Firestorm Page 8

  He watched the bolt tear right through it.

  The shot was a careful one, taking Irilin in the shoulder. The aim was to incapacitate rather than maim or kill. She fell with a mingled cry of surprise and pain and Hagdon was shocked at the intensity of the rage that thundered through him. He drew his handaxe, took a chance. The hooded woman parried one blow, but the other came up from beneath to shear the stave in half.

  Or it should have done. Hagdon cursed. Who had supplied them with ambertrix weapons – weapons so scarce that only a handful of the emperor’s elite owned one? Was it Iresonté? He saw Nediah hurry to Irilin’s side, kneeling down despite the danger. Kait covered them both, balanced on the balls of her feet. One of her blades was already bloodied and the nearest women circled her warily.

  Hagdon backed away, eyeing the stave. Behind him, Kait was fending off five opponents at once. When she screamed, he automatically glanced back and saw her hunched over, every limb shaking. One of the women held a blunt device against Kait’s leg, which spat and crackled with blue.

  Teeth gritted, Irilin threw a shield between them. Kait fell back, her body still trembling uncontrollably. Another two women tore Nediah away from Irilin, blades pressed to his throat. The Wielder’s face was twisted with fury, perhaps at his own helplessness. Although the Lunar clothed Irilin, it couldn’t withstand the asatha. Hagdon recognized the device now, having only seen it once before. A weapon of the stealth force, developed exclusively to use against aberrations.

  Cursing, Hagdon took in the situation. It wasn’t good. With Kait and Nediah down, only he stood between the Sisters and Irilin. His still-healing shoulder ached. Before they could stop him, he swiped the flare from his belt. Its crimson light lit the upturned faces of the Sisters as they watched it explode far above.

  Hagdon retreated to stand in front of Irilin. ‘Whoever you’re signalling will come far too late,’ the hooded woman said. She tipped her head on one side. ‘I recognize that feathered mantle. You’re a rebel, part of this new Republic.’ She smiled as her comrades closed around him. ‘Perhaps Sartya will pay for you too.’

  ‘Or perhaps only his head, Takendo,’ said a woman beside her. She raised a dagger, ready to throw it, but the hooded woman’s hand snapped out and caught her arm.

  ‘Wait.’

  Takendo took a step nearer Hagdon. ‘Bring the light,’ she said and another woman came forward from the rear of the group, holding a torch. In its fickle yellow glow, Takendo studied his face, moving from the scar across his cheek down to the shoulder he still favoured. Her eyes settled on the hilt of the Sartyan general’s sword still strapped across his back. ‘No,’ she breathed. ‘For the Wood to smile so warmly upon us …’

  She turned to her Sisters. ‘I believe we’ve found Sartya’s disgraced general.’

  In the hush that followed her statement, someone said, ‘How much do you think Iresonté will pay for him?’

  Takendo smiled beneath her hood. ‘Enough to set us up for life, Sisters.’ Her gaze moved past Hagdon to Nediah and Kait. ‘And these must be his so-called allies, the Wielders from Rairam.’ She shook her head, eyes lingering on Nediah. ‘They don’t live up to the stories.’

  Nediah returned her gaze, eyes defiant, and Kait snarled. But her struggles were weak; one of the Sisters restrained her easily.

  ‘How much of a fool must you be, Hagdon?’ Takendo said. ‘Straying willingly into the Deadwood?’

  ‘And how long have you scraped and bowed to Iresonté?’ he retorted. ‘I thought the Sisters had no master.’

  Takendo’s lip curled. ‘The Sisters answer to no one.’

  ‘That sounds like a lie from where I’m standing.’ Hagdon nodded to the asatha. ‘Don’t tell me you acquired ambertrix weapons on your own. Iresonté gave you your power. She can take it away.’ He knew his expression was bitter. ‘She’s become quite proficient at it.’

  ‘Iresonté has her uses,’ Takendo said with a good attempt at carelessness, but Hagdon could tell he’d struck a nerve. ‘And I grow tired of talking.’ She gestured. ‘Take them.’

  It was in that moment, when Hagdon knew it was hopeless, that light like cold water drenched them. Squinting, he turned to look behind him.

  A figure crouched on top of the sheer-sided boulder: a dark shadow amidst the light, which cast everything into relief, as winter under a full moon. Lunar power, but it was unlike anything Hagdon had seen Irilin produce. The figure straightened: slim, female. When she spoke, her voice sounded as clear and unfaltering as the light.

  ‘These are my people,’ she said. ‘And they are under my protection.’

  9

  Brégenne

  Brégenne hammered her fists against the stone. Then she kicked it. When nothing happened except for her toes smarting in pain, she stepped back and glared at the place where Gareth had vanished. ‘Why did it have to be day?’ she growled, only dimly aware of Kul’Das standing behind her. ‘I could have stopped it from taking him.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Kul’Das said so contritely that Brégenne glanced round. The woman stood still, staring at her upturned palms. ‘If I knew more magic, I could have helped.’

  ‘It’s not called magic.’

  ‘The Solar, then.’ Kul’Das continued to glare at her hands. ‘I should have listened to you.’

  Brégenne blinked and then, despite herself, she began to laugh. ‘That’s something I never thought to hear.’

  The laugh shocked Kul’Das out of her daze. She looked up and some of her old pride returned to redden her cheeks. ‘Don’t expect to hear it again.’

  ‘Maybe we can find an entrance,’ Brégenne said, sobering. ‘Gareth and I have come this far together. I can’t leave him alone.’

  Kul’Das tilted her head. ‘Have you considered that this is something only he can do? That your part is over?’

  Brégenne opened her mouth to deny it, but paused. What if Kul’Das was right? She’d done all she could for Gareth; she’d brought him this far. Perhaps he was supposed to face this last trial alone.

  Stubbornly pushing the thought to one side, she said, ‘There has to be a way in.’

  They split up to circle the mound. Unlike the others, it was long, almost rectangular, and they each took a side, moving slowly down its length. Brégenne ran her hands over its grassy surface. Stone showed in places; in others bare earth. The further she walked into the necropolis, the stronger grew the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

  Brégenne squared her shoulders and moved on. When a dark shape turned the corner ahead of her, she leapt back with a gasp, but it was only Kul’Das. The other woman was pale. Clearly, she found Ben-haugr just as unnerving. ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Nothing,’ Brégenne agreed. She bit her lip, thinking of Gareth trapped in the earth with the dead as his only companions. Perhaps he is safer than you are, came a thought. He’s not alive, so he cannot die.

  Was that true? Brégenne wondered. What if death was the least thing Gareth had to fear? She vividly remembered the time she’d tried to free him from the gauntlet. It had assailed her with visions – a trampled banner, fallen knights, a city’s ruined towers … But the image that haunted her was the figure on the throne, skeletal hands curled around its armrests waiting … waiting.

  ‘We have to find a way in,’ she said with renewed vigour. ‘Even if we must make one ourselves.’

  ‘Make one ourselves?’ Kul’Das looked dubiously at the stone. ‘You mean blow it apart.’

  When Brégenne nodded, the other woman rapped her knuckles against the stone and winced. ‘I don’t know how to do that.’ And then in a softer voice, she added, ‘I’m not sure I’m strong enough.’

  ‘But I am,’ Brégenne said, ‘and you will be with practice.’ She glanced at the sky. ‘For now, though, we’ll have to wait until moonrise. I’d prefer not to spend the day here.’

  ‘What about Kul’Gareth?’

  Brégenne laid a hand on the mound before letting it fall heavily to her s
ide. ‘He will have to trust in himself.’

  They had retreated to the edge of the Deadwood to wait out the day. Brégenne felt better away from Ben-haugr, no longer scrutinized by unseen watchers, no longer short of breath, and her confidence had grown as the day waned. Twilight, however, did not come alone. Dread followed on its dusky heels and suddenly the last thing Brégenne wanted to do was to return to the necropolis. The thought of breaching the walls of the mound in such a way, exposing the dead to the unquiet sky, was abhorrent.

  Still, she owed it to Gareth to try.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Brégenne looked up. Kul’Das was pointing not towards Ben-haugr, but back the way they’d come, into the Deadwood. A moment later, Brégenne saw it too: little flashes of silver light. She’d know the Lunar anywhere.

  Her heart began to beat faster. ‘Wielders,’ she said, climbing to her feet.

  ‘Or aberrations.’

  ‘A battle,’ Brégenne whispered. ‘The women we encountered …’

  ‘They’ve found other targets,’ Kul’Das finished grimly. If Brégenne strained her ears, she could hear shouting, the clash of metal on metal. A moment later, silver split the gloom and Brégenne caught its after-image – a seven-sided rune. ‘They’re Wielders,’ she heard herself say decisively. ‘No aberration could use runic substantiation without training.’

  And then she was moving, scooping up her pack, plunging into the ashen forest. ‘Kul’Gareth?’ she heard the other woman call, but Brégenne shook her head. ‘We’ll come back for him. I have to know, have to help …’ Because, if Wielders were here, there was only one group it could be. The thump of her heart kept her company as she ducked and wove between the charred trees.

  Red streaked the sky; some kind of signal. Perhaps there were others abroad in the forest tonight. A moment later, Brégenne realized that the sounds of fighting had stilled. The sudden silence alarmed her, spurred her faster. A familiar boulder loomed up, one they’d passed earlier. Voices came from the other side. A woman and the deeper, huskier tones of a man. They weren’t friends, she could tell that much.

  ‘Wait here,’ she hissed to Kul’Das. ‘Keep out of sight.’

  The other woman gave a sharp nod and Brégenne was glad she didn’t argue.

  Using the technique she’d been practising, she created a disc of light and stepped onto it, carefully controlling her ascent. When she reached the top of the boulder, she let the disc fade, dropped to her belly and crawled forward until she could observe the scene.

  Directly below lay the novice, Irilin, her shoulder bleeding freely. A man in a feathered mantle stood guard over her, weapons in hand. His stance proclaimed him a soldier. Hagdon, Brégenne assumed. Kyndra had told her about the general turned commander of the Republic. She looked to the left and her heart contracted.

  Nediah crouched, restrained by two women. She could just make out the shadow of a bruise rising on one cheek. Kait was down, moving feebly despite no visible injuries. A powerful feeling hit Brégenne, a chaotic mix of anger, relief, doubt – she couldn’t untangle it and she didn’t have time. All that mattered was the danger.

  The Deadwood fed on shadows; only a meagre torch lit the gloom and Brégenne noted that most of the women stood in front of it so as not to damage their night vision. She smiled, rose to a crouch. Drawing on the burning silver heart of the Lunar, she flung it into their midst, until the wood was as bright as day. Cries met her ears; nearly all the women fell back, save the hooded one. She looked unflinchingly into the light, straight at Brégenne.

  Slowly Brégenne rose to her feet. That open defiance fuelled her anger. ‘These are my people.’ Her voice rang clear between the trees. ‘And they are under my protection.’

  ‘Watch out, Takendo,’ the woman with the crossbow warned, but the hooded woman ignored her.

  ‘You came back,’ she said delightedly, without a trace of fear. ‘What have you done with your companions?’

  Brégenne didn’t answer. She was too busy sizing up the situation. There was only a single blunt device, she noted, held by the woman standing over Kait. She flicked her eyes to one side, picked out the crossbow’s blue glow; unless the women had any other tricks up their sleeves, those weapons were the only things Brégenne truly had to be wary of.

  She took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the crossbow. The woman fired it at the same moment that Brégenne struck her with a barrage of force. Knocked off-course, the bolt flew wide, taking another woman through the eye. In the shocked pause as she toppled backwards, Brégenne waved a hand and the frame of the crossbow glowed hot-white. The woman dropped it with a yelp, but it didn’t burn as Brégenne had hoped. The ambertrix seemed to protect it from Lunar flames.

  Common arrows flew at her. Shielding with one hand, Brégenne raised the other. Up here, she could feel wind on her cheeks, catching in the plait of her hair. She seized that breeze and bolstered it with Lunar power until a small tornado roared in her grasp. When she let go, it tore across the clearing, snatching up anything not tied down. Over the heads of those who’d thrown themselves protectively to the ground, she saw the crossbow whirl high into the air, enough to clear the stunted tops of the trees. So the ambertrix only protected it from pure Solar and Lunar, not from a natural force, and not from one strengthened by a Wielder.

  Good to know.

  Hagdon seized the distraction, taking the offensive, though he never strayed far from Irilin. Despite her wound, the young woman climbed to her feet. Teeth gritted, she drew another rune, slapped a palm to its middle and flung it into the face of a woman attempting to flank Hagdon. It exploded and the woman screamed, tearing at her skin as it smoked and blackened.

  Brégenne created another disc, dropped to earth and joined the fray, laying about her with the same silver darts she’d used on the wyverns back at Stjórna. They were much more effective against humans. She found herself grinning with the euphoria of power, the Lunar supple and compliant in her hands. She shot two darts at the women holding Nediah and they fell with joint cries. Brégenne couldn’t stay to meet his gaze. She was forced to leap aside as a blade came for her, raking the air with her darts as she went. Her attacker toppled backwards, silver piercing her neck.

  Then, without warning, Brégenne’s leg collapsed beneath her. Pain followed by numbness spread through her calf, climbed up to her thigh. Brégenne gritted her teeth, drew on the Lunar, but as long as the little blunt weapon touched her skin, it kept winking out. Cursing herself for overconfidence, she looked into the smiling face of the woman paralysing her.

  Metal parted the woman’s lips, freezing the smile, spraying Brégenne’s skin with blood. Disgusted, Brégenne dragged a sleeve over her cheeks, spat on the ground, and looked up in time to see Kait pull the blade free. ‘Bitch.’ The tall Wielder kicked the dead woman onto her front. She bent down, retrieved the stunning weapon from where it had fallen and tucked it through her own belt.

  The thought of Kait holding the device was far from reassuring. Brégenne looked at the other woman, but Kait ignored her, swept up a sword from the charred earth and launched herself into the melee.

  Their opponents were no novices to battle; the loss of their ambertrix weapons didn’t appear to slow them. Hagdon fought three women, two wielding swords, another with a morningstar, which she swung with perilous force. Kait was a deadly whirlwind, blade in one hand, paralysing device in the other. Grinning fiercely, she sent each opponent to their knees before finishing them with the sword.

  Ripples still ran up and down Brégenne’s leg, threatening to collapse it again. She turned to see Nediah pick up a weapon. He held it awkwardly, perhaps hoping to protect Irilin if she fell. Their eyes met for a breathless second and then a scream rent the air.

  Hagdon was staggering back, his arm hanging strangely. The woman with the morningstar hefted it again, preparing to swing. Feeling was returning to Brégenne’s body too slowly, the Lunar like smooth glass in her grasp.

  There came moveme
nt through the trees, accompanied by the heavy tread of armoured feet. At first, Brégenne thought they were more of the Deadwood women, but she blinked, looked closer, and a thrill of horror ran through her. She recognized the red plate from Kyndra’s description: Sartyans. There had to be thirty of them, enough to tip the balance firmly out of their favour.

  Takendo whipped around, raising a hand. Her expression cleared. ‘Lieutenant Mercia.’

  The dark-haired Sartyan came up to her, blade in hand and eyes narrowed as she assessed the scene. Her gaze alighted on the injured Hagdon, swept over Irilin and Nediah, Brégenne herself, and came back to rest on the hooded woman, who smiled and said, ‘Your timing is fortunate.’

  She kept on smiling even as Mercia calmly ran her through.

  Takendo blinked. She glanced down at the blade buried in her chest, then up at Mercia, her expression faintly surprised. The lieutenant pulled her sword free in a gush of blood and the woman’s knees folded. Mercia wiped her blade clean on Takendo’s cloak and turned to signal. Sartyans fanned out through the trees and cries of dismay met Brégenne’s ears, metal parting flesh … the sounds of a slaughter. The women of the Deadwood struck using surprise – hit-and-run tactics designed for a swift victory. Against trained soldiers, they stood little chance. Blood flowed and Brégenne looked away.

  Straight into Nediah’s eyes.

  He was nearly as pale as Irilin; killing always sickened him. The bruise on his cheek was swiftly purpling, but, otherwise, he seemed well. She tried to concentrate on those things, on her practical assessment of his health, but his face was so familiar. Despite the battle around her, she could not stop herself seeing, with fascinating detail, all the places where their bodies would fit together.

  He studied her with the same intensity, his gaze travelling over her, as if he, too, checked for injuries. Finding none, his eyes returned to her face. She saw him swallow. ‘Brégenne?’