The Starfall Knight (34 page)

Marzell approached.  “Vantanis?”

“Yes, Captain Marzell?”

“It seems your old friends were more destructive than we first thought,” Marzell said.  “The other two ballistae will need repairs before we can use them.”

“They look fine,” Devan said.”

“On the surface, yes.  But someone has taken a few swings at the base as well as the body of both devices.  They’ll shatter themselves upon firing, perhaps even upon winching the arms.”

“We’ll have to repair them,” Vantanis said.  “Don’t use the shacks.  Tear apart Tarius’ cabin – it’s the only good source of timber around.”

The soldiers trooped away, fanning out and searching all of the huts for axes and tools.  Before long, the Centarans had taken apart the roof of Tarius’ cabin and set about dismantling the walls and interior.  Bundles of timber lay in the dirt between the cabin and the smithy.  As Devan hauled another plank away, he caught sight of the crack in the ground where he had been held captive.

“What’s wrong?”  Rika sidled up and nudged him in the shoulder.

“Nothing,” Devan replied.  He shot her a smile.  “I’m sorry that you got dragged into this.”

“Why?  It’s our duty.”  Rika lifted the other end of the plank, relieving the strain on Devan’s shoulders.  “Did you see Tayu?  Is he safe?”

“He was holed up underneath the city,” Devan said.  “There were a lot of refugees hiding there.  He can handle himself.”

Rika nodded.  They carried the timber back to the ballistae, winding between the abandoned shacks and passing their fellow Centarans who were returning for more wood.  Rika hummed a tune in time with their footsteps.

“What is that song?”

“This one?  Oh, it’s the Lament of the Rester and Hurst.”

“It’s melancholy.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Rika said.  “Do you like it?”

“Not under these circumstances,” Devan said.

They brought the timber to the edge of the aerock.  The military engineers were already working on the first ballistae.  Sawdust swirled in the air as hammerfalls thudded.  Alessa paced back and forth, a book in her hands.  Nearby, a pile of scrolls and tomes lay upon a makeshift table constructed of two logs and an old door.

“I hope they know what they’re doing,” Rika said.

“As do I.”

The work continued throughout the day.  The rangers foraged throughout the aerock, against Vantanis’ advice, but found nothing worth eating.  Devan said nothing as some eyes turned towards the mangy terrier that had taken to following Rika.

Romaine oversaw the work of the cables and wagons.  Everyone had accepted that the grapples could not possibly hold the entire aerock if the andonite was close to depletion – instead, they would serve to hold the wagons and carts.  Further lengths of cables were draped around like netting.  The infirm would remain in the beds of the wagons while the military would cling to the outside.  It was the only way that everyone would be able to escape.

Late afternoon arrived and the sky took on an amber cast.  Devan joined his brother and the line of Centarans along the edge of Sirinis.  Centara loomed ahead, Masteney and Verovel clearly visible as the trailing aerocks.

“How far do you think it is?”

Benton chewed his lip for a moment.  “A good league or more.”

“Vantanis said that the ballistae had a horizontal range of at least a furlong or even two.”

“We’d be shooting upwards and against our own speed,” Benton said.  “We’d need to be within half a furlong.”

“That’s practically spitting distance.  Won’t they see us?”

“Not if the Sirinese are preoccupied with the city.”

Devan nodded.  From what he had heard of Masteney’s invasion, he did not need any elaboration on the fate of the Centarans who remained in the city.

“How many of the squad stayed?”

“Most,” Benton replied with downcast eyes.  “Enkel, Rodyn, Lei, Derald and Lora.  Vannton died in the initial wave.  Mikkis and Arrot died in the fighting afterwards.  The boroughs are no place for rangers.”

“Moons.”

“Rika and Terson are here.  I don’t know where Olban got to.”

Sirinis trembled.

“Moons damn it!”  Vantanis stepped back from the edge and planted his palms into the sparse dirt.

“What is it?” Alessa asked.

The pilot shook his head.  “We’re out.”

Further down, Romaine called out, “Man the ballistae!”

Soldiers and rangers sprinted to the three war machines.  Devan hadn’t been trained in the siege weaponry yet and he hung back with the other rangers and city guards.  Marzell approached Romaine and said, “Marshal, we’re not range yet.”

Romaine replied but Devan couldn’t hear her over the wind.  Marzell nodded and resumed command of her troops.

The ballistae teams armed the devices with grappling hooks and adjusted the angle of trajectory.  The machines had already been winched and the teams settled next to the firing mechanisms.

“Aim!”  Sirinis trembled and the air fell still.

“Loose!”  A soldier at each ballistae brought a hammer down on the firing pin.  The arms shot back in unison, steel slapping against wood in a sharp report.  The base of each device quaked and dirt shook.  The grapples sailed through the sky, cables snaking out behind.

Devan closed his eyes as each payload fell well short of their targets.

Sirinis fell.

Devan wandered through the deconstructed cabin as twilight encroached on the aerock.  The wind whistled through the half torn walls and open roof.  Tarius had lived a good life, if the size of the structure was anything to judge by.  A familiar lilting voice echoed from back room and Devan followed the sound, his boots thumping on the bare floorboards.

“Drifting under a blooded sky

Falling fields turned grey

Resting here f’all time

Fading from my mind, my relief betrayed.”

The back wall of the cabin had been removed, leaving rudimentary beams above the window frame.  Rika sat on a beam, her crossed ankles dangling.

“Was that the Lament of Rester and Hurst?” Devan asked.

“Yes,” Rika said.  “Only the first verse though.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard it in Centaran before.”  Devan clambered up the cabin’s skeleton and settled next to Rika.

“It’s better in old Centaran.”  She rested a hand on top of Devan’s.  “I read some of Vantanis’ books.  Did you know that written Sirinese is different to Centaran?”

“No, truly?”

“We can understand their speech, even if they have strange accents and slang.  But it’s interesting that their written words are different.”

Devan nodded and followed Rika’s gaze over the edge of the aerock.  The sun slid further down, the maroon deepening in the sky.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we, Dev?”

“Don’t think like that, Rika.”  He squeezed her hand.

“What’s down there?  Monsters?  The abyss?”

“Some say there’s nothing.”

“What if there’s something?” Rika said.  “We’ll crash into it.  Will we survive that?”

Devan didn’t reply.  In the distance, the soldiers had built a bonfire and started gambling.  Raucous songs drifted across but Devan felt the emptiness that could only be filled with the boisterousness born of alcohol.

Rika fished out a handful of coins.  The chips of andonite pulsed, illuminating her leather gauntlet.

“You brought money?” Devan asked.

“Just what I had in the house,” Rika said.  “I didn’t want to leave it behind for the Sirinese.  It’s mostly slate and white quartz.”

Devan picked through the denominations.  “A couple of browns too.  You’ve been saving up, haven’t you?”

“Not much use anymore, though.”  Rika tossed the coins out and they sprawled over the dirt, the andonite chips pulsing like miniature campfires.  “You should do it!  It feels good.”

Devan smiled.  “I would but I didn’t bring any money.  Why don’t you teach me the Lament?  In Old Centaran?”

“I’ve heard you sing,” Rika said.  “You’re horrible.”

“True.”

“I’ll sing for the both of us.”  A longwing squawked overhead and Rika peered into the darkness.  “Poor birds.  Dragged into our fate.”

Devan looked up at the pair of longwings spiralling down in Sirinis’ wake.  Their wings flapped methodically – either their great strength could not pull them from the vortex or they were following of their own volition.  “Nevermind,” Devan said to Rika.  “Perhaps they have come to see us off.”

Rika nodded.  She hummed to herself for a few lines, then sang in old Centaran.  The melancholic tune sent Devan’s mind back to the invasion of Verovel.  How many times had the survivors travelled to the cemetery?  Back and forth throughout the town and the outside the destroyed walls, the wagons didn’t cease until the next day.  The funerals seemed endless.

He found himself tapping his boots together, keeping time with the dirge.  Rika squeezed his arm when he fell out of beat.  Devan hadn’t ever noticed how well she could sing.  He soaked in the tones of her clear voice and watched the andonite chips pulse, their own field of stars.

Rika corrected his timing again.  The coins pulsed as the longwings screeched again.  Devan peered upwards but only made out the barest silhouettes coasting above.  His boots missed another beat, instead tapping in time with the throb of the andonite chips in the coins.

The andonite chips in the coins pulsed as the longwings swooped in their endless pursuit of Sirinis.  Their wings flapped.  The coins pulsed.

Devan hopped off the beam as Rika asked, “What is it?”

“The andonite!”  Devan landed, scrambling on the dirt.  He picked up a slate coin.

Rika slid off the cabin and joined him.  “Can it power the entire aerock?”

“There’s not nearly enough,” Devan said.  “Even if we had a whole treasury.”

“How do you know?”

“When I’m piloting, I can feel the entirety of the aerock.  The chips pale in comparison to what’s normally under our feet.”  He held up the coin against the sky, the andonite glowing against his fingers.  Devan searched for the longwings above.  “Rika, what do you see?”

She stepped next to Devan and peered at the slate.  In the distance, the longwings flapped their wings as they descended with the aerock.  “The pulse of the andonite.  It’s the same as the beat of their wings.”

“It must mean something.”

“It’s just a coincidence.”

“I don’t think so.”  Devan gathered all of the coins and placed them in one hand, ensuring that the chips in the centre were in contact with his bare skin.  He pressed his other palm against the dirt.

The jolt of andonite faded as soon as Devan stretched for the coins in his hand.  The earth energised in his touch and he flung a cart full of stone and rocks and dirt towards the longwings.

Devan lost sight of the makeshift missiles as they disappeared into the night sky.

Azure exploded above them and the two longwings burst with light.  Each of them screeched and Devan clutched his hands to his ears.  The birds shone with the glow of andonite, cerulean smoke and flame trailing behind them.

“Oh, moons, what have you done?”  Rika grasped Devan’s elbow.

The longwings tucked their wings and dove at Sirinis.  At Devan.

“Run!”  He pulled Rika along and leaped into Tarius’ cabin.  The longwings cried out.

Wood splinters exploded behind Devan and he threw himself down, covering Rika with his armoured body.  The longwings cawed as timber beams sheared away from the cabin’s frame like dead twigs from a tree.  The azure light passed over Devan and he chanced a peek at the creatures.

They were more than birds now, fiery tendrils fanning out of their wings and tails.

“What happened to them?” Rika asked.

“I don’t know.”  Devan helped Rika to her feet as the longwings smashed through a line of shacks.  Debris spewed into the air.  He opened a hand, revealing the lifeless coins.  Under the cast of the moon Aer – no, Dwer – the drained andonite looked like shrivelled thimbles of tendons.  He watched the longwings ascend for another pass at Sirinis.

“They’re blue.  As blue as andonite.”  He gestured to Rika.  “Come on!”

Devan raced out of the remains of the cabin and headed to the ballistae and the bonfires throwing up orange sparks.  The wind still howled around the aerock as Sirinis continued freefalling.

The Centarans had abandoned all pretense at revelry and watched the longwings smashing through more huts.

“That would be the Redivar enclave,” Vantanis said.

“Allies of yours?” Marzell asked.

“Moons, no!”  Vantanis sighed.  “But they did have a family with a great recipe for spiced skink.”

“Skink?”  Marzell winced.  She saw Devan and Rika and added, “Evening, rangers.”

“Arm the ballistae!”  Devan searched the crowd for familiar faces.  “And give me all your coins!”

“Money won’t do you much good here,” Terson said.

“It’s the andonite,” Devan said.  “I did something to the longwings.  And now they’ve changed.”

“What did you do?” Vantanis asked.

“I used the andonite chips in coins and hurled some dirt at them.”

“What ever possessed you to do such a thing?”

“Timing.”  Devan shrugged.

Rika and Alessa gathered the coins from the Centarans as Marzell and the other captains oversaw the arming of the ballistae.  Romaine pushed past the crowd emptying their pockets and said, “The longwings are not our enemy.”

“No, Marshal.  They’re not.”

Devan and Vantanis split the paltry handful of coins between them.  The older man said, “I’ve never thrown dirt before.  But I suppose it’s much like moving an aerock, only much less of it.”

Devan grinned.  He called out to Captain Marzell, “Are you ready?”

“Ready!”

“Marshal,” Devan said, “perhaps it might be wise for everyone else to clear the area.”

Romaine nodded.  “All right, everyone!  Let’s move back.”

As the Councillors, soldiers and rangers retreated, Devan clutched the coins in one hand and pressed his palm against the dirt.  Vantanis mirrored him.