Chapter 44

The woods around Cantica had been cleared, leaving no true cover close to the palisade.

The five of them instead gathered around a half-abandoned firepit about thirty feet out, roughly to the west of the town. It had a rack propped up over it that Ferranda said was for smoking meat, and they all felt a little sick at the thought of what kind of meat that might mean. Devils were said to prefer eating men whilst they lived, but they were not above feasting on corpses. Regardless of that understated horror, the pause was most welcome. They were all tired and out of breath, in stark need of reprieve.

Not that it was only that, for now that the enemy was out of sight Angharad’s oaths were put to the question.

“This was badly done, Tredegar,” Shalini bit out. “You-”

“She didn’t promise a thing, Goel,” Lan cut in. “Our good lordling swore to return me unharmed, yeah?”

The Tianxi pointed at the cut on her neck.

“He let her out of the oath before he even agreed to it.”

Eyes turned to her and Angharad shrugged.

“I expected him to catch the detail and amend the wording,” she admitted. “I agreed because the oath was easy to negate regardless: we could simply warn the Watch that one of the trial-takers feigned their death, then point at every other deceased from the Bluebell manifest and specify it was not them.”

So long as Augusto was not outright named, the oath was not broken.

“Huh,” Shalini finally said. “He’s the one who asked for that wording, I’m surprised he didn’t think of that.”

“He was on edge,” Lan told them. “Even more than you’d think. He kept talking to himself and the cultists avoided being anywhere near him.”

“I do not think his contract did heal him,” Song said, and that earned instant attention.

Angharad knew more about the Tianxi’s pact than most, but by now most everyone had figured out that those silver eyes gave her insight into the workings of spirits.

“The Red Eye, it is a god of feeding,” she continued. “When Felis bargained with it his wound was not healed, he closed it with some sort of red crystal that fed on his body. Why would Augusto Cerdan get a better bargain, when he would have bargained from even worse a position?”

“He had a hole through his body, Song,” Ferranda flatly said. “He no longer does.”

“I don’t think that’s actually true,” the Tianxi replied. “I think that his wounds are still there but that he can fill them up – but that, like the Red Eye, he must keep feeding for them to stay filled.”

Lan let out a low whistle.

“So the old god’s a loan shark,” she said. “Our boy Augusto has to keep what, eating human flesh so what grew back doesn’t whither? No wonder he thinks the Watch will blow his brains out if they catch him.”

“Something like that,” Song agreed. “I imagine his pact lends him a way to feed at a touch, if the cultists feared coming close.”

“We should take care to avoid getting close to him, then,” Angharad said.

“You say that like you are not planning to kill him before night’s end,” Ferranda said. “Though I will admit I am not sure how you would get around the terms.

“That oath does seem pretty straightforward,” Shalini agreed, cocking an eyebrow. “Tredegar?”

The terms were simple enough, that was true. She was to commit no violence against Augusto Cerdan nor allow her companions to do the same, or attempt to imprison him nor allow her companions to do the same, until twenty four hours had passed. Only he had not though to anchor the oath in-

In the distance, the night lit up with thunder.

No, she realized. Not thunder. These were cannons. And the shattering cacophony inside Cantica revealed exactly what they were being turned on, sowing fire and screams. The five of them went still, like rabbits before a wolf, as bombardment began in earnest from north of the town. Where they had been headed.

“Those are guchui rounds,” Song finally spoke into the silence.

Shalini breathed in sharply.

“Thunder shells?” she said. “I thought the Republics kept a tight lid on those.”

“They sell them to the Watch,” Lan said, with strange certainty. “Sometimes the crates are kept in Sacromonte warehouses until they can be distributed to the right Garrison force.”

Angharad could feel the capital letter on Garrison, even in Antigua. It was not unwarranted, for though the free companies of the Watch made up the majority of its numbers the ruling council of the blackcloaks, the Conclave, commanded the single largest number of soldiers in black cloaks. They must, to protect their Trebian territories and uphold their duties under the Iscariot Accords.

The soldiers of the Garrison were considered second-rate compared to the more glamourous company men, Angharad knew, but that only meant so much. Getting bit by a hound instead of a wolf was hardly kinder on the hand.

It occurred to the noblewoman a moment later that Lan, given her unseemly origins, might well be so certain because she had participated in robbing the Watch. It was somewhat embarrassing it had taken her so long to catch that, but for all the woman’s Sacromontan quirks she had to admit that Lan did not act much like she had imagined a criminal would. She was clean and well-spoken, not constantly drunk and disorderly, and as far as Angharad could tell she was not constantly lying.

It would be a stretch to call her an honorable woman, but Angharad would hesitate to say she was even half as detestable as the likes of Augusto Cerdan, to whom she had once so thoughtlessly granted the presumption of honor.

“If the Watch is shelling Cantica, it’ll be to soften up the opposition before they storm it,” Shalini said. “That means they have troops on the way, probably come from Three Pines.”

“Which means we could take refuge with them if we head north,” Lady Ferranda said. “That seems the wisest course left open to us.”

“That path takes us by the postern gate,” Angharad said. “The others will be trying to evacuate through there, it seems to me we could attempt to join up on the way.”

She had expected to have to fight some of the others for this, particularly Shalini and Ferranda, but they found the two quite agreeable to the suggestion. Zenzele is still with the others, she realized after a moment. It was Lan that objected, though in words carefully coached to give no offense.

“I do not mean to linger overlong,” Angharad assured her. “Only to ascertain if we might bolster our numbers on the way north.”

“There will be a lot of rats trying to leave that sinking ship, Lady Tredegar,” Lan warned her. “We’re just as likely to run into enemies as friends.”

It was true, she knew, but yet worth trying. As everyone save Lan shared her opinion, there was no further debate and they headed out briskly. Cantica was not so large that it would take long to get past the town, and they were already on the right side to reach the postern gate anyhow. It was but the work of minutes to make their way there on yellow grass, weapons out and eyes wary. The postern gate was carefully hidden from the outside, made to look part of the palisade, but their crew had the advantage of having Song among it so Angharad hardly worried of finding it.

Even that hardly proved unnecessary, as there was no missing the gate when they got there: it was wide open.

Eyes sweeping their surroundings, Angharad found nothing but an expanse of empty yellow grass from the edge of the woods to their west and the palisade to their east. The open grounds continued to the north in a wide curve until they reached the continuation of the beaten earth road leading to the port of Three Pines. Inside the town, past the palisade, they could hear the roar of flames and the occasional shot as the Watch’s bombardment continued to methodically demolish Cantica.

“They might have left it open after Augusto let them in,” Lady Ferranda said.

“Smells like ambush,” Shalini grunted back, shaking her head.

“No sign of our companions,” Lan said. “We should move on.”

Angharad hesitated. She liked the look of this no more than Shalini, but an empty field was no reason to leave behind comrades. They could at least-

“Movement,” Song suddenly said, musket rising.

Only she was not looking at the open gate, Angharad realized, but the woods.

From which a cultist warband was charging out.

—

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there in the dark, with only a shuttered lantern with company, but it was a relief when someone craned their neck past the edge of the trap door.

“I hope you’re down there, because if you aren’t I’m going to have to drop him and I’m not sure he’ll live,” Maryam called out.

“Please do not,” Zenzele Duma croaked. “I will most definitely die.”

Huh, he thought as he got on his feet. The Malani had lived, fancy that.

“I’ll admit,” Tristan called back, “even opening with a sword in the back, I figured Tupoc would kill you.”

“Stop taunting him and help me get him down that ladder,” Maryam said. “The last shell hit just a few blocks away, I do not care to stay out here.”

He opened the lantern’s shutters and moved to lend a hand as had been requested. And a hand was most definitely needed, for Zenzele Duma looked as if he had been thrown down a hill made of blades. He no longer bore his coat and his shirt was ripped clean through, revealing a nasty gut wound as well as a deep cut that went from the side of his torso to right below the hollow of his neck. Tristan thought one of his arms might be broken as well, for he used only one to move down the ladder, but found it was truly because the Malani was cradling something in his hand.

It was only when Zenzele turned to be helped down the last rungs that the thief saw the worst wound of them all: his right eye had been ripped through, roughly enough it must be the work of nails and not a blade. Tristan swallowed.

“Not a pretty sight, is it?” Zenzele weakly laughed. “And I did not even kill the bastard while he might well have killed me, had cultists not come looking because of Cozme’s shot. That and Lady Sarai’s priceless help, of course.”

“Call me Maryam,” she said as she came down the ladder, closing the trapdoor behind her. “I suppose that game has finally run its course.”

She glanced at the Malani, not harshly but without much kindness either.

“And it was luck on your part, Duma. If I hadn’t run into them myself I wouldn’t have doubled back and found you lying there.”

Tristan helped the man to lower himself and sit against the wall, still clutching something in his hand.

“Try stabbing the head first, next time,” Tristan advised. “Works better than the back.”

Zenzele convulsed, letting out a ragged wheezing sound.

“Sleeping God, Tristan, don’t make me laugh,” he said. “I think it makes my inside bleed.”

The thief mercifully spared him further amusement, finding Maryam looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I did get something from him, yes,” Zenzele muttered, seeming to talk to no one in particular. “He will remember it.”

And the dark-skinned man finally loosened his grip, smiling as he revealed the eye on the palm of his hand. It was cut up and red, but Tristan had seen that eerie paleness often enough to recognize it. That was Tupoc Xical’s eye, he was sure of it. Zenzele murmured unintelligibly after that, staring at nothing as he sagged against the stone.

“He dips in and out of things,” Maryam said. “I don’t suppose you have anything left for pain?”

“Clean out,” Tristan said. “I can clean some of his wounds and bandage them, at least.”

“Please do,” she said.

Blue eyes moved to the corner, where the shadows half-cloaked Cozme’s body. Zenzele had been too out of it to notice.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Maryam quietly asked.

“From him? Enough.”

In the pale lantern light, the sharp cast and colors of her hardly seemed a woman’s – like sapphires cast in marble, too angular to have been born and not carved.

“But did you get what you want?” she asked again.

He breathed out.

“It is not finished,” he said. “There are four others left before the account is settled.”

She sighed.

“I suppose it was too much to hope you would be done with it,” Maryam said. “Will you try for Augusto?”

Tristan shrugged.

“The Watch will have him marked for death,” he said. “I see no pressing need to pull the trigger myself.”

“So you can be taught,” she drily said. “Promising.”

The thief licked his lips, unsure of what he had to say but certain of the need for it.

“Before,” he said. “When I left you behind, I-”

“I do not care for apologies,” Maryam told him. “I have… I understand the demands the past can make, let us leave it at that. If your actions bring you sorrow, Tristan, do not repeat them. The past is a dead thing.”

He passed a hand through his hair, feeling so very tired.

“I’ll not excuse or justify,” Tristan finally said. “But when I go for the second name, it will be in a manner that does not lead me to regrets.”

She studied him for a moment.

“My mother always said that no amount of regrets will built a cairn, but she was a hard woman,” Maryam said. “Too hard, in some ways. It was why her men gave her up to the Malani at the end.”

He hardly dared breathe, for never before had Maryam spoken a word of her past.

“It matters, that you regret it,” she said. “But only so much. Remember that, next time you stand at that same crossroads.”

The pale woman reached for her bag, claiming something inside, and offered it to him. Even in this trembling light, Tristan could not mistake it for anything else: Yong’s pistol, the grip held towards him. The same he’d left in the mud when he ran after Cozme.

The rat swallowed, licking his cracked lips.

“You picked it up,” he dumbly said.

Maryam pressed it into his palms, closed his fingers around it.

“Once,” she warned.

—

Before Angharad could so much as open her mouth, Lan fled.

Back the same way they had come: straight south, as fast as her legs could carry her. The noblewoman hesitated then moved to join her, looking at the others. Song caught her by the shoulder.

“We have to go back in the town,” she said. “Now.”

Angharad gaped. There was bravery and then there was foolishness. If everyone was fleeing Cantica, then there might be devils headed for that very postern gate right now. She was not the only to think this madness. The cultists were gaining on them, even if they were still far out. At least a dozen of them, all running.

“That’s going to get us killed,” Shalini said. “Every second we are not running south we-”

A shot rang out and they all flinched.

“Into the town,” Song hissed. “They have muskets, we can’t stay in the open.”

Heart in her throat, Angharad turned and saw exactly what she feared: Lan was on the ground. It was her the cultists had been aiming at. She was still moving, struggling to get up, but the shot had clearly hit here.

“Don’t you dare,” Song began, but she was already running.

She glimpsed ahead and banked hard to the left to avoid getting shot in the gut, Song putting a bullet in the shooter’s head a heartbeat later. Her legs burned but she ran, glimpsing again. She had to slide low, boots ripping into dead grass to avoid another shot. Song was reloading, could not silence the enemy twice in such quick succession.

Lan turned to her, her side bleeding, and got on her knees. Angharad scrambled back up, glimpsing again, and saw the shot before it happened.

“Du-”

The bullet took Lan in the cheek, as if some invisible maw bit through flesh and bone, and it was mercy the impact spun her around. What little of that death Angharad had just seen she would not soon forget.

“-ck,” she finished, nauseous.

“Come back, you damn fool,” Song snarled.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

They were going for the door, all three of them, but only Shalini had her eyes on it. Song and Ferranda had their muskets out and were firing at the cultists, covering her still. Three of the warband had split off to go after her, Angharad saw, but she was faster. Her legs were longer. She left them behind, the one who came closest shot in the leg by Ferranda, and Song slew another hollow musketman without batting an eye.

She caught up to them just as they got to the open postern gate, hollows close on her heels. Shalini was ushering them one after another, eyes calm. Angharad passed her, feeling a hand pat her back, and the Someshwari moved so quickly after that she barely even caught it. A heartbeat, then smoked billowed and Shalini had two pistols in hand.

Two cultists dropped dead, the others tripping into them, and the Someshwari slammed the door behind them. She locked it after as Angharad stumbled forward, panting from the fear and run and the companion she had failed to protect. If she had been just a little faster, cut it closer with the shot she had slid to avoid… Ferranda squeezed her shoulder.

“You tried,” the infanzona said. “Eyes up, Angharad. We’re not out of trouble yet.”

She swallowed, shaking off the other woman, but a look around told her that Ferranda Villazur had the right of it.

They were not out of trouble yet, for before the mud of Cantica’s streets was filled with corpses.

The sight of that silent spread of death filled her with more dread than the sound of cultists trying to jostle the postern gate open behind them, slamming fists against the wood and unloading their muskets. It was not the bombardment that had done this, they could all see it plain. The heaps of hollows and devils had been killed the hard way, cracked and cut and pierced. Some devils looked like their torso had been pulped, the remains disgusting to behold.

“Manes,” Ferranda breathed out. “What did this?”

In the distance there was a shrill scream, the sound of it like walking on broken glass. They all flinched.

“Whatever it was, it is no longer here,” Song said. “Best to get gone before it returns.”

In the distance, another shell lit up the dark as it hit Cantica. The bombardment was tapering down, but it was not yet done.

“We need to leave this town,” Angharad said, then sighed. “Again.”

“The main gates, then,” Shalini said. “I don’t think our friends outside are going to be letting us pass through.”

As if to agree with her, a cultist unloaded into the door again. Not that muskets would help any there, Angharad thought. The door was thick, solid wood. Odd that they would waste powder on it when that was plain to see.

“I see no better plan to be had,” Song finally said. “Ferranda?”

“Sounds better than joining them,” the infanzona said, nodding at the corpses.

They set out as quickly and quietly as they could. The fastest path would be south of the main street, but that was too likely to find them a fight. They kept two streets off instead, even if would take them longer with all the detours. Much of the town was on fire, now, and they hardly needed a lantern to seen. It was why Angharad saw him at the same time he saw them.

Walking down the street alone, humming, Mayor Crespin had not a mark on him save for some ash on his clothes. Even his shell was pristine, knuckles barely scuffed though there was some blood around his mouth and under his fingernails. The four of them slowed at the sight of him, Ferranda quietly cursing. Angharad’s lips thinned. There was no fire on this part of the street, only dark and empty houses with tiled roofs on both sides.

“I don’t like the look of that fight,” Shalini admitted.

They would, Angharad suspected, have a choice of whether or not it was to be fought. Before she could call out, the approaching devil broke the silence.

“You returned,” Mayor Crespin said, sounding baffled. “Why – nay, it matters not. Let us put an end to our pointless palaver. Cantica has breathed its last, I must make arrangement.”

Angharad’s jaw tightened.

“I will get close,” she said. “Try to get shots in, pinning him is our best chance.”

“Your best,” Crespin replied, revealing rows and rows of teeth, “is not enough.”

There was a sharp whistling sound, a for a moment Angharad hoped a shell was falling. Instead the devil’s hand reared up, catching what she realized was a stone. Polished and the size of a small fist, but very much a stone. The devil let out an amused noise.

“A slinger?” he said, tossing the stone behind him. “How nostalgic.”

He was looking up at the roof to their side, and Angharad followed his gaze. There was a man up there, in a black cloak. She caught a glimpse of Aztlan features under the cloak, then the watchman raised a hand. He snapped his fingers and there was sudden buzzing sound.

Mayor Crespin’s arm down to the elbow, the same that’d caught the stone, was pulped.