The Starfall Knight (39 page)

“It’s better than what they’d give you,” Alessa said over her shoulder.  She picked through the thrashers, ignoring their groans and pleas.

“Alessa,” Vantanis called out.  “We must go.”

“A moment, father.”

She found him.  Pelio lay on his back, a feathered shaft protruding from his belly.  His breath was rapid and his eyes fluttered open as Alessa leaned over him.

“So, you’ve bested us.”

“It was never a competition,” Alessa said.  “Only survival.”

“If you say so.”  Pelio shifted.  In the darkness, all of the blood pouring from his wound appeared black.  “Hurts to breathe.”

“You’re not long for this world, Pelio.”  Although the Centarans would likely be able to save him from an arrow wound to the gut, Alessa didn’t feel obliged to extend the offer.  Pelio would die a slow death tonight.  “Where is Leonus?”

“Fuck you, Alessa.  Won’t betray Leo just ‘cause I’m dying.”

Alessa flicked the arrow and Pelio screamed.  “Where is he?  Is he in command?”

“He’s outside the city,” Pelio said.  “That’s all he told me.”

Vantanis rested a hand on Alessa’s shoulder.  “We have to go.”

“All right.”  Alessa drew her dagger and knelt into the blood flowing across the cobblestones.  She said to Pelio, “You were never quite like the others.  For that, I’ll grant you mercy.”

Pelio’s eyes widened but before he could respond, Alessa plunged the dagger into his heart.  The thrasher shuddered once and fell still.

Alessa cleaned her blade and sheathed it, rejoining the rest of the Centarans.

“Just like that?” Rika said.  “Don’t you feel anything?”

“I do.”  Alessa met Rika’s gaze.  “But it’s best you don’t know why I feel it.”

Devan slipped and caught himself on the slick stairs which were little more than chiselled rungs in the rock.  The rain coupled with night, making the ascent doubly treacherous as Benton eschewed even a shuttered lantern.  Devan resumed his climb, underpadding and clothes soaked to the skin.

The alleys between the buildings on the lower and middle tiers often looped back on one another but a select few crawled between the structures and the tiers themselves.  The narrow staircases accommodated only one person abreast and, Devan thought to himself, even that was a generous measurement.  He squeezed his armoured body around another bend and pulled his rifle upright as the stock scraped against a wall.

“Almost there.”  Benton’s voice drifted down, barely audible over the din of battle and the cries of the longwings.  Devan continued climbing and the gloom of the stairs brightened as they neared the opening to the upper tier.

Benton hauled Devan over the edge and into the gap between two granite walls.  He trotted to the road and gestured for Devan to follow.

Flashes of fire and azure lit the towers of the upper tier.  The Avenue ran red with blood, Sirinese lying in the gutters; in the affluent tier of Centara City, even war hadn’t stopped the routine of the pages illuminating the roads with lamps.  They passed dead Centarans, mostly soldiers and city guards although Devan spied dead merchants, guilders and novices.  Yet, they passed more living Centarans lining the streets, swords, staves and makeshift weapons in their hands.  With most buildings still full of andonite gas, even the wealthy citizens had taken up arms.

Devan and Benton reached Berengar’s Plaza, the wide square that held the Rose of Andon but was now largely deserted.  They sidled into the shadow of an empty jeweller’s store.

Tarius battled the longwings, hurling flame into the air even as he scurried from building to building, foiling the diving attacks of the creatures.  The rain sizzled against the elemental flashes.

Without a word, Devan unshouldered his rifle and took aim.  Benton followed suit and they fired upon Tarius, reloading as fast as they could haul on the rifle bolts.  Devan and Benton began crossing the plaza, pausing for each shot.

Bullets chipped stone and timber.  A shot distracted Tarius and a longwing raked its claws over his back.  Nails screeched against metal armour.  Tarius threw out a curtain of fire and the longwing squawked, a streak of black marring its belly.

Devan reloaded and fired again, his brother shooting just as fast.  They reached the Rose.  The sculpture, a vein of andonite that had been cleared of bedrock and dirt, cast its cerulean glow across the square.

“There!”  A familiar voice rang out.  “For Sirinis!”

Jarrell and a smattering of Centaran soldiers with Sirinese thrashers charged across the plaza, heading for Devan and Benton.  The soldiers wore the chainmail of the Centaran army and led with halberds raised.  The thrashers, mostly naked from the waist up, overtook them.  Their swords glinted in the bursts of orange and azure.

“Damn it.”  Benton swivelled around and fired upon the new targets.  Devan joined him as their bullets tore through the soldiers’ armour, the thrashers’ flesh.  Blood misted in the air, accentuated with cries of pain.

Still, Jarrell led the charge.  Benton hissed, “Too many.  Draw your sword.”

Devan grunted and strapped his rifle across his back.  He drew his sword and formed up next to Benton, with the Rose of Andon at their backs.

The first of the thrashers fell upon them.  Devan blocked an iron mace, the shock reverberating through his arms, then kicked away the assailant.  His tattoos glimmered in the light and Devan slashed a new pattern through the ink.

A pair of soldiers pushed forward with halberds and Devan parried, stepping back and forth, his blade dancing.  The soldiers kept their distance, hesitant.  Devan glimpsed a gap and darted forward.  He tugged on the halberd’s haft, pulling the soldier off-balance.  Devan planted his sword through the soldier’s unprotected neck and felt his blade grind against bone.  He kicked the Centaran away and whirled to meet the other, still well inside the polearm’s area of vulnerability.  The soldier dropped his weapon and drew a shortsword but Devan charged at him and hacked at an arm.  The Centaran howled.  Devan ended him with a thrust through the belly.

He moved back to Benton who was surrounded by corpses.  Devan felt nauseous with the knowledge that they’d turned weapons against Centarans but, Devan thought, Jarrell and his loyal soldiers had turned first.  The five remaining thrashers charged.

A longwing shrieked overhead.  Devan chanced an upward glance as he kicked in the knee of a bald Sirinese fighter.  The glowing azure longwings circled in the night sky, seemingly done with their attacks.  A burst of fire appeared from the edge of the plaza and the birds squawked but did not retaliate.

Jarrell bowled into Devan and the cobblestones slammed the breath out of him.  Devan scrabbled for his longsword but Jarrell straddled him, pulling him back.  A figure swept past and the weight lifted off Devan.  He grabbed his sword and rolled to his feet.  Benton and Jarrell brawled a short distance away, punches and elbows and knees given and received.

The soldiers and thrashers were dead or dying.  Tarius stalked across the plaza with licks of flames curling across his fingers.

Devan unshouldered his rifle and fired.  Even as he pulled the trigger, a wall of flame shrouded Tarius and the air pulsed in an invisible shockwave.  Devan reloaded, sure that his bullet had gone wide.

The bolt jammed.  Devan swore and slammed the mechanism back and forth.  No use – a casing was stuck in the breech.  Devan shouldered the rifle.

Tarius’ stride continued, unbroken.  Benton and Jarrell fought, now longsword against longsword.  While the older Marshal had the better training, Benton had the strength of youth and vengeance.  The Imperator’s hands lit up with fire.

Devan tore off his gauntlets and sprinted towards the Rose of Andon.  There was no earth or soil in the plaza but what did it matter if the sculpture were pure andonite?  Devan tucked his gauntlets into his belt and hurled himself at the looming mineral flower.

His skin tingled at the contact at first.  The andonite flared to life and Devan’s muscles and bones and blood pulsed with energy.  He felt every crack in the cobblestone, every line of mortar and concrete across the square.  If he so chose, Devan knew that he could seek out the true aerock underneath the tier and the city.  But there was only one thing he needed.  Andonite was a mineral.  It was earth, an element of Vaere.

Devan willed away splinters of the sculpture and shot them at Tarius.  The Imperator flung up a shield of fire and the andonite chips exploded.  Gas burst out and Tarius spluttered.  Devan broke away more slivers and hurled them out.

Tarius’ shield detonated the andonite and the plaza filled with the cerulean fog.  Devan coughed as his guts churned.  He stumbled away from the Rose of Andon.  An orange storm ignited at the edge of Devan’s vision.  Tarius jetted away.

Devan found Benton in the glow of the sculpture, Jarrell lying on the cobblestones.  In the cover of night, the Marshal seemed nothing more than a lost, middle-aged man.

“I took this,” Benton said, lifting an andonite necklace and wincing with the movement.  He wiped blood from his lips and nose, only smearing it across his face.

“The necklace of the Protector of Verovel.”  Devan examined it for a moment and handed it back to his brother.  “He doesn’t deserve it.”

“No.”  Benton stuffed the jewellery underneath his armour.  “The Protector is no more.”  He wavered and Devan propped him up.  “Tarius?”

“Gone.  We need to nail his feet to the ground.”

“Not gone,” Jarrell croaked.

“Is that so?”

The Marshal nodded.  “You’ll see.”

Benton produced a rope and bound Jarrell to a tree.  Devan pushed past the growing crowd of Centarans filling Berengar’s Plaza.  Amber flashed in the skies over the lower tier.

Chapter Sixteen

Alessa rattled the timber fence, satisfied that the lashings would hold.  She sneered at the Sirinese huddled behind and sought out Marshal Romaine.

The Centarans had been quick to build a prison-pen in the southern gate plaza, working with little more than scrap and debris under lamp-light.  With the rest of the lower tier citizens eager to help with guard duties, the Sirinese were surrounded.

Romaine and Vantanis conferred with a sergeant, sheltering from the rain next to the open gates, under the arch of the wall itself.  As Alessa approached, she straightened her leather jerkin and swept back her hair.

“Thank you for the news, Sergeant Lora,” Romaine said.

Lora nodded a quick salute.  “Oh, Marshal.  Any word of Captain Benton and the rest of my squad?”

“Benton and Devan were last seen at the university.  I believe Rangers Terson and Rika are on the battlements.  There may be others scattered from the initial invasion.  We’ve had other soldiers and rangers join us this afternoon and evening.”

“Thank you, Marshal.”  Lora turned and trotted up to the city wall’s battlements.

“The troops are every which way,” Vantanis said.

“I know,” Romaine said.  “There will be a grim accounting when this is done.  And to say nothing of the soldiers who stayed with Jarrell.”

“What of the Sirinese?” Alessa asked.

“Indeed, that was our topic just before you arrived, Alessa.”  Romaine shook her head.  “Would that I could throw them over the edge.”

“Execution?”

Vantanis said, “It is a time of war.”

“Reminds me of a certain trial on Masteney,” Alessa added.

Romaine pursed her lips at her own sentiments returned to her.  She said, “They are now prisoners, not combatants.  The men and women are –”

“Are all animals,” Alessa said.  “They’re all thrashers.”

“Perhaps so.  And the Sirinese children?”

Alessa shrugged.  Perhaps growing up on Centara could reverse the damage done on Sirinis.

“I’d not want to create a generation of Sirinese children whose parents were executed wholesale,” Romaine said.  “They’ll all have trials.  Or perhaps we’ll offer them Verovel or Masteney.

“Not the children,” Alessa said.  “They’ll have a chance at a normal life here, not with the Sirinese.”

“It’s not for me to say,” Romaine said.  “Sorry, Alessa.  You might be the best person to judge, but we have rules to follow.  We’ve received word that the Councillors and guildmasters reached Elade.  Once they return to the city, we’ll –”

Amber lit the sky and a plume of flame hurtled towards the ground.  The surrounding buildings shone with the glow of the fire.

“Take cover!” Romaine yelled.

The fireballs slammed into the crowd of Centarans.  Flesh sizzled and the scent of roasted meat reached Alessa as she huddled next to the gate.  Another jet of flame shot out of the sky and the wooden prison fence burst into splinters.  Burning timber shot throughout the plaza and the bodies of Centarans and Sirinese alike tumbled through the air.

Romaine sprinted out of the shelter and darted up the stairs to the battlements.  “Bows!  Bows!  Take him down!”

Alessa and Vantanis followed, taking the steps two at a time.  Above, a man soared through the air on jets of fire shooting from his palms.  Arrows flew from the rangers on the wall and Tarius dove and rolled between the shafts.

“Here!”  Romaine tossed over a quiver and two shortbows.

Alessa joined the ranks of rangers and nocked and loosed in unison.  Tarius’ own flames formed an unmistakeable silhouette in the black sky but Alessa lost sight of her arrows in the same gloom.

“Marshal!”  Vantanis pointed below.  With the wooden fence obliterated, the Sirinese were gathering into groups, realising their freedom.

“Moons above and below.”  Romaine trained her bow on the Sirinese.  A cobbler’s residence at the edge of the square burst into flames.  “Alessa, Vantanis – shoot as many as you can.  The rest of you, stay on the Imperator!”

Alessa moved to the inner edge of the walkway and fired upon the Sirinese.  Some of the men and women carried their children as they fled for the gates.  Alessa gritted her teeth and aimed for the adults or the thrashers with sworn tattoos.  A shaft took a younger man in the throat, dropping him like a stone.  Another struck a woman in the thigh and her blood pooled around her body as she crawled onwards.