That must burn tonight, he told Forest Spear and the other Spoiled. Everything else is secondary.
The Spoiled slipped from the backs of the Reds as they neared the wharf, Sirus tumbling from Katarias’s back into the chill embrace of the Sound. It was a three-hundred-yard swim to the docks, an easy feat for a Spoiled. The hour corresponded with the turn of the two-moon tide so the current was friendly, allowing a swift approach. He kept beneath the surface for most of the journey, pausing occasionally to rise and poke his nose out of the water and draw in some air before slipping below, leaving barely a ripple on the surface. A number of ships were moored at the wharf, freighters waiting to take the munitions manufactured here to the army in the north. Sirus and the other Spoiled dived down and swam beneath the hulls, rising on the other side to conceal themselves in the matrix of girders beneath the wharf. With the tide high it was a short climb, Sirus dividing the Spoiled into two groups and leading one to the eastern side of the docks whilst the other went west.
Sirus scaled the girders to the edge of the platform, slowly hauling himself up to peer at what lay above and finding himself instantly greeted by a pair of guards. They were frozen in the act of sharing a match, cigarillos dangling from their mouths as they gaped at him. Sirus swung his body and vaulted over the edge, knife coming free of the sheath on his belt as he rolled towards the guards. One managed a half-shout before the blade slashed across his throat whilst the other continued to gape in shock even as Sirus stabbed him under the chin, driving the knife up into his brain.
He moved on without pause, the Spoiled following close behind. There were many crates stacked up around the docks, providing valuable cover as they slipped from one shadow to another. Upon clearing the docks pairs of Spoiled peeled off, moving swiftly to the gun-positions they had been ordered to silence. Sirus and Forest Spear, in company with four others, made for the manufactory.
As expected, there were no people in the streets, the converted pilot having informed them of the strict curfew observed at the Mount. Those not working a shift were to be afforded an uninterrupted sleep, though Sirus wondered how that was possible with the noise produced by the manufactory. A continual clatter of metal on metal rose in volume as they approached, still keeping to the shadows and avoiding the notice of the cordon of guards surrounding the works.
They paused as Sirus checked the progress of the Spoiled he had sent against the gun emplacements. Four positions had already been silenced, the gunners cut down with knife and war-club before they could raise the alarm. Another seven were wiped out in the space of a few minutes but then one of the gunners, a young woman with impressive reflexes, managed to draw her revolver in time to shoot down the two attacking Spoiled. Within seconds the piercing shriek of a siren cut through the noise of the manufactory and lights began to flare in the windows of the houses.
Sirus sent a mental command to Katarias, calling the Reds down from their circling vigil several hundred feet above. He had known the chances of achieving complete surprise were slim, but the damage already done to the Mount’s defences ensured at least half the Reds would make it through the barrage.
Tracer bullets were already arcing into the air when he led the Spoiled from cover, drawing his revolver and making straight for the cordon in front of the manufactory’s huge open doors. The Spoiled spread out on either side as he ran, firing their revolvers on the run and cutting down ten guards. Their comrades responded swiftly with rifle and carbines, Sirus and the other Spoiled throwing themselves flat as the bullets snapped the air around them. He took the time to reload his revolver, glancing up at the familiar hiss and roar of drake fire.
Katarias swooped down out of the night sky to blast the remaining cordon of guards with his flames. He landed directly in front of the manufactory doors, two more drakes coming to earth on either side. As one they turned and charged into the manufactory, the noise of labour soon becoming drowned by the cacophony of many people screaming in terror.
Sirus got to his feet and led the Spoiled on, leaping to the side to avoid the falling corpse of a Red that landed in his path, its hide pierced all over by cannon fire. Inside the manufactory everything was chaos, charred or mutilated corpses littered the rows of work-benches and burning people ran in all directions. Katarias and his two fellow drakes were halfway along the cavernous space, belching repeated gouts of flame at the mass of people fleeing to the rear of the building. Those running for the side exits were cut down by tail strikes or bullets from the Spoiled as Sirus led them forward in a skirmish-line.
He levelled his revolver at a fleeing man, putting a bullet through his head from thirty paces, then instinctively jerked away as the chest of the Spoiled to his right exploded. Sirus took cover beneath a work-bench, seeing another Spoiled fall, the impact of the shot that killed him powerful enough to remove his head from his shoulders. The other Spoiled raised their pistols to a higher angle and returned fire, Sirus slipping from cover to track their aim to a walkway above. A man was crouched behind some steel plating, sparks flying as the Spoiled’s bullets struck home. Sirus could make out the shiny crown of the man’s bald head and the barrel of the carbine he held, jerking as he reloaded. Raising his revolver, Sirus centred the sights on the man’s head, then stopped as a small round object was tossed over the steel plating, trailing smoke as it arced down to land a few feet away.
Sirus leapt with all the strength his remade limbs allowed; even so, the grenade came close to killing him. Shrapnel buzzed the air as the blast sent him careening into a girder, Sirus feeling the snap of breaking ribs as his chest connected with the iron pillar. He lay stunned at the foot of the girder, pain flaring in his chest with every breath. The snick of a carbine lever drew his gaze upwards, finding the man with the carbine staring down at him from the walkway. He was a stocky fellow in soot-covered overalls, and Sirus felt a faint pulse of amusement as he scanned the man’s broad features, recognising him as one of the duo that had flown away from Feros with Tekela.
“Hello,” he said, though the words were probably meaningless, garbled by the blood leaking from his mouth. “A friend of Tekela’s, are you not?”
Whether the man heard or even understood him, Sirus couldn’t know. In either case being greeted by a Spoiled didn’t seem to stir any merciful impulse. The man swiftly brought the carbine to his shoulder, eyes dark and purposeful behind the sights as he trained them on Sirus.
Forest Spear’s knife came spinning out of the grenade smoke, sinking into the bald man’s neck up to the hilt. The carbine swung wide as his finger gave a final convulsive twitch on the trigger, the bullet missing Sirus by a few inches, though the explosion of sparks as it impacted the girder sent flakes of molten steel into his face.
He felt Forest Spear pulling him upright and wiped the blood from his eyes, glancing around to see the other Spoiled lying dead. The interior of the manufactory was now so filled with smoke and heat it was hard even for his unnatural gaze to discern the scale of the destruction. However, a bright blaze was burning at the rear of the building, the roar of the flames punctuated by exploding munitions. Sirus was able to make out the slumped forms of two drakes, meaning they had encountered some fierce resistance during their rampage. A sudden drop in temperature made the view clearer, Sirus catching sight of a Red tearing a large rent in the manufactory’s roof. He was able to recognise Katarias as the huge drake clawed his way out.