Stranger of Tempest: Book One of The God Fragments (14 page)

‘What are you doing, woman?’

‘It’s not dangerous!’

Lynx scowled. ‘Tell that to every single person who’s reported seeing one and lived. Bloody things are wild and mad, they’ll tear a man apart in a heartbeat.’

‘This one won’t.’

He looked at her as though she was insane. ‘Why?’

The smile returned to her face. ‘Because it’s here to see me. It’s a night elemental.’ She put her fingers to her lips and turned her back on him, cutting off any further questions with a raised hand. There they waited, a dozen heartbeats, then a dozen more. She could sense the mounting frustration in Lynx, but she refused to pay him any attention. Her body felt as if it was coming alive, a sparkle of life filling her veins and lungs as the elemental came closer. Around them the darkness seemed to brighten and deepen at the same time, the magic singing through her body, unveiling a whole new spectrum of shadow to her.

She had only seen one twice before, just enough to treasure the memories and know what she was looking for. A flicker of movement caught her eye, darkness edged in a sliver of the Skyriver’s light. It slipped forward through the trees, so black it was near-invisible but for the movement of its shard-like form.

The elemental was the height of a man but utterly different in every other way – without limbs or a body, just sharp lines and concealing shadows that were a deeper hue of black than the darkest night. It drifted on the breeze rather than walked – a multi-faceted and irregular jewel that seemed to sparkle with deepest amethyst and rich dark sapphire. Surrounded by a haze of shadow, what body it had consisted of flat shards of jet, open like petals but flittering and twitching like a butterfly’s wings and never at rest, never quite of the world they existed in. The shadows seemed to blur with each movement, leaving echoes of each passing hanging faint in the air.

Behind her she heard Lynx gasp as he finally saw the elemental, past her shoulder, but Sitain could not tear her eyes away as it slipped closer, ignoring everything but her. She gently reached her hand out, feeling the magic in her body awaken and surge forward to meet it. The elemental came within touching distance and hung there for a while, glimmering and shining with the opposite of light, rather than merely its absence.

It made a jerky, flickering motion towards her and Sitain found her hand suddenly surrounded by the sharp lines of the night elemental. Under the gentle embrace of obsidian teeth magic began to mingle like the waters of an estuary, an embrace of kindred spirits as she let the elemental’s power run through her body. It tasted cool and rich, a luxuriant oiliness flooding over her skin while she did the same and felt some part of her flutter through its shadowy shards.

How long the contact lasted she couldn’t say. At some point she blinked and the elemental fled, winking away in staccato fashion, five yards away, ten, then gone entirely. The strange, crisp shades of darkness faded from the air and softer shades of night returned. Shouts and laughter cut through the air from the camp behind, but Sitain and Lynx found themselves transfixed still, basking in the unreal echo of the night elemental’s presence.

‘Now that was a thing worth seeing,’ Lynx breathed behind her finally, putting a hand on her shoulder to let her know it was time to return.

Sitain nodded, glad tears beading at the corners of her eyes. She heard him move off at a stealthy creep and waited a few moments more, breathing deeply while she composed herself and wrapped this latest encounter in the cloth of her mind. Satisfied, she followed him back and they passed the rest of the watch in silence, content in what they had shared.

The darkness erupted into thunder and flame. Lynx’s head spun as the night was torn apart. His horse screamed as bursts of white arrowed past them. He was almost thrown from the saddle as the close-packed horses slammed into each other, barging with the force of hammers as they fought to escape. Light and movement whirled before his eyes, too fast to fathom, then Lynx was half-falling into the rider beside him.

Something struck his head as he was rocked sideways, then the world tipped and he was tumbling backwards. He caught himself on the rump of the other horse, his own crumpling beneath him, and would have dropped beneath its hooves had the other rider not hauled him roughly forwards.

A dragon’s cough of flame washed over one side of his vision, searing orange and yellow as it burst into raging flames. Shouts came from all directions, then cries of terror. The group of horses came to a faltering stop, the lead horse crashing down dead ahead of them. Some swept on past, breaking away from the fallen, others reined in and fired off to the side. The rider to Lynx’s left had stopped alongside him; Kas, cursing and scrambling clear from the corpse of her horse as it folded with a strange, quiet dignity beneath her.

Lynx looked at his own mount. It seemed to have sat down, rear legs neatly parked while its front pair scrambled frantically at the cobbled street. Blood was splashed all up his leg, a black flood erupting from the gut of Kas’s horse while the edges of a ragged wound bore the white trace of frost.

Finally it made sense. An icer had punched through the heart of her horse, killing it before it knew what was happening, then gone on through into the rear of his own. A sudden sense of skin exposed to a freezing wind made him look down at his calf. His boot had been split down the back, leather parted but just a pink streak of frost-burn on the exposed skin where the icer had missed him.

‘Just had ’em fixed,’ Lynx mumbled drunkenly. ‘Bastards.’

A great detonation came from above his head, beating his senses back into place. He looked up and saw the huge pale face of Reft, hairless features contorted like a gargoyle’s as he raced to reload under fire.

Lynx snatched up his own gun and let his body take over. A flick of the fingers snapped the catch open, a twist of the wrist flipped up the lid of his cartridge box. The white painted cap of an icer winked in the moonlight as it slid home then vanished as he snapped it closed. He raised the mage-gun and paused a moment, just long enough to feel shock at the conflagration enveloping one side of the street. Fire spilled down the flank of a corner building, the ground windows blown in by the force of the burner shot. Inside it was already aflame and snakes of fire surged up the outer walls, seeking the inhabitants above.

There were bodies near the corner, one writhing and flailing at the flames dancing on their clothes. Beyond them he saw the startled white faces of Charnelers – their livery bright in the half-light. Lynx sighted on one and pulled the gun tight to his shoulder, leaning into the kick as he pulled the trigger. A slender path of white opened up in front of him as the gun roared, its fury briefly eclipsing all sound around him. The Charneler was still staring, frozen in the act of loading, when it struck him in the chest and he was hurled off his feet. A pale cloud of vapour was all that remained in the air.

‘Regroup!’ a loud voice yelled.

Lynx glanced over, reloading by feel. It was Olut, pale hair flying wildly as she fought to control her horse and aim a mage-gun at the same time. Toil was sprawled on the ground not far from Olut, hers having been the first horse to die. She was moving, but looked groggy and uncoordinated.

Anatin clattered back around after Olut, having more success controlling his horse than she was. He fired from horseback while in his wake came Safir and Teshen with their long guns booming. Kas sighted her bow as Lynx loaded. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the remaining ambushers stagger back towards the burning building, fletching protruding from his gut. The last two didn’t wait to help him; they abandoned their guns and fled. No one wasted any more ammunition so Teshen tossed his spent gun to Safir and ghosted forward towards the wounded Charneler. A long knife appeared in his hands and he lunged forward mid-stride, piercing the man’s heart in one neat movement. The Charneler gave a gasp of pain, then the blade was withdrawn and his strength seemed to flow out of him with his blood. He flopped forward and Lynx heard the crack of the arrow shaft as he fell on it, but by then Teshen had already forgotten the man and turned away.

‘Injuries?’ Anatin called after a moment of calm, pistol raised in case there were other attackers.

Reft went to Toil’s side and eased her up in his huge hands. He bent low over her face then nodded to Anatin.

The mercenary commander slipped from his horse. ‘Bad?’ he asked Reft.

‘Fuck the lot o’ you,’ Toil slurred from beneath the big man, hands flapping ineffectually at him. ‘Am fine.’

For a moment she struggled to pull herself up then found the effort defeated her and sagged back. ‘Mebbe I juss sleep here bit.’

‘Four horses down,’ Safir supplied, reloading and moving past Lynx to watch the way they’d come. ‘That squad behind us won’t be too long.’

‘Lynx, can you walk?’

He frowned down at his leg and gingerly tested it. It was a little numb but he stamped some life into it and the limb seemed to be willing to take his weight. ‘Better’n her,’ he confirmed.

‘That fire’s going to bring every patrol in the city towards us,’ Anatin said. ‘Reft, put Toil on your horse. Tie her on if you have to. The rest of you, we run with the horses we’ve got left. You feel yourself slipping behind, call out and ride until you got your breath. Questions?’

‘Ammo?’ Teshan asked quietly.

Anatin snorted and gestured to the burning street. ‘Oh sure, now let’s be careful about setting the gods-cursed city alight!’

‘You really want a firestorm on your soul?’ Lynx interjected.

Anatin turned on him with a snarl and levelled his mage-pistol. ‘The state o’ my soul ain’t your fucking concern! You got a problem with my command, tough shit. We need to get to the city gate and all we’ve got is firepower to do the job. It ain’t high summer; folk’ll just have to take their chances.’

Lynx didn’t reply. Pointedly he reached into his cartridge case and pulled a sparker free. Before either of them could speak, Olut cursed and there was a shout from behind them. She raised her gun, horse now under control, and Lynx turned round to face the new threat. A pale face with a young man’s beard and Assayer livery gaped at them from the corner of a building, weapon still pointed at the ground.

Olut’s mage-gun roared and the man was hurled backwards amid a small cloud. Lynx dropped his gun and ran with his sword drawn to the alley mouth where the man lay dying. He checked at the corner, the falchion’s broad curved blade pulled back across his body. The moment he saw a muzzle peek out from behind the corner he kicked forward at it. The weapon clattered from the man’s hands and Lynx chopped down at the one who’d been holding it. He barrelled forward, using his bulk to barge through a lanky, greying man and lunge at the last of the Assayer patrol.

The sword caught her in the gut, a quilted tunic no protection against the steel point, and he felt flesh slice as she fell back. Lynx didn’t pause, the hammer of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. There was a familiar jolt in his belly, that frantic roar of fear and rage that came in battle. He slashed wildly at the lanky man, driving him back as he took the blow on his gun stock. Teeth bared, Lynx put his shoulder into the man and slammed him off balance, punching at his balls before stabbing him in the neck.

The man fell, blood pouring from his throat, and Lynx paused, looking back at the woman he’d stabbed. She was lying face up on the ground, yellow hood fallen back to reveal a once-beautiful face now contorted in shock and pain. Her breath was coming in short, pained huffs, the stain of blood on her belly telling its own story. Lynx felt a cold sensation in his stomach but he forced himself to turn away, driving the sight from his mind. Maybe she’d live, maybe not. He wasn’t going to finish her off. Only the crazed ignored a wound like that to continue the fight; she’d lie still and pray to Insar someone found her in time.

‘You finished, butcher boy?’ Olut called.

Lynx took a slow breath to let the fire in his blood cool. ‘Shove it,’ he growled. He wiped the blade of his sword on his sleeve then snatched up his gun again and slung it over his shoulder. ‘We can’t outrun mage-shot.’

Anatin gave a snort. ‘Would’ve put an earther through the building myself, but however you like to get the job done, I guess. You Hanese do know how to kill, I’ll give you that. We clear back there?’

‘We’re clear,’ Lynx said with a nod. ‘Save your earther for the city gate.’

‘Aye. Come on then.’

As the day’s light faded around the turnpike inn on the last stretch of road towards Grasiel, the company pitched camp for the night. The mercenaries had been slow to settle, their spirits raised by the inn’s provisions of beer and the new livery that Payl and Foren, the company quartermaster, had distributed. It was one many of them had worn before, kept packed away for instances such as this, where they didn’t want to advertise their true identity.

As of that afternoon they had become the Steel Crows and patches bearing a black crow’s head image had been roughly stitched over everything bearing a playing card. As ruses went it was modest, but in a city of merchants there would be a great number of travellers and little might be remembered beyond the name and insignia. Given what they planned to do in Grasiel, a city of competing factions in constant flux, it was likely this would be unnecessary. But things might not go as planned and Anatin had no wish to burn any bridges that might lead to future employment.

At one of the fires, there was only one mercenary left – a woman, smoking and staring into the flames. Braqe was so caught up that she failed to notice when she was joined by another and it was only when the newcomer pushed a twig into the fire to light his own cigarette that she jerked back into wakefulness.

‘Deern,’ she said, blinking slowly at him, white eyes bright against her dark skin and the gloom of dusk. ‘Where’d you come from?’

‘Thought you could use somethin’ stronger,’ the small mercenary replied. He pulled a slim bottle from his pocket and offered it over. ‘Given the boss seems to have forgotten his loyal troops recently.’