War Storm
Page 129
So am I. My body buzzes, a live wire, not from my own electricity but from sheer nerves. I’ve felt it for hours, since Maven brought us down here, leading us through a service hatch a few miles north of the city limits.
Our army lumbers along with us. Thousands winding through the darkness, marching at an even, steady pace that echoes off the tunnel walls. It sounds like a heartbeat, rhythmic and pulsing, vibrating in my rib cage.
On my right, Kilorn shuffles along, his steps a bit stilted to keep pace with mine. He notices me staring and pulls a tight smile.
I try to return the gesture. He almost died in New Town. I remember the feel of his blood spraying across my lips. The memory fills me with a numb fear.
My old friend reads my face, even in the dim light. He nudges my arm. “You have to admit, I have a talent for survival.”
“Let’s hope it holds,” I mutter back.
I’m just as concerned for Farley, in spite of all her skills and wiles. Not that I’d ever say it out loud.
Farley has command of half the ground forces—all the Scarlet Guard soldiers as well as the Red Nortan defectors collected over the months of rebellion. Davidson leads the other half, though he is content to walk in line with the rest of us, letting her take precedence.
Up ahead, the tunnel splits. One side narrows but angles sharply upward, the path scrambling over a few ancient steps punctuated by gentle slopes of packed dirt. The other carries on like this one, wide and flat, with the slightest incline.
Maven slows before the fork, resting both hands on his hips. He seems amused by the guards flanking him, all six of them moving in lockstep.
“Which way?” Farley barks.
Maven glances over at her, wearing a familiar smirk. The shadows cut deep along his cheekbones and make his blue eyes stand out, vivid in their icy coldness. He doesn’t answer.
She doesn’t hesitate, striking him across the jaw. Silver blood spatters the tunnel floor, winking in the lantern light.
At my side, I clench a fist. I would let Farley grind Maven into a pulp under any other circumstances, but we need him right now.
“Farley,” I hiss, wishing I could call back the word as soon as I speak.
She frowns at me, even as Maven grins, showing silvered teeth.
“Up,” he says simply, pointing to the steeper way.
I’m not the only one to curse under their breath.
The narrower path isn’t difficult, but it does slow us down. Maven seems to delight in the prospect, looking back with a haunting sneer every few minutes or so. We have to walk three abreast, instead of twelve as before, making for a cramped ascent. The tunnel quickly grows hot with the presence of so many bodies, all of them nervous and agitated. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck. I would prefer to storm the capital at full strength, but I guess this will have to do.
Some of the steps are uneven and too high, forcing me to scramble. Kilorn watches me go, almost laughing. I can call forth a lightning storm, but tall steps are apparently beyond me.
The climb doesn’t take longer than a half hour, but it feels like days spent in the dim light, scuffling in relative silence. Even Kilorn keeps his mouth shut. The circumstances settle over the long train of soldiers like a cloud, sobering us all. What will we find when we finally reach the surface?
I try not to look at Maven, but find myself focusing on the outline of his body. It’s instinctual. I don’t trust him in any capacity. I expect him to dart into a crevice, disappear, and escape. But he keeps an even pace, never faltering in his steps.
The path flattens again, joining a wider tunnel with rounded walls and stone supports. The air is colder, sending a chill over my fevered skin.
“I think you know where we are,” Maven says, his voice echoing down to me. With one hand, he gestures to the center of the tunnel floor.
A pair of new tracks gleams, reflecting our lanterns.
We’ve reached the escape train.
I swallow hard, feeling a swell of fear rise in my throat. Not long now. Everyone else knows it too, judging by the thrum of activity rising through our ranks. From here, Farley’s half of our forces can easily get up to Whitefire, Caesar’s Square, and the cliffs that make up West Archeon. The rest, following Premier Davidson and General Swan, will cross under the river and link up with General Palace, the last member of Command still operating in the city. If all goes to plan, we’ll be able to overrun both sides of Archeon before anyone knows we’re here. And the Lakelanders will be caught in the middle.
But will Cal fight with us?
He has to, I tell myself. He has no other choice.
The official objective is to keep the city out of Lakelander hands. We can do that, at the very least. We can do that.
Next to me, Kilorn brushes my arm, sensing my discomfort. The burst of warmth makes me shiver again.
At the edge of my perception, something tinges. It hums and buzzes, the whine of distant electricity. Not above us, strangely, but ahead. And steadily approaching.
“Something’s coming,” I bark aloud.
Tyton reacts in the same manner, his body tensing. “Stand back!” he shouts, pushing Maven against the wall. The rest of us follow suit, moving quickly as the sound reaches us.
An engine screeches far ahead, closing the distance as it gains speed over the tracks. The lights round a gentle curve, blinding in comparison to our lanterns, and I have to turn my head to shield my eyes.
I end up looking at Maven, who doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.
The familiar train speeds by in a blur of gray metal, too fast for us to glimpse who may be inside. Still, Maven searches the windows as they fly by, his blue eyes big as dinner plates. He pales, going whiter than Tyton’s hair, and his throat works furiously, lips pressing into a disappearing line. All this passes in an instant as he quickly wrestles his emotions under control, but the moment is enough for me.
I know what fear looks like in Maven Calore, and he is terrified now. For very good reason.
Whatever plan he had, whatever hope there was for escape, just disappeared with that train.
He catches me staring, reading the fading expression on his face. His jaw tightens just a little and his eyes run over me, slow as a caress.
You can’t run from what you’ve done, I want to say aloud.
He gets the message.
As the train fades to nothing again, beyond my perception, his eyes flutter shut.
I think he’s saying good-bye.
Like the lights of the train, the spiraling white of the Treasury vaults is blinding.
Tyton has Maven by the neck. He uses the leverage to increase our pace, forcing Maven to march faster and faster as we ascend the vault levels. The air fills with the sound of weapons and body armor being checked. Guns loaded, blades drawn, buttons fastened, buckles clicked into place. The pistol on my own hip is still an unusual weight, and I lean a little to compensate. I doubt I’ll fire a bullet up there. Not like Farley. She sheds her jacket, tossing it to the side to be trampled by the hundreds behind us. Without the red overcoat, I can see the many belts and holsters crossing her back and hips, slung with half a dozen different guns and corresponding ammunition, as well as her radio. She has her knives as well, now in plain sight. Diana Farley is ready for war.
Somewhere behind us, one of the Scarlet Guard shouts, her voice echoing oddly. I can’t decipher it, but others repeat her words. The cheer reverberates off the walls, the sound rising like thunder, until I realize what they’re chanting.
“Rise, red as the dawn.”
In spite of my fear, I feel a wicked, wild grin rise to my lips.
Our army lumbers along with us. Thousands winding through the darkness, marching at an even, steady pace that echoes off the tunnel walls. It sounds like a heartbeat, rhythmic and pulsing, vibrating in my rib cage.
On my right, Kilorn shuffles along, his steps a bit stilted to keep pace with mine. He notices me staring and pulls a tight smile.
I try to return the gesture. He almost died in New Town. I remember the feel of his blood spraying across my lips. The memory fills me with a numb fear.
My old friend reads my face, even in the dim light. He nudges my arm. “You have to admit, I have a talent for survival.”
“Let’s hope it holds,” I mutter back.
I’m just as concerned for Farley, in spite of all her skills and wiles. Not that I’d ever say it out loud.
Farley has command of half the ground forces—all the Scarlet Guard soldiers as well as the Red Nortan defectors collected over the months of rebellion. Davidson leads the other half, though he is content to walk in line with the rest of us, letting her take precedence.
Up ahead, the tunnel splits. One side narrows but angles sharply upward, the path scrambling over a few ancient steps punctuated by gentle slopes of packed dirt. The other carries on like this one, wide and flat, with the slightest incline.
Maven slows before the fork, resting both hands on his hips. He seems amused by the guards flanking him, all six of them moving in lockstep.
“Which way?” Farley barks.
Maven glances over at her, wearing a familiar smirk. The shadows cut deep along his cheekbones and make his blue eyes stand out, vivid in their icy coldness. He doesn’t answer.
She doesn’t hesitate, striking him across the jaw. Silver blood spatters the tunnel floor, winking in the lantern light.
At my side, I clench a fist. I would let Farley grind Maven into a pulp under any other circumstances, but we need him right now.
“Farley,” I hiss, wishing I could call back the word as soon as I speak.
She frowns at me, even as Maven grins, showing silvered teeth.
“Up,” he says simply, pointing to the steeper way.
I’m not the only one to curse under their breath.
The narrower path isn’t difficult, but it does slow us down. Maven seems to delight in the prospect, looking back with a haunting sneer every few minutes or so. We have to walk three abreast, instead of twelve as before, making for a cramped ascent. The tunnel quickly grows hot with the presence of so many bodies, all of them nervous and agitated. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck. I would prefer to storm the capital at full strength, but I guess this will have to do.
Some of the steps are uneven and too high, forcing me to scramble. Kilorn watches me go, almost laughing. I can call forth a lightning storm, but tall steps are apparently beyond me.
The climb doesn’t take longer than a half hour, but it feels like days spent in the dim light, scuffling in relative silence. Even Kilorn keeps his mouth shut. The circumstances settle over the long train of soldiers like a cloud, sobering us all. What will we find when we finally reach the surface?
I try not to look at Maven, but find myself focusing on the outline of his body. It’s instinctual. I don’t trust him in any capacity. I expect him to dart into a crevice, disappear, and escape. But he keeps an even pace, never faltering in his steps.
The path flattens again, joining a wider tunnel with rounded walls and stone supports. The air is colder, sending a chill over my fevered skin.
“I think you know where we are,” Maven says, his voice echoing down to me. With one hand, he gestures to the center of the tunnel floor.
A pair of new tracks gleams, reflecting our lanterns.
We’ve reached the escape train.
I swallow hard, feeling a swell of fear rise in my throat. Not long now. Everyone else knows it too, judging by the thrum of activity rising through our ranks. From here, Farley’s half of our forces can easily get up to Whitefire, Caesar’s Square, and the cliffs that make up West Archeon. The rest, following Premier Davidson and General Swan, will cross under the river and link up with General Palace, the last member of Command still operating in the city. If all goes to plan, we’ll be able to overrun both sides of Archeon before anyone knows we’re here. And the Lakelanders will be caught in the middle.
But will Cal fight with us?
He has to, I tell myself. He has no other choice.
The official objective is to keep the city out of Lakelander hands. We can do that, at the very least. We can do that.
Next to me, Kilorn brushes my arm, sensing my discomfort. The burst of warmth makes me shiver again.
At the edge of my perception, something tinges. It hums and buzzes, the whine of distant electricity. Not above us, strangely, but ahead. And steadily approaching.
“Something’s coming,” I bark aloud.
Tyton reacts in the same manner, his body tensing. “Stand back!” he shouts, pushing Maven against the wall. The rest of us follow suit, moving quickly as the sound reaches us.
An engine screeches far ahead, closing the distance as it gains speed over the tracks. The lights round a gentle curve, blinding in comparison to our lanterns, and I have to turn my head to shield my eyes.
I end up looking at Maven, who doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.
The familiar train speeds by in a blur of gray metal, too fast for us to glimpse who may be inside. Still, Maven searches the windows as they fly by, his blue eyes big as dinner plates. He pales, going whiter than Tyton’s hair, and his throat works furiously, lips pressing into a disappearing line. All this passes in an instant as he quickly wrestles his emotions under control, but the moment is enough for me.
I know what fear looks like in Maven Calore, and he is terrified now. For very good reason.
Whatever plan he had, whatever hope there was for escape, just disappeared with that train.
He catches me staring, reading the fading expression on his face. His jaw tightens just a little and his eyes run over me, slow as a caress.
You can’t run from what you’ve done, I want to say aloud.
He gets the message.
As the train fades to nothing again, beyond my perception, his eyes flutter shut.
I think he’s saying good-bye.
Like the lights of the train, the spiraling white of the Treasury vaults is blinding.
Tyton has Maven by the neck. He uses the leverage to increase our pace, forcing Maven to march faster and faster as we ascend the vault levels. The air fills with the sound of weapons and body armor being checked. Guns loaded, blades drawn, buttons fastened, buckles clicked into place. The pistol on my own hip is still an unusual weight, and I lean a little to compensate. I doubt I’ll fire a bullet up there. Not like Farley. She sheds her jacket, tossing it to the side to be trampled by the hundreds behind us. Without the red overcoat, I can see the many belts and holsters crossing her back and hips, slung with half a dozen different guns and corresponding ammunition, as well as her radio. She has her knives as well, now in plain sight. Diana Farley is ready for war.
Somewhere behind us, one of the Scarlet Guard shouts, her voice echoing oddly. I can’t decipher it, but others repeat her words. The cheer reverberates off the walls, the sound rising like thunder, until I realize what they’re chanting.
“Rise, red as the dawn.”
In spite of my fear, I feel a wicked, wild grin rise to my lips.
