“Don’t do that,” Lizanne said, patting the cat she held on the head. “See? I’m nice.”
The black cat, however, seemed unimpressed, its hiss becoming louder still as it lowered itself for a pounce. The cat in Lizanne’s arms let out a frightened growl and tore itself free, bounding off into the gloomy recesses of the study, swiftly pursued by its darker cousin. Soon came the sound of tumbled books and furniture as the cats raced around the room, letting out a chorus of shrieks and hisses as they did so. From the sound of raised voices from below, it was evident the commotion hadn’t been missed.
Lizanne snapped her gaze back to the map on the easel, trained eyes drinking in every detail in the space of a few seconds. Hearing keys rattling in the door’s lock she ran to the nearest window. The shutters were locked so she injected Black and tore them away before shattering the window itself. She leapt through just as the door to the study burst open. A pistol shot boomed behind her as she tumbled into space, followed by a stern rebuke in Varestian: “No firing, shit-brain! I need her alive!”
Lizanne landed amidst a cluster of rose-bushes in the mansion’s small garden. Tearing herself free and ignoring the sting of thorns, she refreshed her Green and ran for a stairwell carved into the surrounding crater wall. As she scaled the steps a man leapt down from above to land in front of her, swinging the butt of a carbine at her head, then finding himself tumbling through the air as she blasted him aside with Black. Below light flooded the crater as torches and lanterns sprang to life accompanied by a chorus of shouts and orders. Loudest amongst the babble of voices was one calling for “Morva! Get up here, you lazy bitch!”
Messy, Lizanne reproached herself as she neared the top of the stairwell. Next time just throttle any cats.
A five-strong squad of sentries charged at her when she got to the parapet, arms locked and grouped together in a tight bunch in the hope it might protect them. They were wrong. She swept their legs away with a wave of Black, sending them all sprawling face-first onto the parapet. Lizanne leapt the struggling quintet, landing atop the battlement and pausing to gauge the distance to the crashing waves below. It would be the highest dive she had ever attempted, but survivable with sufficient Green in her veins and Black to part the water as she came down.
Lizanne leapt, her form perfect, legs straight and toes pointed, arms outstretched then pulled forward and hands clasped together . . .
The air rushed out of her lungs as an invisible fist closed about her chest, holding her in mid air for a second before dragging her backwards. She managed to cushion the impact with Black, sending out a pulse just before she collided with the cobbled surface of the courtyard to the front of the mansion. She rolled as she landed, jerking to the side as a wave of heated air told of a near miss with Red. Lizanne whirled and dodged, gaze roaming the courtyard for her assailant, taking in the onlooking cordon of Varestians. They were all carrying weapons and many were in a state of undress, having just been roused from their beds. The Blood-blessed wasn’t hard to find, a tall slim figure standing apart from the others, female with a scarlet headscarf. She stood with her arms crossed and head tilted in a way that put Lizanne in mind of the cat that had just undone her mission. It didn’t improve her mood.
She sent a contained blast of her own Black straight at the woman’s face then followed it with one to the chest as she dodged aside, Lizanne experiencing the satisfaction of watching her opponent spun into an untidy pirouette by the force of the blow. The woman let out a frustrated yelp, bounding upright in an impressive display of agility and letting loose with a stream of Red. It was an undisciplined riposte, one Lizanne easily evaded with a Green-enhanced leap that brought her to a height of twenty feet, whereupon she pinned the woman to the cobbles with a stream of Black. Lizanne drew both her revolvers and landed astride the woman’s prostrate form, levelling one pistol at her forehead as she tracked the other across the surrounding Varestians.
They all raised their own weapons with a metallic rattle of drawn hammers and chambered rounds. They held a mix of carbines and pistols along with the occasional shotgun. Lizanne knew in an instant the chances of evading so many projectiles at once were non-existent, and given the confident anticipation on their faces, so did they.
“Kill her if you want,” said one of the Varestians, a bearded fellow of broad stature who stepped from the cordon with a long-barrelled pistol in hand. He cast a withering glance at the woman on the ground, who returned it with a resentful frown. “My niece has never really earned her salt,” he said, sliding the pistol into a shoulder holster. “So you would in fact be doing me a great favour.”
Lizanne cast a final glance around at the ring of armed men and women, then slowly raised both pistols above her head. “My name is Lizanne Lethridge . . .” she began.
“Miss Blood herself?” the bearded man cut in, eyebrows raised in apparent awe. However, the awe disappeared almost instantly and he began to voice a laugh that was soon shared by his compatriots, the sound of their humour echoing through the crater. “I did rather think it might be,” he added once the laughter had faded, inclining his head in a grudging gesture of respect. “Alzar Lokaras, Custodian of the High Wall. And before I hang your worthless corporate hide from said wall, I should very much like to know what you’re doing here.”
Lizanne replied with an affable nod, smiling to distract him before dropping the pistol in her right hand and pressing the fourth button on the Spider. Alzar Lokaras swore and lunged towards her as she collapsed, Blue flooding her veins and dragging her into the deepest trance.
CHAPTER 20
Clay
“Thank the Seer for that,” Skaggerhill groaned, slipping from the back of the female Cerath he had been riding. The animal immediately cantered away to cluster with its kin as the Harvester rubbed at the small of his back. “One more mile would have done for me, I reckon.”
“I believe we’re close enough to walk the rest of the way,” Lieutenant Sigoral said, looking up from his map. “Just over twelve miles due east should bring us to the lake’s western shore.”
Clay leaned forward then back to relieve his own aching muscles, casting his gaze over the darkening blue of the sky, broken by Nelphia’s pale crescent rising over the eastern horizon. “It’s late,” he said. “We’ll rest up. Same watch order as last night, lest anyone’s got any objections.”
Since taking on the primary burden of leadership he had also assumed the post-midnight watch, generally considered the least desirable, something his uncle had tended to do during their search for the White. He wasn’t sure if the absence of argument was due to an acceptance of his leadership or a desire for uninterrupted sleep.
“Would never light a fire out here before,” Braddon said later, tossing a few sticks into the small but healthy blaze in the centre of the camp. “Woulda drawn Spoiled by the dozen.” He paused to scan the surrounding plains, the grass whispering faintly beneath a starlit sky. “Now, there’s no fresh sign of their passing for miles around. Used to be six different tribes on the plains, that we knew of anyways.”
“All gone off to fight the White’s war,” Clay said. “Those that ain’t dead already.”
“Makes you wonder,” Skaggerhill said. “If they got any notion of what they’re fighting for. Or any say in the matter.”
“‘Those that serve the drake’s will surrender their own,’” Preacher said, causing the usual stir of surprise at breaking his customary silence.