Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (21 page)

The men spread sawdust from the buckets to cover the blood. It wouldn’t do for them to be slipping around up there. She liked to prepare for any eventualities.

A short time later Felice, Avigdor, and her men sat perched atop the platform surrounded by the ten chests they had pillaged the night before. They moved the wagon inside and relocked the gate. An abandoned wagon with a team of horses might arouse suspicion.

She opened one of the chests. Inside rested two glass globes, each the size of her head, tied together with tough netting. Both contained an alchemical mixture in liquid form, one colorless, while the other was lurid green.

A hiss of surprise from Nilas made her grin.

“Be careful,” she said. “We need all chests opened, ready to be loaded. Avigdor?”

“Yes?”

“Can you instruct the men on where to position the trebuchet?”

“Certainly.” He looked around the platform. Chipped into the wall surrounding the platform were numerous markings, lines with symbols. There were corresponding marks on one beam of the siege engine.

“Direction and range,” mused Nilas.

“Indeed,” responded Avigdor. He tapped one of the marks on the wall, followed by one on the trebuchet itself. “See these two markers? Could you please align the machine to this one here, and it looks like it will require some cranking to reach the required distance.”

Nolar pointed at a pile of stones to the side. “Should we load one of these as well?”

Felice smiled. “Why not?”

A short time later, the engine was poised, loaded, and under tension. Avigdor stood in front of it, brass telescopic cylinder raised to an eye, surveying the harbor.

The device’s huge counterweight loomed beside Felice.

“And now we wait,” she said.

The sun inched inexorably into the sky.

•

“The ship’s coming!” exclaimed Avigdor.

Felice stood. “Stations, please,” she said calmly. She raised an arm to shield her eyes from the sun and followed Avigdor’s pointing finger out to sea.

Not just one, but at least ten ships approached. She cursed. They would have no way of knowing which one held their target.

Obviously sharing her frustration, Avigdor attempted to reassure her. “We’ve aimed the trebuchet to hit the closest berth to the city. Most commanders would use this one so they don’t have to travel as far.”

“Let’s hope he’s like most commanders.”

Felice waited impatiently as the ships neared, becoming clearer the closer they came. Their distinctive size and shape marked them as Indryallan, but she couldn’t tell any difference between them. They could only hope he was on the ship they had targeted.

The sling was loaded with one of the stones and four of the glass globes. Both Avigdor and Felice had calculated they would only have time for a few shots before their position was known and soldiers were dispatched to stop them. Their first shot should come as a complete surprise to the invaders.

One of the men, Monrad, stepped up to the trebuchet.

“Steady,” she said. “Wait until the ship has docked.”

Monrad nodded. All eight had drawn straws to see who would fire each of the shots. It was the least she could do for them, though out of boredom this morning they had started a game of dice with ducats and their turns as stakes. She had stopped them before any man lost his straw. She wanted all five to take a turn.

They waited as the ships approached, far too slowly for her liking.

Close to the docks, a number of ships split off toward the lesser wooden wharves, seven in total. Felice breathed a sigh of relief. That was seven ships that shouldn’t hold their target, leaving three possibilities, the ones that approached the exclusive stone wharves.

Avigdor grinned and danced a little jig to the amusement of the men.

The remaining ships closed in on the stone wharf, taking turns to slide into empty berths. She was impatient, but they couldn’t rush. She knew it would take some time for the ships to secure themselves and for their occupants to make themselves ready to disembark.

Avigdor watched the ships through the telescopic lens, taking his time to examine them. After a while, he shook his head.

“I can’t see anyone of note on deck. Most likely, they’re still below.”

Felice grunted. It was a small hope, but she thought there was a chance a leader of note would want to survey the city as it came into view. She shrugged and turned to face her men. “Let’s begin.”

They stood expectantly by the wheel crank used to raise the counterweight, while the lucky winner of the first shot was poised beside the release mechanism, clutching a wooden mallet.

She stood on the stone wall surrounding the platform. For a moment, she swooned with vertigo looking down at the street below her. She turned toward the harbor; the wind on her face was cold and clean.

“For the emperor!” yelled Felice.

“May he live forever!” her men responded.

At the trebuchet, Monrad paused, taking a breath.

“Surprise,” he said calmly, and with swift blow of the mallet, released the mechanism.

Wood creaked and steel shrieked. The counterweight plummeted down, while the long wooden beam whooshed through the air and released its load. All of them stood frozen, faces skyward toward the sun. Flying out over the city, the boulder and the glass globes grew smaller and smaller. They reached their zenith and began descending toward the harbor, gaining speed as they fell earthward. On the stone pier, soldiers were already leaving the ships and lining up in ordered regiments, unaware their day was about to descend into madness.

Avigdor cackled with delight. Cheers rose from the men around the trebuchet.

“Get cranking,” shouted Felice. “We don’t have time for celebrations.”

The men leapt to obey her, six of them straining with the crank wheel to lift the counterweight, while two struggled to load another boulder into the sling.

Felice shaded her eyes against the piercing sun and squinted at their target.

The boulder missed the pier and ships, ejecting a plume of water as it crashed into the harbor a fair distance from the target.

“Pignuts,” Felice cursed. “Avigdor—”

“I know, I know,” he said, and began issuing orders. Two men left the cranking to adjust the machine’s orientation.

She knew they’d need a few ranging shots but had hoped with the markers they’d be more accurate. It couldn’t be helped, and they’d planned for this. On the pier, there wasn’t much confusion yet. Most people there wouldn’t know what caused the water to erupt. And if more experienced soldiers guessed the truth, unless they’d seen the shot being released, they’d have no idea where it had come from.

The second payload was flung into the air with a groan of wood and rope under great stress.

“Come on,” Felice muttered.

The second stone struck the pier next to the lead ship with incredible force, shaking the stone to its foundations. It splintered into a thousand jagged shards, along with the glass globes. Alchemical compounds mixed with the air and reacted angrily. A sound like thunder raced out from the impact site, an unstoppable physical wave of force, smashing into soldiers and sailors alike. Skin erupted into flames, and organs turned to jelly. Bones snapped and shattered. From this distance, the destruction of the boulder and the carnage it caused seemed disconnected from reality.

On the pier, soldiers scrambled around like ants whose nest had been trodden on.

Felicienne roared a wordless challenge, releasing frustration and rage pent up since the invasion. But it still wasn’t what she wanted. They needed to hit the ships.

“Avigdor,” she yelled. “The aim was off; fix it, now!”

“Same strength,” said Avigdor calmly. “Slightly to the right. Wait! That’s enough.”

He shooed the men back to the wheel, and moments later the mechanism clicked into place. All was ready for another shot.

“Quickly now,” urged Felice. She reached up and gripped her braid tightly until her knuckles went white.

Another man grasped the mallet and, with a nod of permission from Felice, released the next shot.

“Don’t wait!” commanded Felice as they watched the boulder disappear. “Crank as if your life depended on it! Which it may well do.”

Avigdor backed away from the machine, raised the telescopic lens, and trained it on the lead ship. “Any second now,” he whispered.

The second boulder struck the ship dead on, penetrating the deck and continuing down. Splinters of wood erupted, spraying outward. Fire exploded across the deck, searing the men unlucky enough to be there. Canvas sails erupted into flame. A foam of bubbles surrounded the ship.

“I… I think it went straight through!”

With a shriek of glee, Felice jumped up and down. “Move it! Move it!” she crowed. “I want to target that next ship! Let’s see if we can destroy all three!”

Moving as fast as they could, the men aligned the trebuchet to Avigdor’s shouted requirements then returned to reloading the sling.

“Don’t wait for me!” yelled Felice. She left the men to it, confident they were sufficiently well versed in the trebuchet’s workings.

“Spy glass, please,” she said to Avigdor, holding out a hand. He slapped the instrument into her palm, and she used it to view their targets.

Carnage enveloped the pier and ships. Smoke rose into the sky, and blood covered the stone wharf and wooden deck. She shifted the lens to the second ship. Behind her, the trebuchet groaned as the next boulder shot into the air and arced over the city.

She hissed. Something was off. There, on the second ship. A man stood on the deck gazing toward them, apparently unconcerned he might become the next unwilling victim. He raised his arms.

A violet haze streamed from his hands toward the tallest mast on the vessel. Touching the tip, it then spread out until a sparkling dome covered the ship. And it grew. Felice watched as the base continued outward, spreading across the wharf, enveloping more and more of the pier and ships.

With a sharp crack, their shot hammered into the dome. Huge violet sparkles erupted from the collision and spread across the shield. A flash of light, flame, and smoke covered the area.

The shield remained whole. Globs of flaming stone splashed into the water.

“Pignut, goat… argh!” Felice screamed at the sorcerer. She had never seen such power, though the flames on the walls surrounding Anasoma should have given her an idea of their capabilities. She knew when she was in over her head.

Lightning cracked out of the clear sky.

A bright white flash hit the house to their right. Its walls blew outward in a cloud of dust.

Felice looked at the remaining seven chests filled with the alchemical explosive.

“Off, off!” she yelled. “Jump!”

Her men scattered as they realized the extent of their danger, hurdling the low wall surrounding the platform and plummeting to the cobblestones below.

Avigdor ran for the stairs.

“There’s no time!” screamed Felice. “Jump!” Without looking back to see if Avigdor obeyed, she threw herself over the edge.

There was an ear-splitting crack as lightning struck the wall above her. The smell of burnt metal filled the air and chips of stone showered down on her. She shielded her eyes from the fragments.

Avigdor landed ten yards away in the back of their wagon with a grunt. A sickening crack echoed as his ankle snapped like a twig. He yowled with pain and fell into a heap, clutching at his leg.

Felice lurched to the wagon. “Get that gate open! Now!”

Her men already had it unlocked, and two dragged it open with a screech of metal on stone. They ran for the wagon and piled in. One took hold of the reins, while another gave Felice a hand up.

Crack! A bolt hit the stones behind them, and the blast knocked her off her feet. She fell to the floor of the wagon.

With a lurch, it moved forward.

“Go! Go!” she yelled. “Stay down!”

The wagon raced out the gate and into the street. Passersby, who had taken shelter from the lightning under the eaves of houses, stopped to gawk at the chaotic sight.

Felice stood and screamed at them. “Run! Run, or you’ll die!”

They scattered to the winds at her words, women screeching, men shouting. A few dragged children along or picked them up to flee.

There was another crack, then the world went white. A wall of what felt like solidified air hit the wagon from behind. The pressure squeezed her skin and made her insides churn.

Nilas, who was driving the wagon, managed to keep control. He slapped the horses with the reins. “Hee-yah!”

Felice glanced behind them.

The trebuchet was gone. Dust and smoke filled the air where it had been, and the stone platform was cracked and chipped. Black stains covered the area, and spots of fire burned out of control. Buildings surrounding the platform were ablaze.

Avigdor cried out with pain as they bumped over the uneven cobblestones, face drained of blood.

She turned to give aid, and as she did, an Indryallan soldier emerged at a run from an alley behind them, skidding to a halt. In moments, five more had joined him. They looked around frantically. One pointed at them when he spotted the wagon racing down the street. A few gave chase, while the rest ran toward the now defunct trebuchet platform.

Felice turned back to Avigdor’s ankle. His trouser leg was soaked with blood. She lifted it to reveal white bone protruding from his flesh. Gently, she covered the ankle.

A strong hand squeezed her shoulder.

“Right-o,” said Nolar above the noise of the clattering wagon. “Here’s where we scatter.” His eyes flicked to Avigdor, a grim look on his face. “There’s nothing we can do for him. If we try to carry him, we’ll all be caught.”

Avigdor gave a weak laugh. “I can’t run,” he said grimly. “I won’t be able to get away.”

Felice gritted her teeth then nodded.

“Good luck, my lady,” Nilas said. “We’ll see you back at the Cemetery.”

Avigdor groaned. His hand clutched at hers. “Get me… Let me drive the wagon.”

She thought quickly. “Get him up there,” she ordered. “Then you can scatter.”

In moments, Avigdor had been manhandled to the front seat. He only screamed once. They pressed the reins into his hands.