‘Captain!’ Anya’s voice sounded as cold as a Tarevian gale. ‘We have incoming enemy fighters. What do we do?’
Tugarin peered up through the skyglass. Sure enough, a flock of bat-winged aircraft approached the Schiehallion.
‘Maintain ascent. We help whoever looks like they’re going to win.’
‘All decks, this is Commander Lockwood. General N’Keres has been relieved of his command. All units to battle stations. Repeat: Battle stations. Incoming enemy fighters. Prime anti-aircraft solutions. Do not deploy artillery while above the population centre.
‘All Eagle fighters deploy. Repeat: Deployment is green!’ Lockwood turned to Lestra. ‘Hook into the Info Towers again. Sound the air raid siren.’
Childhood memories of bombing drills spilled into Gallows’ head as the alarm bled over the city.
‘There are twenty hostiles,’ said Lestra.
Twelve against twenty. Not the kind of odds you want. Gallows peered beyond the skyglass using binoculars. Fighter craft, smaller and sleeker than Eagles. Their wings curved out in a crescent, each embedded with a rotor. Sharp, jutting fins stuck from their tail assemblies. Two rear thrusters provided propulsion.
And they were black as bats, or shadow dragons made steel.
‘Those ain’t Eagles, Lockwood.’ Gallows set the binoculars down. ‘They’re Wraith craft.’
‘Royce!’
‘Ma’am!’
‘I name you Squadron Leader. If this warship falls, no-one is safe. Thackeray will spin this however he likes. He’ll get his war, and millions will perish. He’ll bury the truth. He will murder Serena. See he doesn’t get his way.’
The Wraith ships shot through the air.
Some exploded as the Schiehallion unleashed her defence.
Rockets unhitched from the Wraiths, glowing lights chased by smoking black hurricanes.
The Wraiths broke off and ascended as the warship’s AA guns spat metal at the rockets. They neutered most of the incoming ordnance—but not all. A chain of explosions ripped the Schiehallion’s side open, sending her quaking in the air. Bullets stitched holes into her armour. They targeted her thrusters in strafing runs, swooped and climbed, guns rattling. Smoke and fire billowed from where the rockets struck.
Gunners filled the skyglass cupolas running along the Schiehallion’s back, their twin barrels chugging shots into the sky.
Bullets shredded.
Flak exploded.
Tracer fire scorched the air.
As one, the Wraiths barrelled away, changed angle and concentrated fire. They harried the warship, needling her with flame-hot ammunition.
One of the Schiehallion’s rotors fell away, leaving flowing smoke in its wake.
The Wraiths came in for another attack.
And then the Schiehallion’s launch tubes opened.
RFS Eagles hurtled out, guns blazing, vapour trails scouring the air.
Bullets criss-crossed and one of the Wraiths exploded.
Royce pulled at the controls. His Eagle jerked, twisted away as a Wraith speared towards him. His comrades’ voices yelled through the new radio equipment, talking in real time. Royce barked orders, unable to tell who was who in the chaos.
‘Got one!’ That was Kira. A flaming husk careened out of the sky and crashed into a residential tower. In the streets below, Royce could hear the air raid sirens’ wail.
The enemy kept their assault up on the warship, spat bullets, harassed it. They dodged Eagle fire, plunged from view, reappeared behind and fired. One of the Eagles took a stream of bullets and hurtled away in flames.
Royce forced his Eagle to the port side. Bullets zinged past his cockpit.
All of Dalthea sprawled beneath him. The crumbling Remembrance tower was a broken branch stuck in mud. The towers and the skybridges knotted together like roots climbing over one another. The Steelpeaks kept the sun at bay but soon it would climb.
For the kingdom. For my brothers.
A Wraith appeared behind him.
He evaded its volley. Bullets filled the sky. Royce zig-zagged in the air, surged forward, threading like a needle between streams of bullets. He spun around, cockpit rattling, wind pulling the skyglass.
The horizon flipped.
The Schiehallion hung upside down. The Wraith following him broke off and targeted the warship’s starboard turbines.
Royce kept at its heels. He got it in his sights and squeezed the trigger. It exploded in a burst of flaming confetti.
‘-Flight Leader, Flight Leader-’
‘-get them off my tail-’
‘Wing’s hit, engine’s struggling-’
Voices spat through static, a confusing tangle of words and white noise.
The Schiehallion’s batteries boomed like thunder overhead, drilling white-hot streams. A Wraith disintegrated—there one moment, gone the next.
Royce’s craft descended in a corkscrew to evade the guns at his back.
They would win this battle.
He would not fail.
He would honour the memory of his brothers.
Royce’s Eagle came around again, turning to face incoming hostiles.
Tiera stood on the lip of a great pit. Concentric stone circles dwindled down into heavy shadows.
In the centre squatted a massive cage on a plateau. It was surrounded by a chasm—like the castle, or a box upon a black altar. A rope bridge connected it to the lower level of the pit. Weak light ebbed within the cell, like a glinting star behind grey cloud. What manner of prisoner they kept inside, Tiera could only guess.
Flaming torches placed at random intervals pocked the edges of the room. They popped in and out as thunder detonated outside.
It took a moment, but as Tiera’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, grey faces appeared behind rows of cells.
Tiera’s skin ran with cold sweat. The fear was tangible. ‘Kept. Like animals.’ Death reeked everywhere.
The scar on Valentine’s face squirmed. ‘The cells… They’re all open.’
‘What?’ The ginger was right—every cell door had swung open. Some lay on the ground. Hundreds of them.
And yet the prisoners didn’t leave. ‘What is this?’
‘Aerulus knows.’ Valentine shook her head. ‘Come on.’
Fury fuelled Tiera, but now doubt stewed in her guts. Tiera sheathed her knives. She wouldn’t need weapons. Not any more.
Voices screamed through the radio as Royce’s comrades died.
The Wraith ships were faster, sleeker, more manoeuvrable than the Eagles. Their bullets came much faster than the slow, one-two punches of the Eagles’ armaments. The enemy ducked and wove and came in behind the Schiehallion, unleashing torrents of bullets. Black smoke belched from F.O. Kira’s wing.
Royce nipped at a Wraith’s rear thrusters. He squeezed the trigger but the bullets struck nothing. The Wraith’s wings tilted. It nosedived and spun with sharp, inhuman reflexes, luring Royce one way then turning another.
‘Too many of them!’ came Kira’s voice.
The Schiehallion’s trails of fire swept close to Royce, destroying two Wraiths and narrowly avoiding another. Royce opened a salvo on it but it slipped away from view. He pulled the throttle and accelerated, the force shoving him into his seat. The Wraith filled his sights—Royce’s guns spat bullets.
Again the Wraith denied him.
It swooped down, corkscrewed and came up again behind Royce, an impossible manoeuvre in such a tight arc—and yet it was there, behind him, weapons engaged.
Royce avoided flaming death by staying close to the Schiehallion’s firing solution—but the Wraith flipped, its wing cleaving into his underbelly, sending him flailing through the air.
He levelled out in time to see a hail of bullets tear through Kira’s cockpit, painting the interior red.
His radio was silent, but he swore he heard her scream.
‘A third of my pilots are down.’ Lockwood stood over a large RADIOM display, a pulse sending graphs of data that Gallows
only half-understood. ‘Thrusters damaged. Our rotors are the only things keeping us in the air.’
‘Eight Eagles remaining,’ said Lestra. ‘Fourteen Wraiths—correction, thirteen Wraiths.’
Lockwood pounded the RADIOM screen. ‘What good is a warship if it can’t swat flies?’
‘There’s gotta be something else we can do,’ muttered Gallows. ‘There has to be.’
‘Can you fly?’
‘Cargo haulers.’
‘Not good enough.’
‘Can we take the fight away from the city?’
‘The damaged thruster,’ started Lestra, ‘we’re using all of our fuel just to stay in the air.’
Lockwood shook her head. ‘What I want to know is where these Wraiths came from.’
‘One Three Seven.’ Gallows placed both hands on the console in front him. ‘Has to be. Mathieson said the site was used as an aircraft staging area. Can we at least ascend? The warship can rise above the Steelpeaks but the Wraiths can’t.’
‘That would leave the remaining pilots defenceless—we’re the only thing drawing their fire. If we don’t remove the enemy force, they’ll simply wait for us to deplete our fuel and fall out of the damn sky.’
The roar of the Schiehallion’s cannonade rocked the room.
‘Ma’am!’ called Lestra. ‘Something’s happening!’
Royce had never experienced anything like this.
The sun climbed at his back and wind pulled his ship from side to side. Royce pulled the triggers, but he Wraiths slipped from his sights again and again.
‘What are these thi-’ The voice cut off, leaving static behind.
As if showing their disdain, the Wraiths focused on the Schiehallion, only bothering with the Eagles when forced to. Even then, the dogfights didn’t last long. The sky was on fire, death everywhere around him.
A Wraith shot past Royce, sailing towards the sun. He followed, but the glare blinded him. His prey disappeared. It was toying with him.
Ordnance from the warship bored through the air, loud enough to split the sky. The Schiehallion was still in the fight. Victory could still be won.
Enemy craft zoomed in and out of view. He plunged through the air—avoiding incoming fire—and diverted the enemy from his mother craft. He sank towards the ground, explosions ringing overhead like tolling bells. The steeples of Castle Rochefort reached out to him. The Wraiths on his tail broke off.
Something on the ground changed.
Double-A cannons rose from their silos, gunners clad in Dalthean army colours. Turrets appeared on the castle walls, barrels spooling.
Yes! Royce punished his Eagle, yanked the controls, arrowed towards the sky.
Sweat ran down his face. All they had to do was lure the Wraiths and the double-As would chew them into mincemeat.
But when the bullets came, they didn’t target the enemy.
They targeted the Schiehallion.
‘Lestra, engage starboard artillery—take those defences down!’
The room quaked as the cannons battered the Schiehallion’s hull, the drilling phut-phut-phut ploughing into metal.
The tremors threw Gallows into a console. ‘Why are they firing on us?’
Alarms sounded. Lights spun and crackled. Smoke from the Schiehallion clouded her skyglass. Lockwood steadied herself on the RADIOM unit, jaw set like stone. ‘Thackeray must be contacting the castle remotely!’
‘They’re firing on their own damn people!’
‘As did we.’
Royce thundered towards a Wraith, opened fire and left it trailing smoke behind him.
He watched two of his allies explode, cut down by their own city’s defences.
His Eagle dived underneath the warship. The Schiehallion’s artillery swivelled to the castle grounds, muting every sound in the sky. They exchanged fire like two heavyweights swinging punches. Her shells scorched the air, blowing the double-As into ruin. Great craters erupted in the Royal Gardens. One of the castle walls toppled.
Fear kept gnawing at Royce but he mastered it.
Fear doesn’t kill you—panic does. His eldest brother’s words.
Wraiths zipped past him, two catching an Eagle and sending it to earth like a flaming comet. It struck the Arc of Iona.
Outnumbered. Outmatched.
A Wraith combusted, thanks to the warship’s double-As, but its fellows turned their sights on Royce.
He pulled the throttle back, knuckles white, thrusters screaming. The force of it pinned him to his seat. He broke right and swooped-
A bullet razed his wing.
Black smoke belched from the hole in his engine.
A cracked web expanded in the skyglass.
The ground hurtled towards him.
Curved cells of different sizes lined the walls on each level. Skeletal bodies with dead eyes stared back. Bony hands clasped empty bowls, sitting between life and death. Some cowered beneath Tiera’s gaze. Others stood still, oblivious to the presence of strangers. Old men and women. Rags clung to their skin, if they were lucky enough to have clothes. Some rocked in their cramped quarters, slapping at flies, muttering nonsense.
And every single chamber had been unlocked. Iron doors hung on their hinges, and yet the cells remained occupied. Is this a trick? The prisoners may have been ancient, grey and gnarled, but they were alive. Why don’t they leave? Rally? Rise up? Weak!
A twisted, whimpering choir echoed throughout the pit, moans of the delirious and the dying.
Worse were the cells that stayed silent.
Tiera dropped to the next level beside Valentine. Her legs ached and they weren’t even halfway down.
‘King Owain…’ Valentine’s voice trailed off. ‘He knows about this. He must. How did we not know?’
Ice shot through Tiera’s veins. ‘Horrors like this happen the world over! Open your eyes.’
The soldier squared her shoulders. ‘We get ’em out. All of ’em.’
‘Tiera…’
Her head spun. The voice was faint, but she recognised it. ‘Clara?’
‘Structural damage,’ said Lestra. ‘Two rotors down, another offline... Thrusters damaged.’
‘Good news?’ Lockwood asked.
‘Castle defences almost down—one double-A standing.’
‘How many Eagles in the air?’
Lestra’s face turned white. ‘One, but…’
Lockwood didn’t flinch. ‘Wraiths?’
‘Six. Our double-As are effective against them, but-’
‘Thank you, Specialist.’
‘How long can her armour hold?’ Gallows asked. ‘You have to take us higher, it’s the only edge we got.’
‘Specialist Lestra! You have the helm.’ The commander turned and strode to the elevator.
‘Lockwood!’ Gallows chased after her. ‘Hey!’
When she stepped inside the lift, she turned and called: ‘Do as Gallows suggests, Specialist. When the final double-A is down, take the Schiehallion high and away from the castle.’
‘What are you doing, Lockwood?’
‘Gallows. See that my sword is kept safe.’
The elevator doors slammed shut.
‘Clara!’
The iron gate squealed and bounced from the rock. ‘Where’s Fitz? Is he in there?’
Another whining noise. Drimmon.
Tiera pounded on the metal. ‘Answer!’
‘Clara, are you okay?’ asked Valentine. ‘What happened to you?’
Clara didn’t say a word. One of her eyes was swollen shut.
‘Is Fitz with you? Is he in there?’
‘Clara, talk to us,’ said Valentine. ‘What happened here? Why are all the cells open?’
Tiera pushed past. This cell was bigger than the others. Blacker than black. The kind of darkness that stared back at you if you looked at it too long. ‘Where is he?’
‘Torture,’ Clara told Valentine. ‘He loves it. The ones he hates the most are sent to the top level. Closest to the surface, y’see.
They can feel the breeze. Hint of freedom torments ’em. He likes that. He led the young away. Blindfolded ’em, chained ’em together. Left the rest of us behind.’ Her good eye widened. ‘We’ll be here forever.’
‘We’ll get you out,’ Valentine promised.
Fitz wasn’t here. He couldn’t be. No way he’d end up like Clara and Drimmon. No way he’d have been beaten like a dog. Not him. Not Fitz.
Drimmon’s voice moaned from the floor. ‘Bastard… got nowt… from me. I can see Ena… She kept me alive. Songstress, I love you, Ena…’ His voice faded to nothing.
‘He kept on at Drimmon.’ Clara’s voice was strained. ‘Made me watch as he beat him.’
‘Finisa!’ Tiera’s fist pounded the rock. ‘Where is Fitz!’
Clara’s face changed in the shadows. ‘The Confessor.’ Her words were as heavy as tombstones. ‘He threatened to inject that crap into Drimmon’s arm. Scuzz. Said he’d get addicted in no time. Said he’d take Ena and pass her around the men here and make Drimmon watch. Said they’d tear at her like jackals. Said Drimmon would beg to watch them violate her again and again if it meant he got more of that junk. I punched him.’ She pointed at her swollen eye. ‘He did this.’
Valentine’s face twisted. ‘Sick bastard.’
Drimmon’s voice wavered on the floor: ‘He asked for Serena… Enfield… I didn’t know nothin’… Wouldn’t tell him even if I did.’
Tiera’s hand grasped Clara’s neck. ‘Fitz!’
‘Sorry, Tiera,’ whimpered Clara. ‘Cronin did it to break us. Made us look at him. Made us sleep in the same cell...’
‘What are you talking about?’ spat Tiera. ‘Is Fitz here? Fitz!’
‘Did it to break our spirits….’ Clara looked up.
Tiera’s hand fell.
Even in the darkness, the shape hanging from the ceiling was distinguishable.
Fitz’s naked corpse hung there, his body covered in swathes of black, brown and blue.
Symphony of the Wind Page 60
