Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) (108 page)

We have to hurry
, Alaron whispered.

Ramita knew, but still everything unfolded like a dream. Northpoint, Sunrise and Sunset Towers were all linked still to Midpoint and still feeding it with energy. She followed the channels of power into the nexus at Midpoint, she and Alaron together, moving as one.

Midpoint Tower opened to them, its energies swirling towards a climactic blast, directed downwards into the island itself. The nexus-throne Naxius had abandoned awaited, empty, and their spiratus form manifested in the chamber. They took the seat, feeling super-aware, conscious of all the lives around them: above, where hundreds of windcraft circled to witness the end of an epoch, and below, where fifteen thousand men and women were saluting a banner and waiting to die.

The dome pulsed, the air shrieked and the channel opened to send the gathered might of the solarus crystals downwards, into the earth. This was what Kazim had warned of, and it was going to happen . . .

. . . right now . . .

Together they reached, wrenched, and tore the river of energy free, the instant before it lanced fire into the earth below. Then sent it elsewhere, because it had to go somewhere, and it was too much for them to contain.

*

As the windskiff bore Ramon and Vann Mercer and Gurvon Gyle away, a bolt of lightning burst from the pinnacle of Midpoint Tower, not down into the earth but upwards, into the skies, tearing a hole in the cluster of Rondian windships above. Ramon blinked at the blinding line carved across his retinas, unsure what he’d just seen. Beside him, Vann swore, and Gyle simply gaped, lost for words.

Then lightning flashed again, blasting another warbird into burning splinters.

‘
HOLY KORE!
’ Gyle shouted. He whirled on the pilot behind him. ‘
GET US THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!
’

*

Constant Sacrecour was caught up in a reverie of glory when the first bolt of light seared the skies. All round him, the courtiers
oohed
and
ahhed
uncertainly, then he looked at his mother for guidance.

Mater-Imperia Lucia Fasterius-Sacrecour, Living Saint, was standing apart, watching the tower avidly. Her face was lit with light, her aura bleeding through until she shone. An illusion, of course: Mother always tried to look like a divinity in public. But when that lightning flashed upwards, her expression became sickly.

‘Er, what was that?’ a fop from Pallas asked the silence.

‘Oh, it’s just a back-flash . . .’ one of the prelates said knowledgeably. ‘Happens often when . . . um—’

A second bolt tore sideways through the fleet and blasted a warbird apart. Someone squealed, then all the women and half the men were screaming. Constant leapt to his feet. ‘
Mother! Do something!
’

But for once his mother couldn’t seem to react; she just stood there as her light faded, leaving just an overdressed woman with a vacant face. She looked back at him, paralysed, her lips moving helplessly, and that scared him more than anything else could have.

‘
Mother!
’
Constant lit his gnosis. ‘
We’ve to got shield!
’ He shrieked spittle into the face of an old knight. ‘
SHIELDS!!
’

At first no one reacted as more blasts tore craft after craft from the sky all around them. A few courtiers mewled and milled, then someone yelled, ‘To the skiffs!’ and they all flooded for the lower decks. Constant cast about for Gurvon Gyle, but he was already gone.

His eyes went back to the tower as the Royal Barge’s crew tried to raise sails. A giant figure was superimposed over Midpoint, something sculpted of smoke and sea-spray, a pagan thing with multiple arms and a blazing face. One arm stabbed upwards: at his barge.

He turned back to his mother. ‘
MOTHER!
’

Lucia jerked her eyes from the tower to him, and she seemed to rally. Her face lit with renewed determination and he took heart and stumbled towards her, opening his mouth to ask her what to do.

Then light and searing pain engulfed them both, and in a blaze of agony, everything vanished.

*

Seth Korion stared skywards as burning timbers began to drop from the skies. The beacon atop the tower blazed again, ripping another swathe through the windfleet, scything through shields as if they didn’t exist, and skiffs and warbirds and frigates alike became balls of flame. The windships were scattering, calling the winds, and the skies became a whirl of craft seeking altitude and safety. The skiffs fared best, darting away in all directions, but the heavier craft were being systematically blasted apart as they rose, sluggish as drugged pheasants.

‘Well
fuck
me,’ Bowe breathed. ‘I wanna worship whatever god done that.’

‘Join the queue,’ Vidran said in a stunned voice.

Lightning crackled as one or two of the warbirds tried to fight back, pelting the tower with gnosis, but they might as well have been throwing stones. Counter-blasts pulsed out, ripping through the fleet anew, concentrating on the fighting craft. Timber was raining down on them and Seth found his voice, amplifying his voice to all along the span, crying, ‘Take cover, damn you! Protect yourselves!’

The men belatedly sought protection beneath wagons or raised shields. Seth tried to anticipate the worst of the debris and swat it aside, and the other magi did the same, but his eyes constantly went back to the tower, where the smoke was gathering into some giant form. For a moment it wore Alaron Mercer’s face, then Mercer’s wife’s; and then it flew apart as lightning blazed upwards again and the last of the warbirds were blasted apart.

*

Enough.

The word hung in the air. Alaron wasn’t sure if he said it, or Ramita, or whether at the moment it was spoken there was a difference.

We have to leave enough energy in the Bridge so that it can sustain immersion.

He looked upwards at the scattering windfleet. Riding the power of the Bridge, he could scry anywhere.
The emperor and his mother are dead, just vapour and ash. So is half the court and upper clergy.
He felt sickened by the destruction they’d wrought.

It’s a good thing that we humans have human limitations. A god’s wrath is too terrible . . .

Below, Seth’s army looked more or less intact. They were safe. He sent them acknowledgment, and saw Seth Korion look up in wonder and wave.

He and Ramita slowly disentangled their gnosis and withdrew into themselves, back into their bodies . . .

He opened his eyes and found himself on the Southpoint nexus-throne, with Ramita tucked beneath his arm. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, the vestiges of what they’d seen clinging to her expression. He could still feel her inside his heart and mind; he suspected he always would.

It felt like a blessing.

*

As the skiff tore across the skies, Gurvon Gyle’s eyes remained fixed on the chaos above Midpoint Tower. Each time the destructive fire belched forth, he was convinced it would take him, that he too would cease to exist in an eye-blink. But he couldn’t take his eyes from it. In the foredeck, Ramon Sensini and Vann Mercer were similarly entranced, but the skiff-pilot behind him knew her business and was concentrating on flying them out of it.

Gurvon turned to her to finally ask her name.

And froze.

She held a small crossbow one-handed, aimed at his chest. As she pulled her hood back, her face changed.

‘
Elena . . .
’

Her voice was dry and laconic. ‘Alaron told me to stay in Brochena . . . but he’s only my bloody nephew. Thinks ‘cos he’s an Ascendant now that he can tell me what to do . . .’

He could only stare. Behind him, in the foredeck, he heard Sensini and Mercer go still as they noticed. Then he began to fumble for words. ‘Elena, there’s so much we need to talk about! I’ve got your gold, so much more gold you’ll be stunned. Just name your price and it’s yours!’

If I shield I could jump and
—

But before he could move, the bonds he’d wrapped round Ramon Sensini tore open, along with the Chain-rune that had supposedly been holding him. That wasn’t possible – they’d been cast by a pure-blood. He didn’t stop to wonder, though, instead readying himself to leap. Elena tried to fire and his shields caught the bolt and shattered it, then he was in motion, lunging towards the side, Air-gnosis flaring.

Then the air itself congealed around him and he was pinned in place by an impossibly strong grip. He felt his shields unpeel around him while Elena patiently reloaded her crossbow.

Ramon whispered into his mind.

Elena’s finger twitched, and the crossbow jolted. The bolt slammed into the middle of his chest, driving the air from his lungs and filling his throat with blood. He tried to cry out, but only gurgled
.
‘
Ella
—
!
’

‘Goodbye, Gurvon,’ Elena said in a hollow voice.

He tried to marshal his thoughts through the pain, because there had to be an angle he could work . . . but the light was draining from the world and all he could do was stare at her and remember better days . . .

She’s the only woman who ever mattered . . .

He tried to speak, to tell her that . . .

44

After the Storm

Crusades and Shihads

There have been two attacks launched by the Rondian Empire on Ahmedhassa, and a third is promised. The emperor calls them ‘Crusades’ – holy wars – to proselytise the Kore faith, as if this can only be done by force. A shihad – an Amteh holy war – is promised in retaliation. But war is not holy. Its nature is quintessentially
un
holy, and those who claim otherwise are themselves the most reprehensible of all. A plague on all their shrines.

A
NTONIN
M
EIROS,
H
EBUSALIM, 925

The Leviathan Bridge

Junesse (Akhira) 930

24
^th
and last month of the Moontide

Seth Korion nudged his horse along as he listened to Ramon Sensini’s story. They’d found him – and Vann Mercer, of all people – waiting for them a mile along the Bridge. That was two weeks ago. The Lost Legions, scarcely believing they still lived, had been marching at full pace towards Yuros. The Bridge went on, straight as an arrow and apparently as solid as ever, towards Northpoint Tower. The tower beacon smouldered dully, pale blue against the afternoon sky. It was early summer, and for once the winds were still and the waves merely giant ridges and troughs, not massive monsters seeking to engulf them. The marker stone on the parapet read:
Northpoint, two miles
. They were so close to Yuros he could practically smell the mud.

‘So,’ Ramon said, continuing his story, ‘Alaron’s Aunty Elena shoots Gyle and watches him die, then she bursts into tears and I don’t know what to think, except that no one’s flying and we’re in danger of tipping over in those insane winds. So I get her attention, she looks up, says, “We’re flying a bit heavy, aren’t we?”. Then, cold as you like, she flips Gyle’s corpse into the sea. The guy she’s been crying over – whack and gone – and she forgets him, just like that. She sets us down on the Bridge – where you found us – and flies off without a backwards look.’

‘Does she know what happened at the Tower?’ Seth asked.

‘Si: she said that Alaron had been in contact with her right after it happened. He and Ramita gained control of the towers and redirected the energy. She says half the Pallas Court were up there – Constant, Lucia: they’re all dead.’ He touched his heart in a Sollan blessing, then smirked. ‘We’ll miss them.’

‘The whole world has changed,’ Seth noted.

‘Si, obviously! And you’re marching an army back to Pontus, when all others have failed,’ Ramon pointed out. ‘I’m just saying, you know. You’re a piece on the tabula board of power now, Seth Korion. If you choose to be.’

Seth thought about that. His father would have seized such a moment; he had possibly intended to. But he wasn’t his father.
I’d settle for safety and peace
. ‘Do we know what’s waiting for us at Northpoint? Is your scout back?’

‘Coll? No, but then, if I was him I’d be in a tavern, bouncing a young
cichita
on my lap and swigging warm beer.’

Seth winced at the thought. ‘But you’ve scryed ahead?’

‘Of course. There are a few soldiers, and many traders, setting up stalls. The Ordo Costruo are already in the tower, restoring it. All seems well.’ Ramon cuffed him on the shoulder. ‘You did it, General.’

‘Me? We all did it. Especially
you
. We wouldn’t have even got out of Shaliyah without you.’

‘Si, si, you’re right,’ Ramon chuckled. ‘But we’ve all done our part.’

Seth could only agree. The army felt like a brotherhood, and while he knew that no one wanted anything more than to get home, it was sad to think of them disbanding. Though they still had to cross half of Yuros, of course.

‘Who’s left?’ he mused. ‘You and me. Kippenegger, of all people. And Lanna. That’s all the Thirteenth’s magi, and we got off better than anyone. For the rest: Hel’s Bells! Gerdhart’s alive, and Carmina . . . Jelaska’s only survived by some Necromancy spell that’s probably illegal; and that’s it . . . Dear Kore!’

‘But we’re here,’ Ramon reminded him. ‘We’re alive, we’ll reach Northpoint in an hour or so, and it’s a beautiful day.’ He indicated the columns of men behind them, bursting into cheers and songs as the land came into view through the coastal mists. ‘Try telling them otherwise!’

Seth found himself smiling despite his worries. ‘So, you’re sure we can just march up the ramp without a fight?’