They found Samandra in the cockpit, in the pilot’s seat, frantically hitting buttons. ‘What’s the damn ignition code?’ she cried.
Frey pushed Crake and Kyne off him, stumbled to the pilot’s seat and hauled her out of it. ‘Nobody flies the Ketty Jay but me,’ he snarled through bloody lips. Then he lowered himself into the seat, punched in the code and hit the controls to flood the aerium tanks. The Ketty Jay began lifting up on her struts, metal groaning and creaking. Frey disengaged the magnetic skids, and she floated free.
‘Hang on,’ he said, and he hit the thrusters.
Crake wasn’t hanging on. He tripped out through the door of the cockpit and sprawled full-length into the corridor. Samandra called after him, but Crake didn’t answer. Instead, he got to his feet and clambered up the ladder to the cupola. The Azryx device was going to blow at any moment. He didn’t want to be hit by something and never see it coming. He was compelled to look, as if by looking he could somehow avoid it.
At the top, he clambered into the gunner’s seat amid the acrid debris of empty rum bottles and the musty smell of Malvery. The violence outside was staggering, the detonations without end. The whole sky was exploding; tracer bullets stitched the air. As they pulled away from the Awakener convoy, he could see Samarlan frigates being ripped apart, their weak armour no match for the city’s guns. The Ketty Jay was battered, shaken this way and that.
He looked out in terror. How could anything survive this? How could they possibly live through it?
Because of the frigates. Because they’re shooting at the big craft. Not at us.
He clung to that thought.
A flash caught his eye. The Delirium Trigger was shrinking behind them, diminishing amidst the pandemonium, but as he looked he saw an arc of strange lightning flash across its surface. A jagged streak shot out and hit another frigate nearby, crawling along its surface. Crake flinched as the frigate exploded, tearing itself apart from nose to stern.
Now there was more lightning coming from the Delirium Trigger, questing fingers reaching out, crackling over its body and jumping to other craft, catching passing fighters and obliterating them. The Awakeners’ flagship began to pull away, its pilot having seen the danger. As its long, ungainly shape began to turn in the air, lightning jumped from the Delirium Trigger, striking it once, twice, and then with a sustained burst that crawled and writhed up its flank. Explosions ripped along the craft, unzipping it from stern to bow, and then it broke apart in the centre and went toppling earthward like two blazing halves of a snapped stick.
The Lord High Cryptographer was on that! Crake thought. Then he crushed himself down in his seat as the lightning became more frantic and the dark shape of the Delirium Trigger disappeared inside a sparkling, crawling cocoon.
Go faster, Cap’n! Faster!
A blue sphere of rolling lightning swelled out from the Delirium Trigger. It expanded fast, sending out arcs in all directions as it went, writhing tentacles of destruction. Anything on its edge was annihilated and then swallowed. Frigates, two dozen or more, disappeared in flame. The entire Awakener convoy was consumed, and then the Samarlan frigates that surrounded it. The ball of energy grew and grew until it filled Crake’s sight, reflected in his terrified eyes, and it seemed they could never outpace it, and it would engulf them as it had all the rest.
But then it slowed, and receded, diminishing as the Ketty Jay carried him away. Finally, there was only a hole in the grey sky where the Awakener convoy had been. Where the Delirium Trigger and the Azryx device and the Lord High Cryptographer had existed a moment before, now there was only air. The Awakener high command were less than dust, destroyed by their own weapon.
Crake let himself breathe out again.
‘What’d I miss?’ said a voice below him. Samandra was climbing up the ladder, hoping to squeeze herself up into the cupola, eager to see.
‘Oh,’ said Crake, still staring out at the end of the Awakeners. ‘Nothing much.’
‘They’re retreating!’
Malvery paused in his labours just long enough to glance at the sky. Hard to tell what was what up there, amid all the fire and ruin. But the Sammies were getting shredded, he could tell that much. Smoking shells of aircraft crashed down on the city below. Caught between the Manes and the anti-aircraft guns, they’d suffered atrocious losses. Nothing more than they deserved, in Malvery’s opinion.
‘The Manes!’ said the soldier, seeing that Malvery didn’t understand. ‘Look! They’re pulling back!’ He laughed. ‘They don’t like the taste of our guns any more than the Sammies do!’
‘Don’t worry about what’s up there,’ said Malvery. ‘We’ve got work to do down here. Give me a hand, now.’
Between them, they lifting the groaning man from the road and put him on to a makeshift stretcher made of bloodied Awakener cassocks tied between two rifles. Malvery scanned the road for any last signs of movement, but saw none. This was the third casualty they’d rescued from the killing ground in front of the anti-aircraft emplacement. The rest were beyond saving.
His eyes roamed over the scattered dead, their bodies chewed up in the jaws of the gatling gun. Beyond lay the wrecked frigate and the smouldering trench it had cut in its wake. Further on, he could see the Archduke’s palace high on the crag, smashed aircraft raining down like meteors around it, fiery explosions blooming in distant streets. Thesk, his city, made apocalyptic. He’d never believed it possible, never thought he’d see the day. Such loss, such waste.
And yet, as he hauled up the stretcher and they carried their burden away, he felt pride along with his sorrow. Pride for the Cap’n, for Silo, for himself and all the crew of the Ketty Jay. And pride for Ashua, who’d stood with them till the end, and scared him silly doing it. If she’d been killed, he’d never have forgiven himself.
But she hadn’t. And the Awakeners were wiped out, and the Sammies were defeated. Now the Manes had turned tail, heading back through the vortex to their icy cities beyond the Wrack. Neither Sammies nor Manes had been able to land troops. Only the Awakeners had men in the city, and they’d put up no further resistance.
The battle was won. Whatever the cost, the battle was won. A fierce heat grew in his breast at the thought, a furnace glow from within.
They’d won. Vardia had won.
The anti-aircraft gun was still booming as they carried the wounded man through the gate and laid him down in the courtyard with the others. The sound of it was deafening, but against the roar of war it was only one more noise among many. As the gate shut behind them, Malvery saw Silo up on the wall, bellowing orders, organising the defence of the perimeter. He was taking no chances. No one was recapturing that gun after the price they’d paid to get it.
‘Anything I can do?’ Ashua asked as she limped over, an Awakener rifle as her crutch. She was pale, but lively enough, considering. The bullet had gone right through her thigh. There wasn’t much Malvery could do but disinfect it and bind it up. With the right drugs, she’d be fine.
‘Just keep your weight off that leg,’ said Malvery.
‘Aye aye, Doc.’
He turned his attention to the wounded man and began cutting away the uniform with a blade so he could assess the damage. Eventually, when Ashua showed no sign of moving, he harrumphed.
‘You were brave out there,’ he said awkwardly.
‘You too,’ she replied.
He hummed and hawed as he looked in his bag for a new spool of catgut to make stitches. ‘I oughta apologise,’ he said. ‘The way I treated you.’
‘S’okay,’ said Ashua. ‘Bloody stupid thing I did. Still. .’ She looked up at the sky. ‘At least I’m the one responsible for the annihilation of the Sammies’ entire air force, eh? In fact, if they hadn’t turned up, the Awakeners would probably have overrun this city by now.’ She took on a thoughtful tone. ‘You might even say I’m. . well, a hero.’