To Hilemore it seemed as if they must have killed every drake sent against them, the mass of dead and dying Blues bobbing on the surface was so thick he could probably have walked across it. Then he saw the snouts of more Blues pushing their way up through the carnage and knew they weren’t yet done. He prepared to call out an order for Steelfine to ready the cannon, but stopped at the sight of Clay urgently waving his arms above his head. The reason became clear a heart-beat later when Lutharon swooped out of the sky in company with a half dozen Blacks. Together they plunged their talons into the gory sea, dragging an uninjured Blue clear of the water. Its screams and flames of protest were cut short as the Blacks bore it high and tore it to pieces, the remnants cascading over the Superior in a grisly red rain that had the crew running for cover lest the blood find their skin.
More Blacks followed, diving down in groups to snare a Blue and carry it off to be slaughtered. The screeching and rending spectacle continued for nigh on a half-hour, by which time any triumph Hilemore might have felt had faded into a guilty recognition of the cost incurred by the night’s events. Several ships were still burning and he saw another had capsized, the sea boiling around her flanks as it slowly claimed her. He couldn’t hear the screams of those trapped within her hull, but they still sang in his head, loud and clear.
CHAPTER 41
Lizanne
She had no memory of the flight from the Grand Cut, nor any recollection of the two days that followed. Her exhaustion was so complete that her slumber remained free of dreams, something for which she would always be grateful. On waking to find herself in Tinkerer’s former clinic room, body aching in numerous places, she was confronted with a sight that forced her to conclude she was dreaming after all.
“So,” Arberus said, rising from a chair at the side of her bed. He regarded her with an expression full of concern but also not lacking in judgement. “Still addicted to risk, I see.”
“Go away,” Lizanne groaned, pushing her head deeper into her pillow. “I’ve no tolerance for dreams just now.”
“Lizanne,” he said, tone hardening a little. She looked at him again, blinking in surprise at the fact that he was still there. He wore the same cavalry officer’s uniform he had worn throughout the revolution, though it now lacked any regimental badges or insignia of rank. His face was as blockishly handsome as ever, though he had picked up another scar. It looked to her like a sabre-cut, tracing along the line of his neck to his collar.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re really here.”
“Yes. I really am.”
She tried to push herself into a sitting position but her arms seemed to have been sapped of strength and he had to help her, easing her onto the pillow he propped behind her back. He began to smooth the hair back from her forehead but she stopped him, catching his hand and gently but firmly pushing it away. That time was past.
He gave a tight smile before dragging his chair closer and sitting down. “You’ve been busy, from what I hear.”
“As have you, from what I hear. I take it your presence means you left the Electress in charge?”
“She finally took Merivus, showing a surprising capacity for mercy when they sued for peace. Only allowed herself one execution, some cousin of the Emperor’s who wasn’t particularly popular anyway. After that the other cities in the northern Empire fell into line. There’s some localised resistance here and there but the war is effectively over and the Corvantine Republic now a reality.”
“Don’t expect it to be there when you get back.” Her voice rasped over the last word and she gave a cough, finding her throat dry. Arberus poured her a cup of water, which she drank in a few gulps. “You’ll be bowing to Empress Atalina I before long.”
“I won’t be bowing to anyone,” he said. “Though I must say the pressures of leadership seem to have mellowed her somewhat, and she has agreed to organise elections.”
“If there’s more than one candidate, I’ll be very surprised.”
“There will be. But I believe we have more pressing concerns at present.”
“We do. I trust you brought some troops with you.”
“I did. And some old friends. One of whom brought you a present.”
Arshav’s milk-white eyes stared up at her from the confines of the sack. His head had been severed with a single blow which had frozen his features in an expression somewhere between surprise and disdain. His end had come some days before and the flesh was stiffened into something that resembled dried paper.
“Wanted to make a deal,” Varkash said in his deep nasal voice. The wharf was covered in a light drizzle this morning and a beading of moisture clung to his pyrite nose. “An alliance between the new Corvantine Republic and the Varestian League. Made the mistake of naming you his enemy. Didn’t realise the esteem Miss Blood enjoys amongst those who fought the revolution. When the Electress told him to get fucked him and his mother turned to me. When I told him to get fucked he got angry, challenged me.” Varkash shrugged his broad shoulders. He still wore much the same garb as he had in Scorazin, though the waistcoat he wore was fashioned from fine material and expertly tailored to fit his muscular frame. “Over-confidence is death in a duel.”
“His mother?” Lizanne asked.
“She went mad. The Electress seized her ships, gave them to me. I set the mean old bitch adrift in a row-boat.”
“Lockbar hadn’t lied after all,” Lizanne murmured. It had taken most of the day, and some Green, to recover enough strength to come here and receive Varkash’s present, so the kick she delivered to Arshav’s head was weak by her usual standards. Nevertheless it possessed enough force to propel the object over the edge of the wharf and into the waters below.
“Thank you for coming,” she told Varkash, glancing beyond him to the ships moored in the Sound. There were twenty in all, armed merchantmen and the rest all former Imperial Navy frigates and sloops. Apparently, this was all that remained of the Corvantine fleet. They carried a force of ten thousand volunteers, many of them expatriate Varestians come home to fight for the heartland. “We have much for you to do.”
Kinda dark in here, Clay observed, eyeing her whirlwinds, which, she realised, had taken on a much gloomier hue lately.
You have a report? she enquired. The fatigue that still plagued her in the real world had seen fit to follow her here. This was their second trance in three days and it transpired he hadn’t brought good news.
Four ships sunk, he told her after describing the Blue attack the night before. Another five too badly damaged to attempt the crossing. We also lost a lot of sailors.
Hardly a mighty armada, she replied. But it’s something. Her whirlwinds coiled in response to her frustration. It seemed their enemy had a worrying ability to anticipate their moves, which didn’t bode well for the next phase of the campaign. Morradin, she thought, forming a vortex into an image of the marshal alongside a slim figure in a general’s uniform. And Sirus. They both stand high in the White’s counsel, along with the Dewsmine woman. I assume most of its tactical acumen comes from them.
They might be dead, Clay pointed out. Was an awful big firework you hit them with.