There was still a great deal of Green in her system, meaning she was able to close the distance in a heart-beat. The knife concealed in her wrist sheath came free in a blur, gleaming as it slashed left then right. The two Spoiled fell in unison, blood leaking from the gaping wounds in their throats. Lizanne gave a short vertical jump, bringing both boots down hard on the heads of the fallen Spoiled, crushing their skulls and hopefully preventing any alarming thoughts spreading to their comrades.
She moved on swiftly, unwilling to wait for any possible reaction and knowing her time was fast running short. The White was still ahead of her, wings spread wide and head raised. A large swirling pack of Reds had begun to assemble in the sky above it and she realised it must be summoning them back, which boded well for the fate of the Blood-blessed and the pirates. The Tempest had orders to guard the pirates until they mounted the horses tethered at the southern end of the pass and galloped off towards the south. The Blood-blessed were to be picked up and carried away at speed thanks to the aerostat’s blood-burner. The Typhoon, on the other hand, had different orders.
The number of Spoiled increased as she drew nearer to the White, although they all seemed to be moving towards it, meaning she managed to avoid their line of sight. However, it was clear that a more stealthy approach was now needed. Slipping into a tent, she waited for a moment to ensure she hadn’t been noticed, then slit open the rear of it and moved to the next in line. It was a laborious but necessary business, eventually bringing her to the point where the line of tents ended. She cut a small slit in the tent wall and peered out at what lay beyond.
The White occupied a broad circular patch of empty ground, wings folded now as it prowled back and forth. Lizanne started in shock at the sight of a number of smaller infants scurrying about the White as it prowled. There are more? This was something no one had expected and the knowledge banished any doubts she might have about the need for this mission.
Standing at a short remove from the White were three figures. One was a Spoiled of youthful appearance wearing a Corvantine general’s uniform. Thanks to the Green Lizanne was able to focus on his face. His features were heavily modified by his deformity but somehow his profile retained an echo of the earnest youth she had met in Morsvale. Sirus, she realised with a note of dismay, deciding Tekela would never know of his presence here. Not that I’ll be in a position to tell her, she added, finding it strange that she was still capable of humour even now.
The second figure was also one she knew, although they had never actually met. Grand Marshal Morradin was even more imposing as a Spoiled. Lizanne thought that his brutish features were actually enhanced by the spines and the scales, considering it a more accurate reflection of the soul behind the face.
The third figure was odd in that she appeared at first glance to be entirely human. A slender golden-haired woman in a muslin dress with a shawl about her shoulders, she stood at the forefront of the trio, her gaze fixed on the prowling White. When she turned Lizanne was struck by another sense of recognition. She had definitely seen this woman somewhere but apparently her memory hadn’t ascribed enough significance to the experience to retain her name. Not human after all, she decided, noting the woman’s eyes. She seemed to be in silent communication with Sirus from the way her gaze concentrated on him to the exclusion of Morradin.
Unable to discern the content of their conversation Lizanne turned away, searching until she found what she was looking for. A cart was positioned not far from the White, a cart in which lay four crystals. It was hard to make out the hues in the mid morning sun but she was certain she had found her target.
Depressing the fourth button on the Spider, she slipped into the trance, finding Morva waiting once more. It was clear she was close to the limits of her Blue from the way the old sailing-ship pitched and yawed on a fractious, partially invisible sea.
“Are you alright?” Morva asked.
“We don’t have time,” Lizanne told her curtly. “Here.” She summoned one of her whirlwinds, quickly forming it into a reconstruction of the camp then added a glowing aura around the location of the cart. “The White’s close,” she said. “With any luck we’ll get it too. Launch immediately then light the blood-burner and return to the Mount.”
“What about you? Tinkerer said the blast radius . . .”
“I’m aware of the blast radius. Just get it done.”
She severed the connection and exited the trance before Morva could argue further. Blinking and returning her gaze to the rent she had sliced in the side of the tent, she realised in shock that the three of them—Sirus, Morradin and the familiar but as yet unnamed woman—were all looking directly at her.
Turning, she found the reason staring at her through the tent flap. The wounded Spoiled leaked blood from the ruin of his face, which appeared to have been partially crushed. Sadly, this didn’t appear to have affected his mental faculties. He glared at her in fierce animosity, a strangled growl escaping his mangled face as he crouched for a charge. Lizanne pressed a button on the Spider and broke his neck with a well-placed surge of Black.
She quickly returned her attention to the rent in the tent wall, finding her gaze momentarily snared by the slender woman’s red-black eyes as recognition finally dawned. Famed society beauty Catheline Dewsmine, she thought, recalling a news-sheet headline as the woman opened her mouth to scream.
“KILL HER!” She started towards Lizanne in a frantic charge, eyes alive with hatred, still screaming. “KILL THE BITCH!”
Lizanne had time to catch sight of the White whirling about with an inquisitive roar, before she tore her gaze away and fled the tent, fingers pressing hard on the Spider to flood her system with Red and Black.
Outside a Spoiled jabbed at her with a bayonet-tipped rifle, Lizanne side-stepping the blow, sending him flying with a hard shove of Black. She ran as rifles cracked all around, bullets snapping the air. Thanks to the Green she was able to leap over knots of Spoiled as they attempted to block her path, blasting others aside with Black when they came too close.
“Launch!” she begged in a fierce whisper, casting occasional glances at the sky as she dodged and fought. Of course the Typhoon was hovering at too great an altitude to be seen from the ground, but she did hope to catch the flare of the rocket’s engine as it streaked down.
The distraction nearly proved fatal. A burly Spoiled tackled her, strong arms encircling her waist and bearing her to the ground. Lizanne rolled with the impact and slashed her knife across the Spoiled’s eyes, wrestling free of his grip then unleashing Red to incinerate the upper torso of another levelling a rifle at her. Lizanne continued the stream of Red as she ran, setting light to every tent she passed in the hope the smoke and the flames would provide enough cover, and buy time.
Nearing the edge of camp, she began to entertain the previously unsuspected notion that she might actually survive this mission. It seems I wasted Madame Hakugen’s time, she thought, then came to a mid-air halt as an invisible rope caught her about the neck.
Black, she realised, legs kicking as she hung there. They have a Blood-blessed.