Troops spilled from the Stormweaver, clad in army blue and RSF white.
‘On me!’ yelled Sachin, Lockwood’s team leader. He was indistinguishable from the others in his uniform and helmet. ‘You two.’ He pointed to Gallows and Valentine. ‘Stay behind us and don’t get shot! Remember: We extract the targets alive!’
Gallows exchanged a look with Valentine.
Damien at their back, they raced through the exterior Outpost One Three Seven. Desert fragrances jousted with the stale smell of burned wood and metal. They charged towards the shelter entrance where Basud—Mathieson—had led them into the intricate hell beneath, Gallows’ pulse rising with every step.
And the ground quaked.
Gallows skidded to the ground, Valentine thrown beside him.
Just beyond the confines of the outpost, a column of sand rose, like the collapsing Remembrance tower in reverse.
‘Sandstorm!’ someone yelled.
‘Cover!’
‘Move, move!’
But it wasn’t a sandstorm.
The ground buckled and bounced, cracks splitting the baked earth.
Glinting like Lockwood’s claymore, the sharp metal point of a Lightning Spire rose from the earth.
Chapter Thirty-Six
A thread of light connected it to the sky before it was even above the ground.
‘Get inside! Move!’
The tremor turned violent as the Spire ascended. It looked different from the others; sharper. Fierce.
Heat seared the air. Gallows’ feet pounded along the uneven terrain. A fissure split the ground. The hexagonal admin building buckled and collapsed, floods of dust and dirt rising. A rumble of destruction muted the scream from an RSF soldier as he disappeared into the crevice.
So much for tactics and strategy. And where in all hells was Tiera? Other than the two Val rescued, she was the only one in this outfit who’d survived an attack by one of these things.
‘C’mon! The Schiehallion will kick its ass!’ called Valentine. ‘Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop us from getting Thackeray!’ Her pace faltered as they ran past the destroyed Bulldog. ‘Nothin’!’
Gallows followed the troops into the bomb shelter as the first black cloud corrupted the sky.
‘Belios! That is no normal Lightning Spire!’ said Tugarin. ‘Evasive actions, Anya!’
The Talon swung through the air.
‘Surely the warship will destroy it? Surely?’
Light flashed in the sky, and thunder rolled.
Lightning flickered as the tower ascended. Black clouds drew in.
The Schiehallion’s artillery targeted it, booming across the sky. Metal plates broke away from the Spire, exposing its cables and machinery.
But still it rose.
Sand fell in falls as the earth cracked and broke around the rising structure.
Another bombardment from the Schiehallion. Its roar threatened to tear the sky asunder.
The Overseer rose, her silver envelope gleaming. She sailed towards the Schiehallion, seeking refuge from the rising storm.
But the first blade of lightning struck.
It rent the air, the fork missing the Overseer by a hair. But the air combusted, her outer envelope igniting in flames. Smoke swelled from the wound. She stayed airborne but the flames engulfed her. Metal ribs blackened as the inferno burned through her guts, dissolving her skin. She spun and plummeted to the ground, exploding on impact.
Then, clawing from the earth, anti-aircraft turrets spooled into life, streams of white-hot ordnance punching into the Schiehallion’s hull.
The Callan swung by the Talon’s skyglass, chased by smoking tendrils.
‘Ashe has the right idea, I think! Let the war-chariot duel with lightning!’
But the hulking Talon wasn’t quick enough; bullets razed her centre port-side rotor. It burst into flames.
The airship squealed as Tugarin yanked his controls. ‘Anton Tugarin does not die this day!’
Lightning scarred the sky and corkscrewed to the ground. Thunder boomed, drowning the whir of instruments. Anya yelled something but it was lost in the noise.
Darkness expanded across the sky. Bolts rained against the Schiehallion’s armour, blinding white whips like the wrath of Aerulus himself.
The Moonwaltzer sailed beneath; her belly cleaved the earth, cargo ramp trailing. Bricode messages buzzed in and out—frantic auto-distress signals. The Moonwaltzer shuddered starboard, impacting the Talon and sending her off course. Together they twisted and jerked, lightning surging around them.
‘She’s dug into our hull!’ cried Anya.
Alarms blared in the Talon’s cockpit. ‘I cannot keep her steady!’
The other vessel was so close, Tugarin could see the panic in Dougan MacConnell’s face.
Then the Moonwaltzer took a hit.
Bullets ripped her thrusters away. A conflagration erupted. Metal squealed and rivets popped as she plummeted to the ground, fires raging.
The SOS signal rang in Tugarin’s ear.
‘What do we do?’ yelled Anya.
The veins on his arms stiffened with pain. ‘Save ourselves!’
The Talon tore from the Moonwaltzer, wrenching wood and metal, and left her flaming on the desert floor.
Gallows and Valentine abseiled down the elevator shaft, landing behind a phalanx of soldiers. Gone was the immaculate white of the floor and ceiling. The passages were steeped in darkness, the only light coming from their own equipment.
‘Guess Thackeray needs to draw power for his Spire,’ observed Valentine.
The squad burrowed deeper. Fewer than a dozen soldiers. Not what Gallows had pictured when he convinced Lockwood to fight with them, but it was all they had.
If there was a place on earth that terrified Gallows more than Nidra’s torture chamber, it was here.
‘Corners are too tight,’ said Sachin. ‘Split up. Cover more ground.’
‘What can you tell us about these Wraith troopers?’ asked another soldier.
‘They’re quick and merciless,’ Gallows explained, ‘but they don’t have instinct. Just avoid getting shot or stabbed.’
Gallows and Valentine led the squad deeper into the depths of the facility. They had to get in, hit Thackeray, and get out—all before the Schiehallion fell.
Reanimated soldiers, beasts… What if we only scratched the surface of the shit going on down here? Gallows led them to a grimy, metal door. Rust was painted across it like old bloodstains. Valentine grabbed the handle and, with a screech, pulled it open. Gallows stepped through.
A pipe creaked overhead, and the soldier next to Gallows snapped his rifle towards it.
‘Take it easy,’ urged Sachin. ‘We’re all jittery but don’t do anything stupid.’
‘Sorry, sir. Thought I heard scratching.’
Gallows couldn’t blame the soldier; with every step he took, he was convinced something was watching them from the darkness. It made his pulse race.
And then a guttural snarl broke from the shadows.
‘Amaraxes,’ said Gallows. ‘Damn.’
‘Huh?’
‘Wolves,’ Damien answered. ‘Giant and ferocious.’
‘Positions!’
Gallows gripped his weapon harder, cold sweat collecting on his back. Somewhere, a motor whined.
Then the amarax tore out of the shadows, its claws clattering on the floor and its yellow eyes bright and blazing. The butt of Gallows’ Vindicator dug into his shoulder. He squeezed off a shot, feeling the unwieldy weight of the weapon kick into him.
The wolf’s brother trailed after it, and another. Above the storm of bullets, their snarls rent the air.
‘Incoming!’
‘Short, controlled bursts!’
Two of the wolves flew back, skidding across the floor.
One sank its fangs into a soldier’s chest and lapped at his blood before the combined effort of two Vindicators brought it down.
‘Damn the gods.’
G
allows mopped sweat from his eyes and looked to Damien. ‘Tell me your no-kill policy doesn’t extend to these?’
They descended two more floors, through passages of hissing pipes and broken walls, before they saw another amarax. It took a man’s leg off before Valentine killed it.
The place reeked of death. Though it weighed his muscles, Gallows’ gun swivelled to every jittering pipe. Men around him flinched at every creak and screech.
‘Where do you reckon Thackeray is?’ Valentine whispered.
‘No idea,’ answered Gallows. ‘We got as far as the railway chamber last time—I say we take it from there.’
The passages seemed longer; one morphed into another. Gallows’ heart beat faster with every step. They passed through rooms filled with carnage, bullet holes, shattered glass. A vinegar stink sweated from the walls.
Minutes ticked by in the silence.
The first Wraith burst through from a shadow. His frenzied wail lashed like a whip before a single bullet took him down.
‘Musa!’ cried a voice. ‘Near pissed myself.’
Gallows didn’t remember hearing the other Wraiths scream like that.
Further, they descended. A breeze whistled through bullet holes. The dying efforts of instruments buzzed.
A freight elevator squatted on the platform where they’d first encountered Korvan—just before he killed Sturrock. The elevator cables stretched up into dark infinity.
‘This is as far as we got before we found Korvan,’ said Gallows, head craned. ‘Keep your eyes open. We don’t know what’s up there, but if you see Korvan, it’s better to run than fight.’
‘To Hell with that,’ muttered Valentine.
‘We go up,’ said Sachin. He pointed to two of his men. ‘Secure this area—we’ll deactivate the Spire.’
But before they could progress any further, floodlights painted the immense chamber in harsh white.
Wraiths tore from the dark walls and broke into a run, dozens pouring from every angle. They howled as they charged, swords and hatchets held high, circling Gallows and the rest.
But the RSF were a well-oiled machine. Troops at the front bent on one knee as others took standing positions between, rounds snapping in rhythm.
Deafening gunfire shredded the air. The Wraiths fell and screamed in pain.
Their blood… It bubbled from wounds, filled the air with a copper tang—different from the thick sludge that leaked from the other Wraiths.
And why didn’t they have guns?
‘Incoming!’ called Valentine.
Amaraxes sent Wraiths flying as they charged the RSF. Gallows loosed rounds. A wolf leapt onto a soldier and tore her jugular out before Damien killed it.
‘Shit!’
‘Gods above!’
‘Hold the line!’
Gallows was too busy fending off the Wraith in front to see the one behind.
It clawed at him, dragged him to the floor and screamed, hatchet an inch from his throat.
Sachin put a bullet through its head.
‘On your feet!’
Their circle dew tighter as the enemy pressed in. Gallows and Valentine clustered together, felling targets left and right. A red haze had spread on the floor, mounds of bodies. Valentine wielded two revolvers, the close quarters making her sniper rifle impractical. Brass steamed and ejected onto the floor like raindrops tinged with blood.
Sachin held a hand up. ‘Hold fire, hold fire!’
‘Is that ’em all?’ asked Val. ‘How many did we lose?’
‘Hostiles neutralised. Four fatalities on our side.’
Shit. Only a handful of soldiers left. It wouldn’t be enough.
‘The enemy grows desperate,’ said Damien. ‘That was a weak attack. His resources are dwindling.’
‘Weak?’ Sachin spat the word. ‘Four people perished—people whose lives could’ve been saved if you pulled a damn gun, spineless Hunter.’
‘I will not kill,’ said Damien, voice faltering.
‘You’ll do as I damn well tell you, Hunter. Or go crying to your guild house and your boss. Amateurs!’
Gallows mopped sweat from his forehead. ‘Something ain’t right.’ He bent down to the bloodied remains of the Wraith that had almost killed him and and lifted its mask.
‘Damn. These guys were alive. Really alive.’
‘So?’ said Sachin. ‘They were the enemy.’
‘Oh, no.’ Valentine pulled off another Wraith’s face mask. Her fingers recoiled.
Its face belonged to Lieutenant Bartholomew Rend.
‘Son of a bitch,’ she breathed. ‘Fallon said Cronin took away the young from the Gravehold…’
Gallows’ stomach tightened at the sight of Rend’s mangled face. ‘They took prisoners … and turned them into these things.’
Valentine drew herself to her full height, face hard. The air in the vast, silent chamber turned cold. ‘They just made us slaughter dozens of innocent people.’
The elevator’s ascent was a slow, tremoring crawl through the darkness. The cables squealed with the strain, the floor shaking from side to side. Beneath them, the chamber’s white light drifted further and further away. Shadows stretched like long fingers. The red warning sign read: In Event of Fire - Do Not Use. The air turned cooler as the elevator neared the top.
The freight elevator had no controls on the inside. Can’t have Wraiths making decisions for themselves now, can we?
The cage hissed open like a wolf in its death throes.
Gallows looked at Damien. This is the spot.
‘We take point from here,’ said Valentine, marching over the threshold with Gallows. She held the door open for him.
‘Negative,’ said Sachin. ‘This is our operation and we do not take orders from a disgraced-’
Valentine’s fist silenced him.
The squad turned their weapons on her. Valentine grabbed Sachin and used him as a shield. ‘Y’all are either with us or you ain’t,’ she called. ‘This kingdom is rotten to the core. You reckon I’m stupid? You reckon I didn’t know that Lockwood gave y’all orders to shoot me if I got near Thackeray? You reckon she didn’t know about all them slaves kept in the Gravehold? I did time in an asylum—y’all can kiss my ass if you think I’m gonna stand by and let the same shit that was done to me happen to anyone else.’
Sachin spat blood. ‘Are you with her, Hunter?’
‘Goddamn right I am,’ Gallows growled.
Damien grabbed Sachin and used him as a human shield as he addressed the other troops. ‘Stand down. By order of the military.’
‘What are you doing?’ yelled Sachin. ‘I’m the military! Stop them!’
‘I am a Hunter,’ Damien started, ‘and it is illegal for me to break a contract unless ordered by the Council.’ Damien produced a writ and shoved it in front of Sachin: I will help Tyson Gallows and Nyrita Valentine kick seven shades of shit out of Pyron Thackeray and Lenis Cronin—signed by Major Aramon Fallon. ‘It is also illegal for me to be stopped in performing my duty without good cause.’
‘That won’t stand!’ spat Sachin. ‘Open f-’
Damien blurred as he kicked Sachin into the elevator, disarmed two of his men and opened fire on the others, careful not to cause any real damage. He dived out amidst a chorus of screams, hurled a flash bomb into the elevator, and sent it downward.
‘You make it look easy,’ said Gallows.
The crack of thunder sounded beyond the walls. Valentine took point, finger straying close to the trigger.
‘By the sounds of it,’ Damien said, craning his head, ‘Lockwood is still in the air.’
Valentine motioned for them to follow. ‘Then let’s make sure she stays that way.’
They delved deeper into the passage and came to a heavy, rusted door blocking the way. Brown stains painted its reinforced glass window.
‘C’mon,’ said Gallows. He gripped the handle. It froze against his skin.
With a whine, it opened into a long, dark corridor. The odour
of burnt meat breathed on him.
‘Hold up,’ urged Valentine. She checked her ammo, reset her equipment, cleaned blood from her skin. Gallows did the same.
‘Take a few moments,’ suggested Damien, ‘clean your wounds. But not too long—the warship won’t last much longer.’
After two or three minutes, Gallows said, ‘Reckon we’re as prepared as we’re gonna be.’
‘Right,’ Valentine began. ‘I’d say it’s been nice working with y’all, but-’
Wall-mounted ignium lamps stuttered into life, purging the shadows and painting the corridor in soft fire.
‘Well that’s… good,’ said Gallows, sounding far from convinced.
‘Tyson.’ Damien motioned ahead.
Gallows followed Damien’s gaze. At the end of the passage, Enoch’s grey body hung limp in chains suspended from the ceiling. Smoke trailed from recent scorched wounds.
‘Enoch!’ Gallows’ feet pounded the floor. ‘Gods damn, what have they done to you?’
That’s when he noticed the wires crawling under his skin.
‘We’ll get you out,’ Gallows promised. ‘Valentine, give me a hand-’
The lights flickered. Enoch wailed, his skin burning.
‘No, no, no, no.’ Korvan materialised from the shadows, clutching a device. ‘This will not do, brother.’ He pressed the button and the electrodes sent Enoch convulsing. ‘How can I burn the humanity from you if you die?’
A terrible blackness opened up in the sky. Rain fell in torrents, blades of lightning slashed the Schiehallion and anti-air turrets raked her belly. Her shells careened through the air, but the Spire stood, unleashing its wrath.
The warship could only absorb so much lightning. For a split second every time a bolt sheared down to earth, the air temperature rocketed to an astronomical level, melting her armour.
She circled the Spire, raining destruction onto the earth below. A chain of explosions erupted, silencing the double-As.
‘Miss,’ came a weak voice at Lockwood’s back. It was the Raincatcher, Drimmon. Red welts painted his face.
Symphony of the Wind Page 63
