Chapter 92
92
K ANTHE WOKE INTO a blinding brightness. He sputtered from the splash of frigid water. Acid again burned under his nose. He coughed and thrashed his head, struggling for the comforting oblivion of darkness.
Loud booms , one after the other, shook through him.
“Get him up,” a harsh voice demanded. “He’s slept long enough.”
Another dunk of cold water shook him the rest of the way. He sat on the planks of a ship—the Hyperium. He blinked his memory and vision back into focus. A growing pain sharpened his awareness, but he could not shake the fogginess in his head. His tongue felt thick and slow.
“How much poppy’s milk did you give him?”
“You wanted him up enough to move, Lord Prince. I did apply a numbing balm, so as not to have to use a heavier draught. His head and senses should clear soon.”
“It had better. We have only a short reprieve before we attack Kysalimri.”
Kanthe blinked his brother into focus.
I thought I’d dreamed this.
He gazed past Mikaen’s shoulder. The skies were heavy with smoke. Fires hung in the air like lanterns, marking the flaming wreckage of warcraft of every size. One fell past his view, trailing flames, going slow, as if to reveal the fiery destruction in all its glory. He saw the Klashean flag draped behind it as it sank out of view.
Am I still dreaming?
The booming grew louder with his awareness, thudding his chest. Cannon fire. And close. He turned his eyes and spotted the distant sprawl of the Eternal City of Kysalimri, climbing out of the Bay of the Blessed. A defensive cordon of Klashean ships still plied the skies over there, forges blazing through the haze, as thick as a swarm of fireflits.
Closer at hand, two Hálendiian warships floated, one farther out than the other, looking like grim twins.
Kanthe’s twin leaned closer to his face. “Get up,” Mikaen ordered, giving his cheek a stinging slap. “You’re awake enough.”
Hands hauled him to his feet. Someone grabbed him by his left arm, flaring a lance of pain. He shifted away and stared down at the offending arm—only it wasn’t there.
Or at least, half wasn’t.
He backed again, not from pain, but from the impossibility. It felt as if his limb were still intact. It ached like it was there. The shock woke him the rest of the way. Memory tumbled together, first in disorder, then into some semblance of sense.
The abduction, the fight, the brutal conclusion…
His stump had been seared just below the elbow. It was swollen and blackened, bruised to his shoulder. Blood seeped in slow drops.
He took another step back—into the hulk of Captain Thoryn. The Vyrllian knight took hold of his good arm, squeezing hard.
He leaned to Kanthe’s ear and whispered with an exhausted sadness, “Brave face, Lord Prince. It will be over soon. You will not wake when he takes your other arm. This I swear. Too much milk of the poppy and you will find your peace.”
Thoryn pushed a long-hafted ax into Kanthe’s numb fingers and guided him forward to stand again within a circle of crimson-faced guardsmen. Thoryn gave a final squeeze, cementing that promise of release.
Across the way, Mikaen pushed through his guards. He hefted a matching ax and lifted it higher. “Fitting that our second sparring should be with such a weapon. One that stole my face due to a cowardly act. Let us see how a fair fight ends.”
Dazed and addled, his missing arm throbbing, Kanthe mocked such a word. “ Fair? This? Who is the coward now?”
Mikaen motioned with his ax to the bay. “We strike for Kysalimri with the next bell. I want to watch our Hammer fall and crush the city. To watch it burn like our Shield Islands. And we’ll follow that with the drop of two Cauldrons to further pound them flat.”
Kanthe stared past the wall of crimson and silver surrounding him. In the distance, the white-marble towers of Kysalimri shone brightly through the smoke, clear enough to spot a darker pall shading the tallest spires, those of the imperial palace.
He frowned, picturing Aalia and Rami.
Did some Hálendiian ship break through the blockade earlier?
He also noted Mikaen had mentioned only two Cauldrons. Kanthe knew from reports that the king’s forces had left with three. The Klashean Wing must have destroyed one of them. Still, these other two warships had cleared Tithyn Woods to reach the Bay of the Blessed, opening the way for the Hyperium.
Before his abduction, Aalia had felt confident about the Klashe’s chances to keep the battle to the woods. Kanthe stared at the curl of smoke from the palace towers, at the ships over the Bay of the Blessed.
Something has gone wrong—but what?
Mikaen pointed his ax at Kanthe. “Next time we wake you, you’ll be able to see the devastation we’ve wrought and know the cost of treason.” Mikaen lowered his brow. “Then we’ll play again.”
To the side, Thoryn loomed, his face grave and grim.
Kanthe lifted his ax, but it slipped from his grip and clattered to the deck.
Mikaen laughed, as if this were the finest of jests.
No one else did.
Another of the crimson-faced Vyrllian knights stepped out of line and recovered the ax. The man leaned close, hopefully to offer another path to a quick death. It was good to have options.
“You look recovered enough to me,” the stranger growled.
Kanthe frowned.
“So be ready to run.”
As Kanthe stared in confusion, the man’s face melted into a new countenance. Still painted red, but familiar.
Tykhan…
The Sleeper of Malgard rushed with astounding speed. One hand sharpened into claws and ripped out a throat. The other hand’s fingers melded into a long dagger, which was jammed into an eye. Tykhan danced across the ring of guards, delivering death quicker than an eye could follow.
Kanthe stumbled away from the carnage.
Another knight stabbed at Tykhan only to have his blade slide off metal. Bronze fingers caught the steel, snapped it in half, and stabbed the end through the shocked, open mouth of his attacker.
Still, bronze had limits.
Someone lobbed a hand-bomb that exploded at Tykhan’s chest, throwing him far in a concussive blast of flames. Two more men ran forward with hand-bombs lifted.
Kanthe took a step forward—only to have a hand grab his good shoulder and spin him around. A black-cloaked figure stepped in front of him, a pipe at her lips. Though the face was wrapped, he knew who it was.
Cassta…
She fired two hard puffs. The men with the bombs took another two steps, then fell. One hand-bomb blew, tossing their bodies high.
Tykhan gained his feet as Cassta pushed Kanthe toward an open doorway. The Sleeper closed on them by the time they reached that doorway.
Kanthe glanced back across the deck. Thoryn had retreated halfway across the ship, pushing Mikaen behind him. Kanthe met Thoryn’s eyes and nodded his thanks, but confirming that this was not over.
The captain dipped a chin in acknowledgment of both.
Cassta tugged Kanthe through the doorway and down steep steps.
Tykhan took the lead, scolding Cassta as he passed, “What’re you doing up here? You’re supposed to be down with the others.”
Her answer was calm, as if they were on a stroll. “As a Rhysian, I’ve found it useful to be where I’m not expected.”
Tykhan rubbed the scorched dent in his breastplate. “That is a wisdom I can appreciate.”
F RELL HELD THE tiny version of the lampree in his hand. The beetle-shaped tool was the size of his fist. The other three sisters carried the same—though they had vanished out of sight, crossing to the cardinal points of the massive drum. He gaped at the sheer height and breadth of the Madyss Hammer. Constructed of ironwood and plated in steel, it rose seven stories and was half as wide.
Sweat slickened his palms as he worked.
Perched on a scaffolding halfway up its side, he placed his palm against the weapon’s flank, imagining the infernal black alchymies inside it, the secrets of which were guarded over by a cadre of Shriven deep beneath Highmount. All Frell knew was that the materials were distilled using methods obtained from ancient tomes that dated to the Forsaken Ages.
He hated when knowledge was used to dark ends, but curiosity piqued inside him nonetheless. Of course, that would not stop him from destroying it.
He checked the compass supplied to him by Tykhan and placed the little steel beetle against the side of the tank and pressed a button on its back. Its six little draft-iron legs peeled from beneath it and jammed against the steel. Caustic alchymies leaked from their tips, melting through the metal and allowing the jointed legs to slip through and latch deep into the ironwood and thick plating.
Frell stepped away.
Small wings opened on the beetle’s back, revealing a crystal core that swirled with a mix of oil so black it looked like a pinch of the void between stars and a silver so bright it stung to look at. With each revolution of that mixture, the black grew and the silver faded. Tykhan had told him that when it turned solid black, it would explode with the force of a dozen cannons. This beetle and the other three—coordinating in some arcane fashion—would create a simultaneous blast, with enough force to ignite the Hammer.
Frell leaned closer, trying to understand this ta’wyn implement—another bit of craftsmanship from Tykhan’s past, from the Forsaken Ages. Frell stared up at the drum, remembering how the Madyss Hammer had its roots in that same age.
Why did history only preserve that which was most destructive?
“You!” a voice barked behind him. “What are you doing down here?”
Startled, Frell spun around. The Rhysians were supposed to have cleared this hold. A crewman—a ship’s drudge, from his oil-stained bibs and ashy face—came forward with a huge iron turnscrew in hand, a tool made for tightening the large bolts of the gasbag riggings.
Frell straightened. “Ship’s alchymist second order. Completing a final inspection. Why?”
“Ah, that’s all right then, innit?”
Frell nodded, waiting for the man to pass.
He pointed his nose high. “Heard half a bell ago they lopped that traitor prince’s arm right off.”
Frell flinched. “What?”
“You never heard?” He pantomimed with his turnscrew with a feigned strike to his left arm. “Burnt it black af’erwards. Serves the sodder right. That’s what I say.”
Frell stared up fearfully, taking a step forward. “Is he still alive?”
The crewman shrugged, then tipped sideways, looking past Frell. “Say, what’s that there?”
Still worried for Kanthe, he stepped to block the drudge’s growing curiosity. He heard the whisper of soft sandals on wood as the other Rhysians returned. He pushed the crewman back, fearing the others would kill this simple, innocent man—not that the drudge wouldn’t die if they were successful here, along with so many others. Still, maybe it helped assuage Frell’s guilt if he could spare this man a bit more life.
“This is black alchymies,” Frell warned direly. “You should not be here. That’s why the hold is empty.”
“Ack.” He looked around worriedly. “Then I best be off.”
Frell guided him away, back toward a shadowed doorway. The man disappeared as the three sisters returned.
“Who were you talking to?” one of them asked.
“No one,” Frell fumbled. “Just warning off a drudge before he got any closer.”
The sister looked suspicious, stepping toward the door, but another waved her off as a ship’s bell sounded the lateness of the night. “Tykhan should be headed back to the lampree . We have no time to spare.”
The sister nodded her grudging agreement.
They set off for their ship.
Frell glanced at the levels of scaffolding below, down to the curve of the hull’s bottom. “Were you able to jam those doors?” he asked.
One of the sisters gave him a scolding look for questioning their competence.
Frell cast his gaze higher, picturing the many hundreds who made this floating city their home. Still, he understood the necessity.
Better these hundreds should die than the thousands if this bomb reaches Kysalimri.
They hurried out of the cavernous hold and down to an abandoned section of bilge. Saekl stepped into view at the sound of their approach. She uncovered a lantern to guide them the last of the way to the small hole cut through the hull by the lampree’s ring of jagged teeth. Those sharp edges protruded into bilge, as did the hooked legs that latched the ship to the lower hull.
“Inside,” Saekl hissed, responding to the sound of boots pounding from the other direction.
Frell ducked and squirmed through a hole the size of a wine barrel’s lid. His robe’s edge caught on one of those sharp teeth. He pictured the ring of them spinning and burring this hole and yanked himself free.
The sisters entered with far more grace and alacrity.
Saekl greeted the others arriving outside. “Hurry.”
“Help us get him inside,” Tykhan said.
Kanthe’s head and torso wiggled through the hole. His face was pained, feverish, his dark hair plastered to his pale skin. The sisters helped him, as did Cassta, who climbed in after him. Tykhan and Saekl followed and shifted to the seats at the front. One of the sisters pulled a hinged door over the hole.
“Get ready!” Saekl called back.
Beyond the window, another fiery ship fell past the Hyperium ’s bow.
Kanthe groaned as he was strapped into one of the seats. Frell winced at the savage wound, blistered and blackened, seeping blood. The drudge had not been mistaken about the cruel damage done to the prince.
Kanthe blearily noted Frell’s attention. “Seems my brother and I are determined to whittle each other down piece by piece.” He let his head fall back to the seat. “I took his face, and he took my arm. Not sure who got the worst of it so far.”
Then they were off.
The lampree’s legs retracted and the tiny craft fell away from the lower hull. A moment later, the forge ignited, and they blasted away from the Hyperium. Saekl aimed them toward the northern forests of Tithyn Woods. The path to Kysalimri remained too dangerous, guarded over by two Hálendiian warships and, farther ahead, the Klashean blockade.
They sped as fast as their little craft could manage.
“Get us as far away as possible,” Tykhan warned. “No one’s witnessed the force of a Madyss Hammer that size. When the Hyperium blows, we don’t want to be anywhere near here.”
Kanthe lifted his head, his eyes pinched with confusion and concern. “What… the ship’s going to explode?”
Frell explained, “We lit the fuse on the Hammer and locked it in its hold.”
“What?” Kanthe twisted, staring out the tiny window at the back. “But my brother…”
Frell saw the pain squeeze Kanthe’s face. Even after all of this, the prince still could not let go of some hope for Mikaen, some future redemption where amends could be made and a brotherhood regained.
“I’m sorry,” Frell said. “It’s either him… or lose most of Kysalimri.”
M IKAEN RAGED ACROSS the wide deck, ignoring the seven bodies of his Silvergard, all torn by some daemon or witchery tied to his brother. Terror still fired through him, which only made him more furious.
Thoryn paced with him as he circled the carnage.
Liege General Reddak stood in the midst of the bodies. He had been drawn from the Hyperium ’s wheelhouse, come to see if what had been told to him was true. “Where have they gone?” he challenged his second-in-command.
“We’re still searching,” Master Ketill answered crisply. “Someone spotted a strange craft jettisoning away from our starboard flank. It vanished into the smoke. It could’ve been them.”
Mikaen lunged closer. “Then we must go after them.”
Reddak ignored him, turning a shoulder and continuing to address his second-in-command. “No matter, Master Ketill. We stay the course. Alert the Vengeance and the Wraith to forge ahead. We’ll break through the Klashean cordon and exact our revenge upon their shores.” He set off across the deck. “Then we’ll head home.”
Mikaen pursued him, shaking off a restraining hand from Thoryn. “Lend me a ship, and I’ll go after my brother.”
“A fool’s errand,” Reddak scolded. “We don’t know if Prince Kanthe was even aboard that craft. And even if so, they’re already well lost. I’ve allowed you your petty, malicious fun, but no more. We have a battle to finish.”
Mikaen clenched his fists, ready to argue.
Before he could, a trio of crewmen came running up with wild eyes and flushed faces.
“What is it?” Master Ketill asked curtly.
Panic stammered them until one caught his voice. “A drudge, sir. Showed the armory brigade. Some strange alchymy clamped to the Hammer. Four of ’em, all glowing and vile.”
Master Ketill turned to Reddak. “Sabotage?”
“It means to blow the Hammer,” another stated. “That’s what the lead armorist says. Can’t remove ’em or smash ’em. Or it’ll blow right away.”
Another nodded frantically. “Bay doors jammed up, too. To trap the Hammer with us. The brigade has ordered axes to the door.”
Mikaen cringed back, bumping into Thoryn.
Without hesitating, Reddak turned to his second. “Master Ketill, to the wheelhouse. Get all our forges firing. Send us straight up.”
“What are you—?”
Reddak pushed one of the crewmen ahead. “Take me down there.” He pointed to the other two. “Rally everyone with an ax and send them running.”
Thoryn pulled Mikaen back. “We must find a ship.”
Mikaen stared across the deck, picturing the daemon possessing one of his Silvergard and slaughtering the others around it. He sensed the truth and muttered it aloud.
“There’s no time.”
K ANTHE HUNG IN his straps, chin to his chest. His left arm—both what was there and wasn’t—throbbed with lances of pain. Apparently, the poppy’s milk and the numbing balm had begun to wear off.
Their small ship had reached the northern coast of the bay and now crested low over the treetops of Tithyn Woods.
Frell stirred in his seat. “Something’s happening with the Hyperium. ”
Kanthe turned to the scallop of a rear window.
Smoke masked most of the view across the water, but the Hyperium blazed inside the gloom, a bright sun in the pall—and that sun was rising.
Its scores of massive forges raged, creating a fiery gale beneath the royal flagship, driving it upward. The smoke parted enough to reveal the full majesty of its blazing glory: the triple billow of its three gasbags, the sweep of its hull, the glint of cannons and ballistas. The sculpted stallion at the prow kicked its draft-iron legs high as if trying to escape the waters, with its wings spread wide.
None of the other Hálendiian ships followed their flagship, remaining close to the bay. A flutter of movement drew Kanthe’s attention back to the Hyperium, to the ship’s keel.
“I think they got the bay doors open,” Frell said.
This was made clear when the massive flagship shat out a huge drum. The flames of the Hyperium ’s forges reflected off the tank’s steel flanks, lighting its fall from that great height. It tumbled and rolled through the air.
Tykhan called from the front, noting it, too. “Someone over there’s more resourceful than I thought.”
The tank struck the bay, casting up a massive crown of water. Far above, the Hyperium continued to climb. Kanthe winced, expecting the Hammer to blow. But the bay’s watery crown crashed down, and the sea swelled back over the hole of the drum’s impact.
Frell frowned. “Were they able to disarm it after—”
The Bay of the Blessed lit up like a brilliant lantern, so bright it stung the eyes. Then the water welled high, as if a great sea beast were rising from the deep. The blast that followed was the thunder of all the gods’ wrath into one mighty boom. The brilliance flashed brighter as the bay emptied in all directions, hollowing out in the center, down to the rock and sand of the seabed. A massive tide surged outward into a huge wave that grew higher and higher—taller than the cliffs, taller than the trees here on top, taller than the height of their tiny ship.
Saekl saw what was coming and turned their vessel’s nose straight up, balancing on the flames of their forge. “Hold tight.”
She shot them upward as the force of the blast struck. The ship was hit hard, as if kicked by those same thunderous gods. It spun and toppled end over end.
Kanthe caught glimpses around him.
Below, the wave churned through the forest, ripping out roots, breaking trunks, pushing a gnashing froth of timber and rock ahead of it.
Their craft spun again to show the Stone Gods being smashed off their pedestals, toppling and drowning in the sea.
Another swing revealed a huge Hálendiian warship getting struck in the stern. It slammed into the twin ahead of it. The first crushed its bow, ripping free of its draft-iron cables and tearing its balloon. It fell into the wake of the wave, caught an edge of the tide, and was ripped out of the sky by the force of the water.
The other warship fell to the front of the wave and rode it toward Kysalimri for a stretch, then toppled sideways and was spun around and around, its gasbag flailing and beaten flat.
Ahead, the Klashean ships fled out of the way, given enough warning and buffeted higher by the blast.
Another spin and he caught a glimpse of the Hyperium high above, rocked by the force of the detonation under it. It tipped along the edge of that concussive wave and slid north, heading for Hálendii.
A new explosion shuddered their ship and brightened the skies.
A final flip revealed its source. The wave-swept warship had struck the docks. The impact must have ignited its Cauldron. Fire and rocks and sections of pier with boats still tethered to them blasted high—then the rest of the wave drowned it all away. The surge rode up into the city but was thwarted by the first tall wall. It crashed against it and washed back.
Saekl finally got their little leaf of a ship back under control, leveling their flight. She turned them around to witness the aftermath as the wave receded back to its source.
The bay washed back and forth several more times as Saekl aimed them toward Kysalimri, passing over the wreckage of the Hammer’s fall.
Kanthe despaired at the lives lost, but he knew if the Hammer had fallen upon the Eternal City that the devastation would have been a thousandfold worse. While the water of the bay had turned deadly, it had also helped insulate the blast.
A small blessing.
I’ll take even that.
A ALIA STOOD AT the window of the strategy room of the Blood’d Tower.
The spire had earned its name this night.
After surviving Mareesh’s attack—a betrayal that still wounded—she had gathered all she could. With the imperium still threatened, she had no time to mourn her brother Jubayr. She would bury him with their father’s cloak. It was all she could decide this night.
She had lost her Wing and her Shield—two more men she must mourn. The only respite from this misery was that Sail Garryn had survived. She had leaned heavily on him this long night. Along with Tazar, Llyra, Rami, and all others willing to offer counsel. She heeded everyone, knowing only by working together could they survive.
Their forces had managed to destroy one of the Hálendiian warships earlier in the night, but Mareesh’s betrayal and his swaying of a section of the Wing to his side had weakened their line. Two more Hálendiian warships had made it through Tithyn Woods, along with the kingdom’s flagship.
Still, determined to fight, she had set a hard line before the city.
Then something had happened—both miraculous and tragic.
She stared down at the ruins of the lowermost tier of the city. The bay still rocked, washing even now into the city’s edge, but the worst was over.
From this window, she had watched the massive bomb drop into the bay. She didn’t understand why the Hyperium had discharged its weapon like that.
Had it been a mishap? A bit of providence from a god?
The flagship had fled afterward, leaving its shameful devastation behind. A warship’s Cauldron had also exploded at the bayside piers. Yet, as devastating as that blast had been, the massive wave had dealt a far deadlier blow. The Cauldron’s blast did little more than disturb what had already been destroyed.
She stared down at the wreckage.
She tried to find her fury, but all she felt was sorrow.
Anger will come later.
She closed her eyes, but she knew she could delay it no longer. She took a deep breath and cast her gaze farther across the bay. Half, if not more, of the Stone Gods lay toppled and broken. She spotted the raised arm of one, thrust crookedly out of the water, as if drowning and begging for help.
With a wince, she moved her attention to the north, to the town of X’or. The wave had swept as high as those cliffs and washed across the top, but not as fiercely. Lanterns still shone from those heights, sparking some hope of survivors. She had dispatched skrycrows there before the first wave had fully receded.
A commotion drew her attention back to the room. It was in a shambles after the long night. Sail Garryn stood, leaning on the table, his head hanging low. Tazar stood to the side, giving her this moment alone, respecting her enough not to intrude. Others murmured in groups, still struggling with the aftermath.
Rami burst into the room with Llyra. His eyes shone brightly, his breathing hard from more than just the climb. “Word from the Paladins, from the high mooring of the palace.”
Aalia clutched hard to her hope.
“Prince Kanthe and the Augury… they’ve arrived just now.”
She let out her breath and smiled, though it felt strained. She gazed out the window again, wondering if the two had an explanation for what had happened out there.
She was relieved they were both safe, but that was not the hope she held closest to her heart. Footsteps rose from the other side, tentative, as if unsure to intrude.
She turned to find Chaaen Hrash standing in the doorway that led up to the skrycrow’s nest above them. The shoulders of his robe were speckled with droppings. He carried a missive in hand, tight to his chest.
He read the question burning in Aalia’s face. “From Abbess Shayr,” he confirmed.
“So she lives.” Aalia gripped her hands together. “What of my father?”
Hrash looked down. “He was being moved from the baths to the palacio… when… when…” The Chaaen lifted his face.
His tears finished the message for her.
She turned away, stepped back to the window, and let go of her last hope.