CHAPTER 39
Lizanne
The Smoker jerked against her shoulder as she unleashed the Redball. It impacted at the base of the Red’s neck, the explosion instantly severing it from the body. The rest of the fighters, all armed with Smokers, opened fire on the other Reds. The hail of explosive bullets felled one immediately, but it took several more shots before they brought down the other, the bullets chasing it across the sky until one of the Varestians managed a hit on its chest.
Lizanne watched the stricken creature spiral down into the misty depths of the Grand Cut then turned her gaze to the north. She found that the fog, mingled with the drifting smoke from their intentionally abortive attempt to block the pass, made it difficult to gauge the reaction of the White’s army. She injected a small amount of product to enhance her vision and was soon rewarded with the sight of a multitude of Green drakes streaming towards the Cut. Following close behind were the Spoiled, their previously neat ranks forgotten now as they charged across the plain in a disorderly mob thousands strong. Shifting her gaze upwards, she saw the fast-approaching shapes of more Reds than could easily be counted.
In addition to the Blood-blessed contingent there were about two hundred Varestian fighters, mostly of a piratical nature judging by their clothing and abundance of knives. They were all volunteers who had been dropped on the lower south-facing slopes by aerostat the day before.
“They’re coming,” she told them. “Remember your orders, fire and retreat. We need to draw them in.”
The Varestians immediately ran off to occupy their positions deeper in the pass, the group on the other side of the dividing chasm following suit, leaving the Blood-blessed to face the first rush of Reds. Lizanne injected a short burst of Blue and slipped into the trance where Morva was waiting on the deck of the antique sailing-ship that formed her mindscape.
“It worked,” Lizanne told her. “Tell Tekela to commence her run.”
She ended the trance without waiting for a reply and moved back from the cliff-edge. “Product!” Lizanne ordered the other Blood-blessed, depressing the first three buttons on her Spider. “Full doses! No need to skimp here. Every one we kill today is one we don’t have to kill tomorrow.”
She moved to crouch behind a near by boulder, the other Blood-blessed also finding cover in the surrounding rocks. Lizanne rested the Smoker’s forestock on the top of the boulder, pointing it at the sky, and slotted another Redball into the glass receptacle atop the chamber. She waited, veins thrumming with product and eyes fixed on the Smoker’s sights. She heard the Reds before she saw them, their shrill cries echoing up the mountain side in a hungry chorus. She lit the Redball the instant a dark silhouette slipped into her sights, blasting it apart as a cacophony of carbine fire erupted all around.
Lizanne stood up, seeing a dozen Reds falling out of the sky as the explosive rounds took their toll. Seeing a Red twisting amidst the barrage she tracked it with the Smoker, sights aimed just in front of its nose to compensate for the distance, and fired three rounds in quick succession, the carbine’s lever blurring as she worked it. Mortally wounded by the trio of large holes punched into its hide, the Red let out a stream of impotent flame before slamming into the cliff-face below.
A warning shout from one of her fellow Blood-blessed had Lizanne leaping away, Green-enhanced limbs carrying her wide of the stream of fire cast at her by a diving Red. It reared back, wings fanning the air and neck coiling for another try. A salvo of rounds from the surrounding Blood-blessed tore one of its wings away and left a gaping hole in its chest, leaving it a bloody tangle clinging feebly to the cliff-edge before sliding into the Grand Cut.
Casting a glance skyward, Lizanne saw that the Reds had been forced higher by the fire of the Smokers and were now circling in a huge spiral. Seeing them begin to cluster together in groups of five or more, Lizanne knew that the defenders were about to be subjected to a massed onslaught from above. No amount of explosive bullets could hope to stem such a weight of drake flesh.
“Pull back!” she shouted, moving across the rocky ground in an unnaturally fast, leaping sprint.
Seeing their prey attempting an escape, the Reds let out a collective scream of fury and gave chase. Hearing the beat of large wings at her back, Lizanne leapt and pivoted in midair, aiming the Smoker one-handed at the head of the pursuing Red. Thanks to the reflex-enhancing effects of Green she was able to put a bullet in its eye before whirling about for a landing.
She didn’t pause as her boots met rock, propelling herself on and refreshing her diminishing Green with the Spider. A scream sounded behind her, human rather than drake, brief and full of agony before it choked off. Lizanne didn’t turn to see the inevitable grisly spectacle. She had entertained a faint hope of completing this mission without casualties, but knew it to be an indulgent self-delusion designed to assuage the guilt of commanding others in battle.
Upon reaching a point halfway along the pass she leapt atop a tall boulder and came to a halt, turning to face the Reds. The other Blood-blessed all rushed to pre-chosen spots and did the same, all Smokers raised and aimed as the Reds closed. Here the pass constricted to its narrowest point and was overlooked by ledges on the mountains rising on both sides, ledges where their pirate allies now waited, Smokers tracking the Reds streaming into their sights.
Over two hundred carbines began firing at once, blasting at least thirty Reds out of the sky. Lizanne aimed at the densest concentration of drakes and emptied her Smoker, hand once again blurring on the lever and cartridges spinning away in a brass cascade. The Blood-blessed had all been trained in the same technique, meaning the Reds found themselves charging into an impassible wall of bullets. The mass of drakes reared back from the fusillade, resembling a huge swarm of hornets retreating from a flaming torch.
“Reload!” Lizanne ordered, jumping down from the boulder and slotting fresh bullets into her Smoker from the bandolier about her chest. Her gaze was fixed on the southern end of the pass, the sun now risen high enough to burn off much of the mist. For a second she thought Morva had failed to pass on the order but then saw the curved wedge of the Typhoon’s envelope cresting the mountain side. She rose swiftly with the Tempest close alongside, the two aerostats drifting forward as they ascended. They stalled their ascent about eight hundred feet above, the Tempest letting loose with her Thumpers whilst the Typhoon unleashed a hail of bullets from her Growlers.
Assailed from above and below, the swarm of Reds split apart, one group banking away to the east whilst the other furiously beat their wings to gain more height, desperate to get at the aircraft. Lizanne concentrated on the other group, watching it split apart twice more, each subdivision banking away. Trying to disperse our fire, she realised. Come at us from all sides at once. They had only a few moments’ respite before the storm descended.
“It’s time!” she called out, rising to her feet and pointing at the southern end of the pass. “Make for the pick-up point!”
Most needed no encouragement, the Blood-blessed immediately refreshing their Green to sprint and leap away with the pirates following as fast as they could. But a few stayed, mostly Varestians but also a couple of Blood-blessed. “Miss Blood?” one of them asked, a middle-aged man who cast repeated nervous glances at the sky.
Lizanne resisted the urge to snap, “Don’t call me that!” and forced a smile instead. “Rear guard,” she told him, gesturing towards the south. “I’ll be along. Now go!”
She watched them flee then turned back to gauge the progress of the White’s army. The Grand Cut was thick with Greens and Spoiled all the way to the promontory where she stood, the promontory which their explosives had deliberately failed to send tumbling into the pass. However, the as yet unexploded second batch contained more than enough fire-power to bring it down. Lizanne quickly spotted the detonator positioned in a shallow crevice near by and started towards it, then stopped at a challenging squawk from above. Seeing a Red separate from the main pack to dive towards her, she swiftly slotted a Redball into the Smoker and blew it out of the sky at a distance of fifty yards.
Turning back to the detonator she rushed towards it and crouched in the shadowed confines of the crevice. Reaching into the pocket of her overalls she extracted the item so carefully crafted by Madame Hakugen’s theatrically experienced employee. Fashioned mostly from congealed glue and rubber Lizanne, with her extensive experience of disguises, had initially been sceptical of its efficacy. But, upon trying it out she had been reassured by Tekela’s assertion that she looked “utterly ghastly.” Pressing it to her face, she took a bottle of pig’s blood from her other pocket and emptied it over her head. It was thick with coagulants and possessed of a truly appalling smell, but she needed it to complete the disguise.
A fresh chorus of drake screams told her she was out of time and she reached for the detonator, one hand on the lever whilst the other pressed the second button on the Spider to flood her veins with all the remaining Green. She pushed the detonator’s lever then clamped her hands over her ears, shutting her eyes tight. A bare second later the explosives went off, Lizanne finding herself lifted clear of the mountain side by the blast. She spread her limbs to stabilise herself as she tumbled, grit-filled air whipping past as she plummeted into the pass.
She didn’t need to feign unconsciousness. Her attempt to slide down the flank of the dislodged promontory to the floor of the pass went well at first, but the huge slab of rock contrived to break apart upon connecting with the ground, leaving her tumbling in a cloud of dust. Something hard slammed into her back, possessed of enough force to cause serious injury if not for the copious Green in her system. Lizanne attempted to angle her feet towards the ground, intending to roll with the impact and hopefully prevent any fractures, but another something cracked against the side of her head and she found herself falling into a vast pool of utter blackness.
She came to atop a pile of corpses, blinking into the dull-eyed stare of a dead Green only inches from her face. It lay across an equally dead Spoiled, a woman about Lizanne’s own age with her neck twisted at an impossible angle. Looking around through bleary eyes Lizanne saw that the bodies were all stacked against the newly created wall of rock spanning the width of the Grand Cut. Those not buried by the avalanche had evidently piled up in front of it, crushing themselves to death in the process.
Lizanne tried to raise herself, which had the effect of dislodging many of the bodies, causing the pile to collapse. She rolled with the slack, lifeless forms, coming to rest on the floor of the pass where she lay, drawing in slow even breaths in an attempt to recover her senses.
It took several minutes to get to her feet, the world seeming to tilt and spin around her. When she finally stood up she found herself confronted by a Spoiled, a tall male in a ragged Protectorate uniform regarding her with his scaled brows formed into a curious frown. She hoped he saw a fellow Spoiled, albeit one with a mass of blood concealing her deformed features, not all of it pig’s blood judging by the warm trickle tracing from the back of her head. Lizanne just stared back at the Spoiled for a brief interval then staggered away in apparent confusion. She could feel his eyes on her and could only hope he put her failure to communicate down to her head injury.
The pass was full of Spoiled soldiery, and some drakes, many injured and all stumbling around in a directionless stupor. Unsure of how long this helpful state of confusion might last, Lizanne kept staggering towards the northern end of the Cut, her pace deliberately slow. She fell several times during the journey, not always of her own volition as her befuddled brain saw fit to randomly deny her control of her legs. If any of the other Spoiled afforded her an unduly long gaze she would fall and remain immobile until they lost interest.
The Spoiled began to regain a sense of order once she came to the mouth of the pass, their confusion slipping away as they stiffened into a semblance of military bearing and began to form companies. Hoping her grievous wound would explain her immunity to this resurgence of discipline, Lizanne continued to stumble and collapse her way clear of the Grand Cut, pausing at the sight of the huge camp only a few hundred yards away.
Where would it be? she wondered, gaze tracking over the neat rows of tents. The answer proved obvious and unmistakable. Rising in the centre of the camp was a very large winged shape, pale in the fading pall of dust. The White. She had only seen it before in Clay’s shared memories and found the experience of viewing it in the flesh both unnerving and irresistible. It’s right there. Well within range.
The temptation to slip back into the trance was strong. Tell Tekela to launch now. Finish this. But she held off. It could just fly away. You came for the crystal. Stick to the mission.
She staggered on, joining a thin stream of wounded Spoiled making a slow progress to the camp. They were all dazed and bleeding like her and thankfully in no condition to attempt communication. She kept to the rear of the group, head lowered as she moved in a stumbling shuffle. The fuzziness in her head finally started to fade as they entered the camp. It was mostly deserted apart from a few Spoiled, all of whom were rushing to form companies and paid the group of wounded no attention.
She had expected the wounded to report to some kind of medical tent but they all began to peel off from the group. She saw one Spoiled, a large man wearing a Corvantine constable’s hat and cradling an obviously broken arm, stagger into one of the tents and lay down on the bedroll within. Before moving on she saw him close his eyes and fall asleep. One by one the other Spoiled followed suit until she found herself alone but for two others.
Lizanne began to drop back, intending to find an empty tent to hide in until they moved on, but the pair came to a sudden halt and turned to face her, eyes narrowed in suspicious scrutiny. They were both female, one with a spectacular head injury deep enough for Lizanne to make out the white bone of her skull through the gore. The other appeared to have only a broken wrist and was consequently much more alert. From the way their brows twitched she realised they were attempting to communicate and knew she had only seconds to act.
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.
She fought back with her own Black, sending a wave towards the ground to push her free, but only succeeding in spinning herself about. The hold on her neck tightened, starving her lungs of air. Lizanne’s vision began to dim, greying around the edges as her pulse throbbed in her temples. However, she was able to make out the sight of the woman, Catheline Dewsmine, doyen of the society pages, pelting towards her amongst the charging horde of Spoiled.
How on earth did she get here?
The question lost all significance when her ears became filled with a shrieking whoosh followed by a blinding flash beyond the oncoming mob. The grip on her neck instantly disappeared and Lizanne found herself once again tumbling in a blast wave. She used the last of her Green to turn into the blast and dig her boots in the earth, sliding to a crouching halt amidst the maelstrom. Looking up she saw the ground to her front littered with the unconscious or dead bodies of dozens of Spoiled. Beyond them a huge fire-ball rose from where the White had been only moments before.
Lizanne’s initial wave of joyful triumph plummeted into despair when she saw the beast rising through the roiling fire, flames licking at its wings but showing no obvious injury. Her sense of defeat increased as her eyes picked out something else. Four glowing orbs floated in the swirling dust above the wreckage of the cart. The crystals, she thought. It didn’t work.
Lizanne sank to her knees, head slumping as the product thinned in her veins. Hearing the shuffling of multiple boots she half-raised her head to see a group of Spoiled moving towards her, still partially stunned by the blast but retaining enough comprehension to aim their rifles at her. Wearily she took a firmer grip on her knife and tried to rise. But, finding she hadn’t the strength to do so, she reversed her grip on the handle and pressed it to her neck, the edge positioned precisely where it would sever the jugular.
A harsh, rattling growl came from above and she saw the upright Spoiled nearest to her slammed into the ground in several different pieces. Earth fountained as the growl came again, the other Spoiled falling in quick succession. Lizanne turned her gaze to the sky as a shadow fell over her, finding the broad curving shape of the Typhoon some fifty yards above. It was dark against the sky and she couldn’t see the face of her rescuer in the gondola’s lower hatch, though the invisible hand that reached down to pluck her from the earth was clue enough.
“Morva,” she muttered, her vision fading away as exhaustion claimed her. “I thought I told you to leave . . .”