Bam!
Another door down. Dov melted the hinges on its twin, and it fell onto the walkway, a slight step for the khentauree before they sailed to the third tower. Lapis held her hood closed, the sharp morning air racing past making her nose run, her eyes to tear, her lungs to gasp, despite her scarf. It did not matter; they needed to go faster. Faster.
The next one had the doors open, and a man lugged a sack up the ladder positioned to the left; his grumpy snarl changed to a terrified stare, and he screamed, sliding right back down. He wore a patched coat and a close-fit furry hat, so not a guard. Dov and Tuft ignored him and continued.
What if he told the guard about them?
Dov moved the shield to the side, and she could see two men in green coats and large tech weapons strapped to their backs standing in the middle of the parapet, looking over the expanse of mountains and river valley that formed the Reeds and the Bells districts. Lights flickered in the brightening shadows, and the snow on the eastern slopes had a pinkish hue from the sunrise. They turned, and the moment it took them to understand what they saw, was a moment too long; she squeezed her eyes shut and only heard a twack and shrieks as he knocked them over the edge.
Military khentauree did not mess around, did they?
Filled bags blocked the way into the next tower. Dov grabbed several and dropped them down the ladder. She thought she heard a faint protest as one broke with a tell-tale ploof. Since the bags looked heavy, she doubted anyone could lug them out of the way and clamber up before they raced away.
“Three to go,” Tuft said.
Dov’s head swiveled around. “There are six guards headed towards us, beyond the next tower,” he said.
“We shall jump,” Tuft told him.
Jump? Lapis did not like the sound of that.
She found out soon enough, as Dov, then he, sprang to the flat-topped roof of the tower without warning. Her heart thudded in her ears as they knelt together, the door slanted over them. By the time she regained her thoughts, and the shivery fright of her chest had evaporated, she heard loud talking below.
“We don’t need this trouble.”
“You gonna tell him that?”
“No.”
“Janks think the new high councilor’s gonna punish him for rilin’ up the city. Denthies don’t want another front; Abastion’s enough. He’s thinkin’ he’s clear, but it’s his personal vendetta, not national security.”
A door squeaked open, and boots stomped inside, then it shut. Silence.
Neither Dov nor Tuft moved. Yvere glanced at Lapis, and she shrugged; khentauree had better ways than they of detecting the enemy. Looking back on past encounters, she realized how lucky she was to have survived.
Another, fainter door opened, and voices rose, not loud enough Lapis could tell what they said. They must have taken the ladder down to the ground level, which hopefully meant they were going off-shift rather than starting one. The words paused as the skyshroud’s jets flickered, then resumed, more animated.
“They fear it will crash, as the ones in Dentheria did,” Dov said.
“That’s what’s going to happen,” Lapis muttered.
The khentauree waited long enough, she wanted to scream at them—they needed to go NOW—then bounded to the walkway and continued to the next tower, hugging the cliff side of the parapet.
They came upon the tech cannons facing the Bells and Romangerie districts. They were black metal with a spherical ignition chamber that held the wiring and other operational elements, and a barrel with a flayed muzzle. Two horseshoe-shaped handles jutted from the sides, giving the operator a grip so they could swivel the heavy weapon horizontally on the circular base, and position it vertically based on the degree the screen on the back showed.
Dov grabbed the back panel and ripped it from the nearest cannon, snagged the wires, and pulled everything out, before chucking the armful of stuff over the edge. He did the same with the other four; if they returned this way, no one could use the weapons against them.
“Hold tight.”
Lapis barely slipped her arms around Tuft’s waist, confused. What did the khentauree plan? Tingles raced through her an icy ramp formed in front of Dov. He went over the top of the parapet, and they followed. Yvere glanced back at her as the ice zipped ahead, hugging the wall, no railing. She had no answers, until voices rose above them, one commanding and irritated, others resentful.
Just what they needed, grumpy guards discovering and following the weird ice ramp. Maybe they should have stayed on the parapet, taken them out. She looked behind; the path evaporated just past Tuft’s heels. She turned back around, wishing she had remained focused on the khentauree’s back. She did not want to think about a back-end plummet.
Which, of course, was all that pounded through her skull.
“Sanna says Faelan and Double Catch are not in the dungeon.” Tuft patted her hands as she stiffened. “We will reach them in time.”
She wanted to rage, she wanted to cry. They had already taken him to the staging ground? She firmed her lips. They raced to her brother, and they would save him. They had to.
The ramp arched down and they reached a series of shuttered openings tall enough for the khentauree if they bent down. Dov punched through the wood in the center, and the two panels swung open. They entered a dark passage that must have once been an often-used walkway, because why else have windows exposing the view? The khentauree trotted down it without light. Lucky them, they did not need it, but Lapis buried her head between Tuft’s shoulder blades. She hated darkness and what it hid.
Tuft set his hand over hers, squeezed, and left it there. Did he try to comfort her? She must be reacting even more poorly than she assumed. Greatly daring, but needing the touch, she threaded her fingers through his. She was not alone in the dark, and the enemy did not know to chase them yet. Danger existed, but it would not leap from the back and strike her down.
Sound drifted by, the steady shuffle of many someone’s walking, the random voice, the screech of metal, and odd clangs. Someone yelled, frightening her; he sounded as if he leaned against the other side of the wall. Could he hear them, as well as they heard him?
“Prepare,” Tuft said, though he did not release her hand.
Cyan flared, destroying the left-hand wall. Dov jumped through and down, Tuft on his heels; they struck mud, scattering clumps of soil and burning wood into the shocked people who walked on the white-tiled path. Women screamed, more with disgust than fear, and swatted at their fine coats and embroidered skirts now splatted with cold, runny gunk. The men covered their heads, ducked, and did nothing else.
Nobles. On their way to view Gall’s disgraceful display? Likely.
Ice raced up the legs of several, fusing them to the walkway. Their arms waved wildly as they yelled for help. Tuft must have believed them a threat, but she had no idea why.
The fancy-dressed people ahead of them turned to see what the commotion was, shrieked, and scurried out of the way as Dov and Tuft jumped the leafless bushes and clattered onto the stone tiles.
Not stealthy, not quiet—did they know something about Faelan they had not told her? Anxiety slammed against fear, and she struggled to breathe. They would save her brother. They would.
The jets sputtered, and one above them did not reignite.
A cyan beam shot past her and Tuft; Yvere pointed her small weapon behind them. Lapis looked; a man fell, his hand-held weapon flying from his fingers. Ice targeted a couple more. Screams turned from surprised to fearful and most raced in the other direction, plowing over those too slow to get out of their way.
Thunk thunk thunk.
Wood chips flew from the door-shield, but Dov did not hesitate. He swept it in front of him, hard enough that the guards he struck fell and did not get back up. Two collapsed on the walkway; Tuft jumped with delicate precision, kicked as he landed, and left red running across the tiles from crushed heads.
She swallowed her gorge. Dov may be a military khentauree who once kidnapped her, but Tuft intimidated her more.
The walkway broadened into a circular courtyard. More people crowded it; all stopped, stared, confused. Dov turned right and used the door-shield as a ram to drive people out of their way. Both men and women fell, some with companions pulling them out of harm’s way after they passed, some choosing to run rather than face the unknown. More had their feet frozen to the ground, and Lapis decided they had weapons or some other harmful object that Tuft took exception to.
A short set of double-wide wooden stairs led to a doorway, the paint on the walls white, gold decorating pilasters and a transom window.
She would never doubt a khentauree’s strength again. Dov used the door-shield to plow through the plush viewing hallway, breaking chandeliers, sconces, couches, chairs, people. Shouts of warning flew ahead of them but not by many steps, and screams filled the air behind them. The palace guards would notice the commotion, but too late to prevent their arrival. From Patch’s description, they were at the staging ground. They could not stop now.
The floor curved up, evened out, and Lapis looked out the glass windows.
The muddy area below had a crowd, though guards with tech weapons kept them well back from the raised platform. She saw two stools, two men standing on them, hands tied behind their backs, feet tied together, blindfolds hiding their eyes. Ropes decorated their necks.
Faelan. Faelan! She recognized him, his clothing, his black hair. She could see bruises on his jaw from that distance—they beat him. They would PAY.
Next to him was a man with a pointy beard and greying reddish-brown hair—Double Catch? She had never met him, but who else would they hang alongside the rebel Leader?
A wagon under heavy guard sat to the side, just inside the closed portcullis, several people sitting in the bed, hands and feet tied, but without the blindfolds. She recognized the rebels—Brander was with them! They would rescue him too!
The whitish light bathing the area flickered and dimmed. Another jet failed.
Someone shouted from behind, sounding insane with rage and fear. She glanced back; a noble waved his arm, trying to dislodge the ice that covered his tech weapon, but it raced to his shoulder, circled his neck, and encased his head.
Dov blew the wall out, wood and glass shattering and tumbling to the ground. An ice ramp shot from the floor and down to the platform. He slid down, jumped, and reared, the door-shield facing the guards at the wagon. Yvere pointed her handheld towards the viewing box, but lower; guards must be there.
Tuft continued down the ramp.
“BROTHER!” she screamed in Fae-speak. He would hear, know it was her, as the only other person still alive who understood it. “I’M HERE! I HAVE YOU!”
