CHAPTER 51
Sirus
He’s here! Sirus could feel Catheline’s hungry exultation as she shared the image of the man riding on the back of a Black drake. Her excitement was mirrored by the White, the beast letting out a long, rumbling growl that seemed to shake the ground. Sirus watched in dismay as the great flock of Reds began to abandon their attack on the enemy fleet, rising and wheeling away towards the approaching drake and rider.
“Their mission is not complete . . .” he began, abruptly falling silent as his jaw clamped shut at a glance from Catheline.
“Their mission is what I say it is, dear General,” she said. “The second line of trenches is about to fall. Concentrate your efforts there.”
Sirus withdrew as much of his mind from hers as he could, worried his sudden rage might lead her to some unfortunate conclusions. Turning his attention to the assault on the trenches, he took some satisfaction from the fact that the fighting had progressed beyond the second trench line. The defending humans once again clustered around their Blood-blessed, loosing off volleys of rifle fire as the encroaching Greens and Spoiled attempted to fight their way past invisible walls of Black and scorching waves of Red. He searched for a point of weakness, somewhere to concentrate his reserve battalions, but this time the defenders appeared to be equally resolute all along their line, even pushing back in some places thanks to the Blood-blessed.
It all hinges on them, he decided, quickly conducting a mental search for the keenest marksmen in his army. He picked out a hundred in all, ordering their fellow Spoiled to hoist them up above the attacking throng, one simple command filling their heads: Kill the Blood-blessed.
The first fell within seconds, her head blown to pieces by five expertly aimed shots. Another two fell in quick succession, Sirus swiftly sending his lead battalions against these points in the line and ordering the reserves forward. Seeing the danger the defenders immediately clustered around the remaining Blood-blessed, shielding them with their bodies as they beat a hasty retreat to the third trench. The enemy defence collapsed soon after, the humans turning and running towards the only remaining refuge.
Sirus attempted to launch a rapid pursuit, hoping to use the momentum of the advance to overrun the third line, but found the effort frustrated by a sudden loss of discipline amongst the Greens. Combat and the overpowering scent of blood stoked their hunger beyond the point of resistance. They began a feeding frenzy, creating a series of obstacles as they gathered in thrashing mobs around the bodies littering the ground, human and Spoiled. This soon created a gap between fleeing defenders and attackers.
Arberus, evidently not one to forsake an opportunity, had the cannon on the Redoubt lower their sights and begin a rapid barrage. The attackers were close enough to the wall to bring them into range of cannister-shot, the rain of iron balls and metal shards tearing holes in the Spoiled battalions stalled around the feasting Greens. They were also now in range of the repeating guns positioned along the Redoubt. Sirus felt the minds of over two hundred Spoiled blink out of existence in the space of ten seconds as cannon shells and tracer bullets lashed the army.
Pull back to the second line, he ordered in resignation. Bring up the artillery. It would be a costly difficult business, but he would use his own cannon to suppress the fire from the walls, hopefully providing sufficient cover for the final assault.
He turned to Catheline, intending to ask that she impose some order on the Greens, but found her staring fixedly at the sky to the east. Following her gaze he saw that the Reds had formed a broad, swirling barrier over the shore-line, a barrier that appeared to have just had a hole punched through it. He could see two aerostats, tracer flickering around them as they fought to keep the hole open, and between them a lone drake.
The White let out a sudden, deafening roar, Sirus looking up to see it rearing, wings spread wide and head raised as it bellowed out a challenge. Sirus looked again at Catheline, hoping for an explanation as to what might be happening. She began to turn to him, then froze, all light seeming to fade from her eyes as she collapsed.
A pain shot through Sirus’s head, sharp enough to make him stagger, vision blurring as confusion reigned in his mind. Memories churned in a rapid visual soup. Katrya . . . Morradin . . . Greens feasting on the corpses of children . . . Feros burning . . .
When it cleared he found himself on his knees, hands clasped to the side of his head. The pain slowly ebbed, and as it receded he realised something was different. She’s gone. He looked at Catheline lying next him, eyes vacant and body limp, feeling not the slightest touch of her thoughts. Catheline’s mind was gone.
Furthermore, his mental connection to the White was greatly diminished. He could still feel the Spoiled, the link with them was as strong as ever, but the White’s thoughts were muted now, like distant thunder, and that distance brought a single thought to the forefront of his mind.
I have slaughtered thousands.
He looked at his hands, clawed, scaled, powerful enough to rip a man apart if he chose, and in the midst of battle he had. His plan had been a delusion, he saw that now. A hopeless lie he told himself to preserve some vestige of sanity. Win the war in the hope the Spoiled’s loyalty to him would overcome their enslavement to the White. We are its creatures. That will never change. It occurred to him that perhaps he had been permitted this delusion, that Catheline had known all along. It had made him so useful after all. Forging a bond with Morradin as they conspired together, unifying them in the need to win freedom through victory. All just another link in his invisible slave chain.
“You knew,” he said, staring at Catheline’s perfect, unresponsive face. “Didn’t you? All this time. All that affection. How much you must have enjoyed the game.”
Anger. Another lesson he had learned from Morradin. Anger could mask his thoughts just as well as fear. He let the anger surge into a hot, all-consuming rage, feeding it with the countless horrors in his head, feeling the connection to the White shrivel in its flames. It didn’t break, not completely, but for one brief instant it burned down to little more than a thread of purpose, the White’s dominance lifted enough to allow his own will to blossom.
He got to his feet, moving swiftly for fear that any delay would allow the White to reassert control. Drawing his revolver, he thumbed back the hammer as he trained it on Catheline’s forehead. He began to squeeze the trigger but was momentarily distracted by the sudden appearance of something in his eye-line. It resembled a spear-point, catching the light as it turned, Sirus seeing blood dripping from its sharp point down to the scaled skin that formed its base.
A soft hiss came from above and he looked up into the White’s eyes. Sirus began to form a thought, something he might say, even though no human ears would ever hear it, but all thought fled as the pain arrived, and he screamed instead. The White blinked and tore its tail spike free of Sirus’s body. He fell, still screaming, feeling his blood leak away in a warm torrent. A chill descended, numbing him enough to banish much of the pain.
“No.”
He looked up to find Catheline standing over him, fully awake now, tears shining in her inhuman eyes. “My dear General,” she said, hands cupping his face, lips pressing against his. “We had so much still to do. If that bastard hadn’t snared me in the trance . . .”
“You . . .” The word emerged in a cloud of blood, staining her face though she barely seemed to feel it. “You . . . knew.”
“Your mind was unique,” she said, tears falling over her lips which now formed a fond smile. “Far too bright and interesting to waste, regardless of whatever little schemes you came up with over the years ahead. I was greatly looking forward to it all.”
Her face bunched and she stifled a sob, raising her face to the White. For once there was no awe or reverence in her eyes, just hard, judgemental reproach. “You didn’t have to,” she whispered. “I locked the gutter-born bastard’s mind away. It’s done. You didn’t have to . . .”
The White flicked its tail, spattering her face with Sirus’s blood before letting out an impatient growl. Catheline’s eyes clamped shut and she shuddered in pain, Sirus realising she was being subjected to more punishment. When it ended she let out a low, rasping moan, taking a few seconds to master herself before once again fixing her gaze on Sirus, the red coals of her eyes now dimmed with grief.
“I will miss you, dearest General,” she said, pressing another kiss to his lips before rising and moving away. Dust rose and Sirus felt a hard gust of wind, seeing the White ascend into the sky with Catheline on its back. When they flew out of sight he continued to stare into an empty blue sky. He could feel the battle raging, share the sight of so many Spoiled compelled by the White to renew their assault and realised in a flare of guilt that he would actually miss being a general.
An inquisitive squawk caused him to slowly turn his head and he found himself looking into the eyes of a juvenile White, tongue darting over its bared teeth. It gave another squawk and hopped closer.