every day or two. But a stable storm would remain active for as long as we wanted it to. Constant rainwater. Cleaner energy. It could have powered the whole city, no more ignicite mining! All the benefits of the ignicite regeneration process and none of the danger of digging too deep.’
Serena could only stare. That would make water runs a hell of a lot easier.
‘But Nivala and Mathieson took over,’ she continued. ‘Went above my head, told Thackeray we could weaponise it. That was their priority, y’see. The Idari destroyed the RDN Enlighten. Horizon Bridge had fallen. It was only a matter of time before they invaded us. Dalthea is the gateway to Imanis, and if they got past us, the whole continent would fall. That’s the line they spun to get me to comply. They invited me into the restricted area of their installation. Told me I’d have all the resources I’d ever need. But as soon as I saw what they did down there, I said no. Bastards stole my plans, froze my assets. Campbell, Coutts & Crawford declined me any credit. I was blacklisted. It’s hard enough to find a job when people reckon you’re crippled, but when there’s war coming? Nuh-uh. I possess a genius-level intellect—but people can’t get past the leg.’
Symphony of the Wind Page 52
