Silently his blade slid across the pilot’s throat and River pushed him aside to gurgle his last onto the deck. Grabbing the wheel firmly he spun it hard, directing the ship straight into the artillery boat it had come to supply.
Men shouted in panic as the ship veered sharply, but in the dark no one could see what had happened to the pilot at his wheel. A barrel rolled across the deck as the ship listed violently in the water. More shouting pealed out in the night as the crew of the artillery vessel realised they were about to be rammed.
‘What’s going on?’ shouted a voice close by, and River saw it was the first mate he had spoken to so recently. A blade slipped between the man’s ribs and River grasped him as he fell, lowering his body to the deck as he gasped blood into punctured lungs. Looking up he saw the prow of the ship had almost met its target, moving closer in what would be the most brutal of kisses.
‘Brace yourselves!’ someone yelled in the dark, but River ignored him, moving towards the prow.
The ship lurched as it smashed into the artillery vessel. Men cried out as they were thrown across the deck. River moved fast, feeling himself propelled forward, but his footsteps were sure as he broke into a run. Aboard the artillery ship men began shouting in panic as the braziers they had stoked so high spilled hot coals at their feet and the trebuchet on deck lurched violently, though it did not spill its already burning missile.
River leapt from the crumpled prow and onto the artillery ship’s deck. A mariner glared at him as he landed and made to speak, but River silenced him with a deft cut to the throat.
As River surveyed the scene of panic and confusion, the artillery ship slewed in the water, turning on its axis to face along the row of other ships which had been bombarding the city these past days. He darted to the trebuchet and sliced the rope securing the twenty-foot throwing-arm to its frame. The counterweight swung down with a creak of wood, sending its flaming load soaring along the row of ships. River barely noticed as the missile smashed into one of the artillery vessels further down the row, exploding in a shower of burning debris.
Fiery embers still glowed on the deck of the ship and River raced to an open barrel of pitch, kicking it over and spilling it onto the waiting coals. Flames took immediately, spreading across the deck in a pool of molten fire, and he heard men crying out in panic all around him.
‘What are you doing, you fu-?’ River spun and silenced his would-be assailant with two swift slashes of his blades.
By now the two ships were in disarray, locked together and burning in the night as men rushed around in panic. River went unseen as he made his way to the gunwale, sheathed his weapons and dived into the black waters.
The cold engulfed him, but River fought against the shock of it as it threatened to freeze his extremities. He swam further into the dark, every powerful stroke pulling him towards the city. As the ships burned behind him all he focused on was the distant shore, moving through the water like a fish against the current. By the time he reached the quayside that ran in a great arc around the bay, the conflagration on the far-off ships had risen into a pyre.
River pulled himself from the water and breathed deep. The swim had been hard, he was already shivering and could barely feel the tips of his fingers. As he glanced up to the burned walls of Steelhaven, he knew the climb would be harder. Steam drifted from the charred walls — the result of days of bombardment. At least now, as the artillery ships recovered from the damage he had inflicted, their attack would abate … for a while.
Still feeling the cold numbing his limbs, River found a handhold in the blackened wall of the city and began his climb.
TEN
The sun had gone down leaving a blank, starless sky, but there was so much light from both within and without the city that Waylian could see almost clear as day. On the flat plain the Khurtas waited, torches burning bright as they bayed to the hidden moon in their grim foreign tongue.
Waylian had to admit, it scared the shit out of him.
The scores of magisters that surrounded him did nothing to ease his rising panic. They were the most powerful magickers in all the Free States, gathered in one place to do battle, but Waylian could not see how they would ever defeat the overwhelming number of savages waiting to swarm over the curtain wall.
The Wyvern Guard had gone out to greet them. Waylian didn’t really know what he’d been expecting — for them all to get slaughtered, more than likely. They’d trotted forward in a row, defiantly facing the thousands, just sitting there until the Lord Marshal had given his order to attack. Only two riders galloped forward to face the horde, though, and they’d both come back alive and with a standard of the Free States as their prize. It looked impressive enough, and had shown the Khurtas weren’t the indomitable force everyone thought.
Yet Waylian knew they were still the deadliest of killers, intent on bringing this city to its knees. No number of captured flags would ever settle the fear in his guts.
‘Hold your nerve, boy.’
He didn’t need to look to know it was Gelredida, standing beside him. As much as he wanted to heed her words, holding his nerve was easier said than done. Even with his redoubtable mistress by his side, Waylian felt like a rabbit in its hutch waiting for the foxes to arrive. Easy for her to say hold your nerve; she was a master of the Art, feared and respected and deadly as a viper. He was Waylian Grimm; a nobody, a neophyte, and he was just as likely to manifest shit from his arse as magick from his fingertips. Mind you, Marshal Ferenz would probably have disagreed about that. Not that Waylian had any idea how he’d managed to crush a man’s head with a word. Hopefully he’d work it out, and soon.
‘Stay behind me,’ Gelredida said. ‘And try not to get in the way.’
No need to worry about that! When the Khurtas came flocking over the wall the last thing Waylian Grimm would do was throw himself into the fray.
The Khurtas were beginning to get restless now, winding themselves up into a frenzy. Their siege engines were being rolled implacably towards the city walls and soon enough they’d be in range. In response, Waylian could sense the unease all around him.
Drennan spoke constantly to the apprentices in his charge, his voice a low grumble, but Waylian could tell his words were more of encouragement than rebuke. The youngsters in his care seemed focused; under the tutelage of the Archmaster they looked strong, mature and more than ready to face the advancing enemy. Waylian could only envy them for that. Though Gelredida had stopped treating him like shit on her shoe, he knew she still considered him beneath her — he still felt like a child in her presence and could only dream of sharing the autonomy the rest of these apprentices had been granted. Perhaps there was more to it, though; maybe it was her way of protecting him. Maybe she did have a beating heart beneath that frosty exterior. Or maybe she just had her own motives for keeping him on such a tight leash.
Further along the wall stood Crannock Marghil with his coterie of venerable magisters. They squabbled and clucked like a shed full of broody hens, some panicked at the rising disquiet amongst the Khurtas, others raising their own ire, as though they would need it to tap the Veil and unleash all the hells on the enemy when it finally attacked. For his part, old Crannock stood silently in their midst, an island of calm amongst the sea of thunderous old magickers.