The historian sadly shook his head. ‘I’m flattered, but no — it’s a young man’s chase. Find a stronger back.’
‘Well, who …’ Spindle looked to Blend and Picker. They shook their heads. ‘We have our post.’
‘
Duiker edged a hand to the back and cocked a brow. Spindle’s gaze narrowed; then he smiled evilly. He ran for the rear. ‘Fisher!’ he bellowed. ‘Get out here! We’re on.’
*
Torvald’s quorl now flitted over the estate district. Since reaching the city, he’d been peering all about for the gas lights but had seen hardly any. The dread gripped him that this was some sort of trap devised by these mages. Yet couldn’t it also be a fantastic blessing? It may be that someone here has shown astounding forethought. He’d like to kiss whoever it was, considering all the munitions now flying over the city. Ahead, the ‘Orb’, as Galene called it, shone with the reflected commingled light of the moon and the Scimitar. It glowed so pale he imagined that in daylight it would be white. And he could see through it as well, as if were as thin and translucent as a bubble. Galene suddenly jerked her straps, urging her mount into a series of jerking rolls and near-spins. Torvald held on for his life.
‘What’s that for!’ he yelled.
His answer came as something lashed from Majesty Hill to strike a chevron of the approaching quorls. For all he could tell it looked like ripples in the air, heat ripples as over a hot road. These disturbances arced out like waves and any quorl they struck tumbled from the sky, its wings shattered like crushed dry leaves. As the creatures fell spinning Torvald suddenly realized what was about to happen. He quickly looked away, yet the glaring bright flash still dazzled his vision. A thunderous roar followed, together with a great black cloud of debris kicking skyward behind. Peering back, it looked as though a block of the waterfront district had been destroyed.
‘Pay attention,’ Galene snarled over the wind.
Their mount now turned sharply, tilting almost sideways. The ghostly pale Orb swung into view. Torvald glimpsed the forested park grounds of Majesty Hill below, and saw masked figures running and one man, bent, his long pale arms malformed, gesturing to wreak such havoc among the quorl chevrons.
‘Ready munitions!’ Galene yelled above the screaming wind.
Torvald pulled out the first cusser and hugged it to his chest.
The quorl turned even more sharply now, arcing until they were riding nearly upside down. The pale lucent wall of the Orb curved directly below, as did a section of Majesty Hall.
‘
Torvald threw. The cusser fell, tumbling and spinning. He bent backwards, following its descent. The moment it reached the ghostly wall of the Orb he winced, blinded, as a flash jabbed at his vision. An instant later a concussive wall of force knocked their quorl sideways, sending them spinning.
Galene fought to regain control of her mount. They swung round, headed now for the waterfront. ‘What happened?’ she grated, turning back to confront him.
‘It burst early when it struck that wall or whatever it is!’
‘Elders damn that sorcerer!’ She reknotted her hands through the jesses, tightening them. ‘We’ll go high.’
Behind them further bright flashes lit the night, followed closely by the rolling thunder of blast after blast. Torvald was thrown backwards as the quorl’s nose suddenly rose straight up. They climbed and climbed, arching ever backwards until Galene had put the quorl through a complete back loop and rolled to right them. They headed back for another pass.
Torvald fought down the contents of his stomach.
*
Coll rushed back into the Great Hall to find all the councillors, aristocrats, functionaries and hangers-on jammed together in a tight circle round the raised white throne, where the Legate sat still as immobile as ever. From overhead came an almost constant booming, punishing everyone. Dust sifted down from the stone ceiling.
‘We cannot be harmed!’ the Mouthpiece yelled, his voice cracking and quavering, rather ruining the effect of his claim.
Councillor Redda Orr pushed her way through the crowd to Coll. ‘What now?’ she shouted, and ducked at a particularly close punch of bursting pressure.
‘That wretched weasel Mouthpiece is right,’ he answered. ‘None of this is getting through.’
‘But what if the roof should fall?’
He squinted up at the arched ceiling and saw mortar drifting down from between the stones. ‘You’re right.’ He glared about, searching for an answer. ‘The cellars! We have to get everyone down underground.’
A pall of silence grew over all the shouting and crying around them and Coll looked over. The Legate had stood up. ‘Lady Envy,’ the Mouthpiece said, choking and gasping. ‘Will you not demonstrate why you are the brightest jewel of this court?’
Men and women flinched from one tall woman who remained unbowed beneath the direct regard of the Legate. She crooked her painted lips in an amused smile. Then she lightly inclined her head and sauntered to the doors. All eyes followed her lazy, seemingly unconcerned exit.
Once Lady Envy had turned from sight the Legate gestured and the tall double doors of the Great Hall slammed shut.
This broke whatever spell had been holding the court together. Everyone began yelling in an instant panic, running to find exits, grabbing at one another, trying make themselves understood. Over this Coll used his battlefield bellow to roar: ‘
The crowd of courtiers and councillors surged after him.
Throughout it all the Legate calmly faced the doors, hands at his sides, immobile, gold oval cocked a touch to one side. As if expecting company.
*
On the street of the weaponsmiths in the Gadrobi district, a heavyset woman sat out on the steps of a duelling school, letting the cool night air brush her face while she flexed her hand and wrist, which were numb from a long practice session.
A strange sound stilled her and she lifted her head, listening for a time. Then, dismissing the noise, she returned to rolling her wrist. She pushed back her shoulders and edged her neck from side to side, grimacing at the pain of old tight tendons.
A blast rocked her, rattling all the nearby windows and shocking her to her feet. She glared up the street to where smoke and the orange flickering of flames climbed over the city. People screamed in their rooms; others ran out on to the street to peer about.
From the north flashes lit the night, followed shortly by thunder as in a storm. But Stonny knew that sound for no storm. She ran inside and woke a sleeping boy, who blinked up at her, confused.
‘Gather everyone together and come to the front now,’ she whispered, fierce.
‘What? Do what, Mother?’
‘Do it now, lad.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes! Go.’ After making certain the boy was on his way she ran to the practice hall and strapped on two weapons. Another window offered a view of the Third Tier and Majesty Hill and here she stopped, staring, her heart now hammering. Where were all the lights?
‘Fener’s curse,’ she whispered. Bursts of mage-fire illuminated her wide, blunt face. Then something that looked as fragile and tiny as a feather fell, spinning, from the sky further along in the Lakefront district and a blast rocked the school, sending her staggering back. When she returned to the window she saw that the glazing had cracked.
She ran, yelling, ‘
*
‘There we go,’ murmured Fist K’ess as a burst of light flashed over the north-east. Moments later a muted rumble sounded. Aragan nodded, realized he’d been holding his breath, and eased it out. Further multiple flashes blazed, followed by an eventual continual low rumbling.
