Ducking down from the wind he peered into the packs. ‘Last one!’ he called to Galene.
She nodded and adjusted the jesses. They swooped anew and Torvald was thrown backwards, scraping his lower back yet again against the sharp cantle behind. The flashing pale glow of the sorcerous dome rose up to meet them.
Directly over the top Galene shouted, ‘Now!’
Leaning even further over he let the last cusser go. He twisted in his saddle to follow its tumbling descent. It erupted in yet another empty blast against the opalescent curve of the dome. The pressure wave pushed the quorl sideways, slapping him and Galene over for an instant. She fought again to regain control.
‘What now?’ he called.
She turned back to regard him through her narrow visor. ‘Now? Now we land, Councillor!’
Torvald’s stomach twisted more sharply than it had all evening.
They swooped low over the estate district, weaving between lesser hills topped by noble family manors. The coruscating counterattacks of the mages blasted over them. Quorls fell over the city, either spinning tightly or limp like dead weights, to fall in bursts of light and erupting debris of broken brick and shattered wood. He caught glimpses of pockets of fire raging through the city. Thank all the gods the gas seemed to have been cut.
‘You have a quick-release,’ Galene shouted. ‘Pull it and jump when we land.’
‘Yes,’ he answered, though he had no idea what he would do after that. Re-join the Council was what Galene had suggested.
She began her run, angling for Majesty Hill, jerking the quorl from side to side, rolling and swooping. Torvald gripped the sunken handles with hands almost numb. The ribbed thorax of the insectile beast was hot beneath him; the poor thing was probably worn out and couldn’t have carried them much further anyway.
Galene had started to climb when an invisible fist struck them. The air exploded from him in a wet grunt. Galene’s helmed head struck him in the chest. For an instant his vision went black. When he could see again they were spinning sickeningly. Galene yanked the jesses but the quorl responded only fitfully, wings hardly fluttering.
‘Hang on!’ she yelled.
The side of the hill came up suddenly and they struck it a glancing blow, then slid backwards down the slope. They came to rest in a grassy parkland between the hill and the city wall.
Torvald pulled his quick-release and fell from the saddle. ‘Let’s go!’
Galene remained slumped in the saddle. He reached round to pull her release then dragged her down to lie in the tall grass.
‘Galene!’
She moved her arms listlessly. When they had been struck she had obviously taken the brunt and thereby protected him from most of it. Her poor mount was clearly dying.
The bursts and pressure waves thumping his chest lessened. He peered up to see more and more of the circling quorls now swooping down. They alighted for only the briefest pause while both riders jumped from them, and then took off again to flit away far more nimbly than they had come.
They promised a full assault. The munitions failed; now comes the old-fashioned push.
Heaving Galene up by an arm, he headed to a set of rickety stairs that climbed the slope. A sort of servants’ access.
*
Jan stood with Iralt, Fifteenth, near the main front entrance of Majesty Hall, watching the circling Moranth. Personally, Jan marvelled at the accomplishments of these people: their alchemical researches, their taming, breeding and training of their insectile mounts. An extraordinary race. A pity their ambitions and those of Darujhistan clashed. But then, is that not always the way between any two ascendant peoples?
He could not help but flinch as closer blasts sent invisible shock waves punching his chest. Now he knew something of what Gall had endured. A completely one-sided slaughter. Shameful, some of his brothers and sisters called it. But he did not share that view. Why submit to an opponent’s strengths? If at all possible one must work to avoid them.
As they did now, waiting beneath the protection of the Legate’s sorcery. Too bad such protection could not be removed.
The bursts lessened. The riders appeared to have exhausted their munitions.
Failure, Iralt signed. We have won.
No, Jan signed. They will come at us soon.
An assault? Iralt gestured her surprise. Surely not. They know us — they would not be so foolish.
Do not dismiss the enemy, Jan chided. They are brave. Remember: a challenging opponent is a blessing to one’s skill.
Iralt bowed her head. Thank you, Second.
Go now. Warn for readiness.
Iralt ran from his side. Jan raised his mask to the circling riders, the explosions few and far between now. So, they will land and we will win this engagement. But the war? He looked to the great unprotected spread of the city below and the fires glowing in nearby precincts. As to the war, he knew it was already lost.
Above, a massed flight of the quorl mounts came diving in upon them.
Ah. Now it is our turn.
*
‘What’s that?’ Yusek asked as something caught her eye from the north: a flickering and winking of lights. Like nothing she’d ever seen before. The Seventh halted, suddenly immobile. Everyone else stopped as well. Then she heard it: a thunderous murmur as of a storm far away.
They were passing through another town beyond the walls and people were leaning out of upper-storey windows, peering at the night sky.
‘A summer storm over the lake?’ she wondered aloud.
‘No,’ the Seventh grated. ‘Another kind of storm. We’ll head on to Worrytown.’
Yusek was outraged. ‘What? Aren’t we going in?’
‘Eventually.’ He headed off, striking a quicker pace.
Sall and Lo, she saw, shared a long look but followed without dispute.
She fell in next to Sall, whispered, ‘What’s going on?’
He answered, just as quietly, ‘I believe it is fighting.’
‘Fighting? Who?’
‘I — should not say yet.’
Oh, this is just great! I finally get to Darujhistan only there’s some kinda damned war on? Just my Twins-cursed luck! I mean, why does everything have to happen to me?
*
Spindle paused in his frantic digging. Straightening, he peered up over the lip of his and Fisher’s uneven pit. He glanced to the night sky, squinting. Yeah — looks like they’ve thrown the lot. Question is, what’s next?
‘What is it?’ Fisher whispered.
‘Winding down. Gotta hurry.’
He returned to thrusting his shovel into the dirt. Good thing they’d dug here already; the backfill was nice and loose. Moments later a distant staccato popping snapped Spindle’s head up again. Sharpers?
He peered round, keeping his eyes just over the dirt surface. He saw some way off in the grounds a flight of quorls come diving in to land and Moranth throw themselves from the saddles, unslinging heavy shields and forming small squares. In ones and twos Seguleh ran to engage with them.
Spindle flinched as salvos of tossed sharpers lacerated the charging Seguleh; but those that made it through wrought havoc among the squares.
Shit! This is not good. Not good at all. Things are gettin’ too crowded by far.
He returned to his digging.
‘What are you doing?’ a girl’s voice called down to them.
The hair on Spindle’s neck and all across his shirt stirred and straightened at that voice. Oh, Togg take it! He rose, taking hold of one of the bottles as he did so and holding it behind his back. Fisher moved to help conceal the motion. He found himself staring at a damned dancing girl; one who’d been in a fight, it seemed, as her wispy clothes were slashed down the front and speckled with blood. She arched a brow at him and her come-to-me lips lifted into an amused smirk.