So his enemy was canny. He wasn’t wasting his men throwing them against Gavin. Time would deliver the victory into his hands, so he was preserving his strength. No need to rush the victory. Send the men around Gavin and advance everywhere but where Gavin was. Then Gavin would either be rendered totally ineffectual, dashing from one place to another fighting men who melted away, or he would become separated from the main body of his army—at which point Lord Omnichrome would throw away as many lives as he needed to to kill him. Or capture him.
The campaigner in Gavin was furious. During the war, he would have gone for the throat. They wanted to melt in front of him? He would have gone for the king and killed him and let the chips fall where they may. Doing such a thing would put him in the most peril possible, but he wouldn’t have cared. Which is why fortune favors the young. He snorted. If he got killed, the refugees wouldn’t make it two leagues out of the harbor.
Cursing, Gavin drafted the retreat flares and shot them high into the sky.
“Any news from the docks?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
Gavin hadn’t expected any messengers to be able to find him, but it still would have been nice. “Let’s go.”
A red Blackguard laid down a thick carpet of red luxin across the broken opening of the gate and set fire to it as Gavin turned and started jogging. They’d lost their horses earlier, and hadn’t grabbed any replacements. Horses that weren’t trained to musket fire and magic were often as dangerous to their riders as they were useful. Being mounted also made you a nicer target for muskets and drafters. The city wasn’t that big, they’d run.
Odd, running through an empty city. Almost everyone was simply gone, and there wasn’t yet that air of abandonment and layer of dust that settled over cities soon after their inhabitants had left. Garriston was the kind of empty that happened when people left food burning on the fire and simply ran. The burnt smell hadn’t even dissipated yet. In fact, they were lucky no one had burned the city down. Empty alleys. Empty homes. Little potted flowers abandoned in windowsills and not yet withered.
Death will come for you too, little flower.
They made it to one of the bridges when the ambush was sprung. Two dozen drafters and several color wights popped up from the roofs and began hurling magic. No hesitation, no warning. Of course. They’d circled Gavin to cut off the most obvious route out. The flat roofs gave them an excellent platform from which to attack, and the open area of the bridge made a perfect killing field.
But the Blackguards were Blackguards. Every one of them knew his task and how the tasks would shift depending on which of them were killed. They practiced for this. This is what they were. Shields of green luxin, blue luxin, and more green luxin, three layers thick, enfolded Gavin. He knew exactly where they would land, and each shield had holes in it, so that he could fight too.
He stuck a hand outside of his shield and pointed at every one of the attackers he could see. He shot narrow tendrils of superviolet luxin at them, sticking it to each drafter, leaving dangling ropes of superviolet. Two of the Blackguards were superviolet/blue bichromes. Their first action was to shield Gavin, second to shield themselves, and third—if possible—this. They could see Gavin’s superviolet threads, and they drafted blue along those shining paths as they pulled grenadoes from their bandoliers. They hurled the grenadoes, which followed the arcing superviolet tracks unerringly. One, two, three, four, five, six. They had even bolstered the arcs of luxin so they followed a natural throwing path.
But the ambushers were moving too. Three Blackguards went down in the first wave of fire missiles. In defending Gavin first, they couldn’t fix their own shields in time. A gout of red luxin jetted in from four sides, trying to drench the entire bridge so they could set it alight. Blue and green Blackguards threw up shields to divert the flows off the sides of the bridge while a yellow threw light-burst grenadoes at everyone she could see.
Gavin looked forward and saw that the ambushers weren’t blocking the way across the bridge. There was only one reason for that. They wanted Gavin and the Blackguard to flee headlong into something worse.
Projectiles were sparking and whining off his shields, grenadoes’ explosions were rocking the rooftops, and huge blue knives like icicles were being fired by two of the color wights behind them. The Blackguards were compressed tight around Gavin, using their shields and, if that failed, their bodies to keep him safe.
“Let’s move! Cross the bridge!” the commander said. She was young. Orholam, had they lost so many that this young woman was in charge?
All this was according to the Blackguard training, too. Protect, secure, decide, act. No hesitation.
“No!” Gavin shouted. He pointed off the side of the bridge and drafted a new walkway in green from the middle span to a point thirty paces down.
“Flash!” one of the Blackguards yelled. She was a yellow. She launched a flash bomb a mere ten paces into the air. Gavin and the Blackguards covered their faces as it exploded with so much force that Gavin could feel it rock his shields.
Then they ran across the new green bridge, even as the bridge behind them, no longer protected from the red luxin streams, went up in flame.
One of the blue wights dropped into the street in front of them as they made it back to land, determined to steer them back into the secondary ambush. A dozen Blackguard hands went up and the beast was riddled with luxin bullets and cudgeled aside instantly.
A Blackguard fell, though Gavin hadn’t seen what cut him down. “No! No! No!” the man was yelling. His partner split away from them. The Blackguard who had fallen rolled over onto his back. His partner, a woman near forty, Laya, Gavin thought her name was, stood over him.
“I’m sorry,” the fallen Blackguard said. “Too much. Too much.”
Laya pulled an eyelid up to get a good look at the fallen Blackguard’s halo. She whispered something, kissed her fingers, touched them to the fallen man’s eyes, mouth, and heart. Then she cut his throat. The rest of the Blackguards didn’t wait.
They ran past an alley and found themselves looking at the backs of dozens of musketeers, all in formation, muskets up, pointed the other way where the ambush had originally tried to steer Gavin. The men were so intent on waiting for their quarry to appear in front of them that they didn’t see Gavin behind them. As they ran past, Laya slopped red luxin over them. A lot of red. The whoosh of flame was so intense as she set it alight that Gavin saw shadows half a block away—which meant the flames had leapt for a moment above the rooftops. The screams followed. Men burning to death.
One more river crossing. This time, Gavin led the Blackguards to a blank section and drafted his own green span across. No need to risk another ambush.
They made it to the docks and found hundreds of soldiers there, muskets loaded, facing out. The boats were still being boarded, mountains of luggage pushed aside, left behind, now gathered for use as barriers. There was a stream of boats already heading out, a line disappearing into the distance, going through the Guardian’s legs as she stood guard. Every ship in the entire harbor had been used. And most were already gone. Two huge barges crafted of blue and green luxin and wood had been constructed and were already heading out too. That left one luxin barge that was rapidly filling even now, with far too many men to fit in it.
The soldiers here were locals mostly—where the hell had all the Ruthgari soldiers gone? Boarded earlier ships no doubt. Someone would pay for that, but not now. The soldiers who remained looked resolute, and their countenances lifted as they saw Gavin. These were men who thought they were going to die to give their families a chance to get away. Men who were willing to pay that price.
“Who’s in charge?” Gavin asked.
“I am, sir. Lord Prism. Sir.” A mousy Ruthgari with oddly kinky hair for his pale complexion and a look in his eyes like he was scared to death stepped forward. In another time, Gavin would have laughed to see the awkward little man. “We’ve got almost all the ships we have loaded. Men g
athered who will fight. We need room for another three hundred, if no one else comes from the city.”
“Any sign of General Danavis or Commander Ironfist?” Gavin asked.
“No, sir. Lord Prism. Sir.”
“Sir is fine,” Gavin said. “Blackguards, any of you who can draft without breaking the halo, help me. We’ll make one more barge while we wait.”
“Wait, sir?” a Blackguard asked.
“General Danavis is coming. We finish one more barge. Then we go. He’ll be here by then.”
A trumpet sounded. The pale Ruthgari shouted, “Enemies coming! Ready!”
“Can you hold while we make a barge?” Gavin asked.
The man was still small, still mousy, but his face was resolute, and anything comical about his appearance was gone. “We’ll hold, sir. To the last man.”
Chapter 90
Karris selected one of the Mirrormen’s horses that looked like it still had some wind and spirit left. Its barding was mirrored, and it shone in the morning sun. She might as well paint a target on her back. Well, she wasn’t exactly inconspicuous herself.
They didn’t have long. The four hundred paces between Lord Omnichrome’s color wights could only be crossed through a maze of alleys or rubble-strewn streets. It would slow them, but not much. Some things, though, had to be done. Karris moved to check King Garadul’s body, gritting her teeth against the gore.
He was definitely dead. She felt a peculiar emptiness. She’d wanted him dead. He deserved it. Now he was just gone. And, quite possibly, it hadn’t accomplished anything. She saw her bich’hwa on the ground next to him. Sonuvabitch. She picked it up, and scanned the ground, but there was no sight of her ataghan.
No more time. Corvan Danavis’s men were finishing collecting gunpowder and shot or replacement weapons from the dead and forming back up. Kip looked as bad as Karris would have expected. Corvan said, “It’s called being lightsick, Kip, and it might do anything to you. Make you feel weak as a puppy or strong as a sea demon. I’ve seen modest men tear off all their clothes because they couldn’t bear anything touching their skin. And shy women, well, never mind.”
“Hey, that was just the one time,” Karris protested, mounting up. When you could, it was good not to let a drafter sink too deep into themselves after drafting too much.
Corvan laughed. “I don’t know that I’d call you ‘shy,’ on any day, Karris White Oak.” He glanced down at her leg. “Certainly not today.”
Karris followed Corvan’s eyes. Oops. She’d managed to tear the slit in her dress practically to her hip, and sitting on a horse didn’t help. Well, what was she going to do? Go change?
“Time’s up!” Corvan shouted to his men. “We head for the docks! Catch up or die.” One of his officers came to him with a question, and he was swallowed up by his duties.
Which left Karris with Kip. She would prefer to be unencumbered during a battle, but she wasn’t going to abandon him, not again. There were things more important than her freedom. She sidled her horse over to the platform. “Come here, Kip,” she said with a little more edge than she meant.
Obviously dazed, Kip clambered up, and they were off.
At first, Karris thought they were going to get away cleanly. Then they came to the bridge. The far end was blocked with wagons and carts that must have just been set on fire moments before Corvan’s men arrived or they would have seen the smoke.
The men at the front of the column skidded to a stop, and the men who’d been running behind them collided with them, collapsing the column and causing chaos. Corvan, mounted near the front, was trying to extricate some drafters from the crush to get them to work on clearing the flaming barricades. It would only take a minute or two, in normal circumstances.
Near to the back of the column, Karris pulled up sharply and started shouting at the men near her to form a rear guard. “Load muskets, affix matches!” She wheeled around in time to see the first of the color wights pursuing them.
Karris had never seen anything like it. She’d known green wights could change their joints to give their legs immense springiness, but the greens weren’t the only color wights leaping from roof to roof behind them.
A yellow wight, limbs all aglow, ran straight toward the edge of a flat roof, gathering luxin in both hands. She leapt off the edge, and threw her hands down, releasing a jet of yellow at the ground, using the recoil to throw her up high enough to make it to the next roof. Like she was playing leapfrog in midair.
A flash of green, much closer.
Karris shot a ball of green up, intercepting the green wight as it descended. Her shot blasted the green wight off its trajectory, lifting it so that instead of landing among the terrified soldiers, it collided with the side of a building. The soldiers around it recovered before the wight did. Karris heard a rattle of musket fire.
Damn! Veterans would have dispatched it with their blades, saving precious shots for more active enemies.
Another green wight streaked through the air, and Karris missed it. It crashed through the back ranks, scattering men. Others, terrified, leveled their muskets and fired, most of them missing the wight and hitting their own friends.
By the time they put that one down, wights of every color were converging on them. Lord Omnichrome’s army was rounding a corner, not three hundred paces away, jogging, picking up speed for a charge. Half a dozen of Omnichrome’s red and sub-red drafters were mounted. They closed within two hundred paces and lobbed great flaming missiles toward Corvan’s massed, trapped men.
A blue wight, all glittering angles and blades, was the next across the rooftops to the left. A sub-red was leaping across roofs on the right, bald, her whole body literally aflame.
Out of nowhere, a big drafter dropped into the street straight in front of Karris, his back to Corvan’s men. He stood, arms spread out as if he were holding ropes and expecting a heavy load. His arms snapped out just as the blue wight and sub-red wight leapt to attack.
Both color wights jerked hard as the invisible superviolet luxin ropes around their necks went taut. The blue wight’s body went abruptly horizontal, all the luxin it had held going to jelly in an instant as it lost concentration. It crashed to the ground in front of the rear guard.
The sub-red wight, without the benefit of blue armor around her neck, barely changed directions. Her body landed on the next roof and fell, and her flaming head rolled right into the river.
The drafter who’d saved them shot a glance back, making sure the color wights were dead. It took Karris’s breath away. It was Usef Tep, the Purple Bear himself, the hero of the False Prism’s War. Even as Karris registered the fact, she saw the flaming missiles that were arcing toward the rear guard suddenly veer left and right in the air, exploding at a safe distance.
Another green wight she hadn’t even seen crashed into the ground, riddled with blue luxin knives. Karris saw Eleleph Corzin, skin luminous blue, step out of an alley.
“We’ve got your backs. Go!” a woman yelled.
Karris turned to see at least a dozen drafters stand on the last rooftop. It was like Karris had stepped into a heroes gallery. The woman who’d yelled was Samila Sayeh. Deedee Falling Leaf stood next to her, skin wrapped in vines of pure green luxin. Flamehands stood on the corner of the building, a steady stream of fireballs popping from each hand. Sisters Tala and Tayri to the right. Talon Gim bleeding heavily, left arm useless, but going to stand beside Usef Tep in the street. And others that Karris recognized from her youth, or who’d fought for Dazen and whom she’d heard described in vivid detail.
“Damn you! You and that boy are the only ones who can save Gavin. Take him and get the hell out of here!” Samila Sayeh yelled, her eyes flashing.
Corvan’s men surged as the barricades gave way. Karris felt Kip stirring behind her. Lord Omnichrome’s army was like an onrushing tide. Karris spurred her horse on, only shooting glances back at the magical conflagration behind her.
It was enough. All of Corvan’s men made it
over the bridge. From there, it was a straight adrenaline-fueled shot to the docks.
Karris made it with the last group. Corvan, up at the front, was moving toward Gavin down on the docks. Gavin was working, drafting barges, it looked like. Someone alerted Gavin, and Karris saw a flash of his crooked smile toward Corvan.
And in that moment, Karris knew. It was like she’d been clubbed. Her throat tightened. The pieces spun together. A thousand pieces from the past sixteen years, and the last few in the past few days: That grin. Patting Corvan’s shoulder on the wall this morning. If Karris hadn’t spent more than a decade in the Blackguard, she wouldn’t have caught it. But Gavin and Corvan should hate each other. That could be explained away. They were professionals, sure. They had reasons to work together, right. But seamless command and instant obedience come only with time and trust. How could these men trust each other?
Who comes back from war a better man?
Gavin had said, “What’s in that note, it isn’t true. I swear it isn’t true.” Why would Gavin double down on a lie that he knew was going to be exposed minutes later?
Because it wasn’t a lie.
Oh shit.
Chapter 91
Shaken from his torpor by Karris dismounting, Kip looked from one side to the other, squinting, head pounding. One moment, he’d been holding on to the woman, more concerned that as he clung to her his arms were touching her breasts and she was going to think he was groping her than worried about the exploding guns and coruscating magic.
He was, by any rational account, a moron.
And then, abruptly, they were at the docks. Kip couldn’t follow things well. At first the men were challenging Corvan, and then welcoming him, and Corvan was giving orders and disappearing into the men, talking with this person and that. Kip felt simultaneously dizzy and as strong as a bear. Karris cursed aloud, but he didn’t understand why. She pulled at his arms, still clamped around her waist. He released her, and almost fell when she slipped out of the saddle.