The Arcanist (52 page)

Chapter Fifty Three

It was dawn by the time Edouard reached the shrine. He couldn't help that. If the city had been as it once was and he'd been walking the streets he could have made the trip in twenty minutes on foot. But doing it by wading through the sewers without any clear idea of where he was going, and having to constantly climb up ladders and staircases to get his bearings slowed things down a lot. Half a dozen pitched battles had slowed them down even more.

On the other hand three more houses had been freed and he would guess sixty or seventy more people had hopefully found their way to the outflow and safety. He didn't know why but it seemed that the enemy was still guarding the civilians, though not in any large numbers. Maybe they thought that those who remained could still be useful as labourers in time. At least as many veiled guards were now dead or badly injured. Most of them had been brought down when he'd poked his head up through a floor space only to find he was in the middle of a hall where probably thirty of them had been sleeping. They'd spotted him immediately.

There had been shouting and pointing, and people had started running for their weapons. Shots had been fired and he'd had to duck down the ladder quickly. But his immediate reaction when the musket balls had started to fly had been to launch a fireball up through the trap door. The resultant inferno of fire inside an enclosed structure had set everyone alight and covered his escape.

How many of the veiled guards had made it out after that he didn't know. But what he did know was that the trap door had been sealed by the hall's subsequent collapse on top of it, and no one else had come down and started chasing him through the sewers. He was glad of that. The last thing he wanted to do was run through disease laden water. Apart from anything else he might trip and swallow some of it.

On the other hand they surely now knew he was down here. They would be looking for him. Which meant he had to be more careful.

Still, he had found a good spot from which to spy on the hamadryad's shrine from. One no one would suspect. The hatch at the top of the ladder leading up from the sewer opened into a park directly opposite Tyrel's shrine. Over the years the park had become overgrown with its hedges spreading far beyond their borders. So when he slipped the hatch open he actually found himself covered with foliage. He had to push it aside to get a good view. No one would see him as he stood there on the ladder with just his head sticking out. Not even during the day.

They weren't really looking for him though. Further down the street he could see a guard post and a dozen veiled guards standing around looking bored. Or they would have looked bored he guessed if they took their veils off and showed their faces. Their attention was focussed either on each other, the brazier they were gathered around, or the distant city wall which they could see slowly crumbling as the cannon balls kept smashing into it.

Best of all, there was no drain on his magic that he could feel. Either the stone of silence had been removed or it had failed completely.

He was safe.

But the bad news was that the shrine was no more. It was a pile of rubble like so much else of the city. What the mammoths had started the war had ended. His chances of finding Kyriel in it had just faded. If she was there she was underneath the debris, already properly buried. There was nothing he could do for her. And if she wasn't, if she'd been taken away, he had no way of finding her.

She could be dead! He tried to face that thought with equanimity, but he couldn't. He didn't want her dead. He might occasionally want to strangle her but he didn't want her dead. And yet he had known from the start that that had always been likely. It was madness to enter an enemy city alone – much as he was.

In time he found the distance to remember that “could be” and “were” were two very different things. She could be dead. But she could also be alive. And the handmaiden was a resourceful woman. So all he could do was keep searching. And to study everything he could see – starting with the shrine.

It was sad seeing the shrine in such a state. It hadn't been a grand temple like the ones to the Seven. It had just been a single story building that had probably started out as a small cottage, which someone had added an ornate front to. A pair of marble columns supporting a triangular frieze in front of the door. Now those columns and the frieze were the only things still standing, and they were fire blackened and leaning at an angle. The rest of the shrine was a twisted pile of burnt timber and stone blocks.

The garden was gone too. Tyrel's shrines and temples always had extensive gardens and this small shrine had been no exception. But everything had burnt. The trees and shrubs and even the grass. It was summer and there had been little rain even before the attacks on the city which had destroyed the reticulated water supply. So when the fire had taken hold it had not let go until everything was gone.

What remained of the trees that had filled the front yard were now only blackened remains. Skeletal hands reaching for the sky in vain.

Seeing the shrine like that filled him with sorrow. Even though he would never be a follower of Tyrel's, the complete destruction of her shrine seemed an outrage to him. But more than that it was a stark reminder of all that had befallen Theria. The shrine had been one of the prettier buildings in the city. But when maybe one in three buildings in Saddlers Row was exactly the same and the second of the three was either on fire or at least smouldering, it wasn't unexpected.

The question for Edouard though as he stood there on the ladder staring out at the city, was what did he do now? Did his quest end before it had even begun? Because alive or dead Kyriel was beyond his ability to help. He wanted to find her but he had absolutely no idea where to look. Did he carry on scouring the city from the sewers below, searching for more people to rescue? Did he go on the offensive and start killing as many of the enemy as he could from the safety of the sewers?

A heartbeat later he gave into his anger and launched a series of fire balls at the veiled guards down the street. They weren't looking at him. Most of them weren't even looking in his direction. And though a couple cried out and tried to throw themselves to the sides, they were too slow.

The flames exploded in their midst, and though they were far from his most powerful blasts, they did enough. Suddenly a dozen veiled guards were covered in fire, running around in all directions and screaming. They weren't running for him. They were desperately trying to put the flames out.

Some desperately started ripping their clothes off, and then threw themselves on the ground where they started rolling, trying to put the flames out. Others just kept running and screaming. But not a one of them started shooting at him. He wasn't even a consideration as they burnt.

So as they ignored him he ignored them. Instead he set his sights on the distant wall, and more importantly the ramparts behind it. From the other side he hadn't been able to hit them. They were protected by the wall itself. But from inside the city they were completely exposed, and from what he could see at least a hundred soldiers were stationed just in that section.

Edouard sent a dozen powerful fireballs flying their way, not worried about who might see them. The nearest of the veiled soldiers were down, too busy to bother him, and the rest would take time to arrive. And when they did arrive he suspected they wouldn't even know where to look for him.

The fireballs hit with their usual effectiveness, and even though the walls were a long way away, he could hear the screams of the soldiers as they caught fire. He could see them running around madly, in pain and terrified. A few more he watched plummet to their deaths, little burning balls of fire that screamed and waved their arms around crazily as they fell before they hit the ground and stopped moving. It was a good strike.

Bells started ringing and klaxons began wailing as the soldiers realised they were under attack. He saw whole troops of soldiers running for the ramparts with buckets in hand, no doubt desperate to put out the fire before it caught. They could do without the soldiers and they were apparently happy to let the buildings in town simply burn, but without the ramparts the walls became just undefended walls. And because they were soldiers and they might yet save the fortifications he sent a few more fireballs after them as well.

After that Edouard just settled back on the ladder and watched and waited for the other soldiers to start heading his way.

It took a minute or two – obviously the nearest soldiers had been some distance away – and when they came the footsteps were hesitant. They didn't know exactly where the fireballs had come from and were busy searching for him. But that didn't stop them shooting, and soon the air all around him was thick with musket balls.

That was his cue to leave Edouard decided. He had done enough damage and he didn't want to get shot. Especially when the only part of him that was above the ground and so able to become a target was his head. So he stepped back down the ladder and slid the hatch shut behind him. Then he used his finger of fire to melt some of the metal together so that if they found it they still couldn't follow him. If he needed to use that hatch again he'd just cut it open when the time came.

Time to head south he decided. Because south of the shrine lay the typhoon gate the Cabal wizards had been building, and if there was one place where he suspected there would be people working, it would be there.

Cabal wizards! The thought made him smile for the first time in ages even as he carefully lowered himself once more into the filthy water. Not only weren't they wizards at all, they were completely vulnerable to magic. No wonder they had feared his kind so.

Now they would truly learn fear.

Chapter Fifty Four

“Captain, more escapees!”

One of the soldiers yelled at Marcus as he was sitting with the commanders of his cannon brigades discussing strategy. There was actually quite a lot of strategy involved in a siege, even when it came to breaking down walls with cannon. Though mostly at this stage the strategy was about working out which sections of the wall were giving way fastest and concentrating their fire on them.

Using only the cannon hadn't been his plan at the beginning. He'd been hoping to be able to do some sapping as well, sending in a few teams under the cover of night to dig away at the foundations beneath the walls. That way it would be possible to bring down entire lengths of the wall at once, catching the enemy by surprise. But after the troll attack that option had had to be removed. The use of portals and armies of creatures changed things somewhat. Now he needed all his engineers to build up their own defences before the next wave of whatever the Cabal wizards could send at them came through.

Privately he was dreading finding out what they might send against them next. The trolls had so very nearly defeated them. Only luck, preparation and training had saved them. He absolutely did not want to see another troll for as long as he lived.

Marcus looked to the soldier and the man he was leading his way and instantly recognised him for what he was. Thin, frightened and soaked through with foul smelling water, he looked exactly like all the other refugees he'd seen.

Behind the two of them Marcus could see another ten or fifteen equally pathetic figures being led away by more soldiers to where they could get some warm food and dry clothes. After that he didn't know what would happen to them. No doubt they'd all want to leave, and he would be happy enough if they did. But he couldn't spare the men to escort them away. Not when they kept coming and he had a battle to prepare for. But they couldn't stay either. They would only be in the way when the battle began.

“My Lord Marcus.”

The man bowed low before him and Marcus nearly cringed. This was war and he was a captain. He should be addressed as such. But the man was not one of his soldiers and he knew no better. Marcus could also guess what the next words out of his mouth would be.

“I know, I know! Edouard sends his regards.” Marcus held up his hands to stop the man from saying it. He was getting tired of hearing it. This would be his fourth or fifth group of refugees he'd received since the previous night, and they all said exactly the same thing. There was no doubt that his little brother was stirring up a lot of trouble inside the city and no doubt enjoying himself as he did it.

The only thing Marcus didn't know was whether to box his ears for doing something so reckless as to enter an enemy city they were busy pounding into oblivion. Or to hug him tight and praise the Seven Divines that he was still alive. Maybe he should do both.

He suspected his fellow soldiers would want to congratulate him. Because thanks to Edouard they were getting the first real idea of what was happening inside the city since the coup.

It wasn't good. The survivors were talking about entire fields filled with heads on poles. Of mass slavery as the people were forced to build the Cabal wizard's precious temple. And one terrible explosion that had torn apart not just the temple but half the city. The Seven alone knew how many Simon had killed with that blast. And all to save his worthless skin.

The unfortunate thing was that he had succeeded and now Marcus had an older brother who was a baby. A sinner who was somehow completely innocent of his crimes. And Marcus had no idea what to make of any of it. Executing Simon would have been the right and proper thing to do. Though of course it would have crushed his Father’s and Th'yssen's hearts. But you couldn't harm a baby.

“What else did Edouard say?”

“He said he'd been destroying the ramparts on the eastern side of the wall and that next he's going to the temple. He also said to tell you that the shrine to Tyrel had been completely destroyed.”

Marcus nodded, understanding exactly what his brother meant. That the likelihood was that Kyriel was dead. The temple would have to be informed. And April was going to be upset. The two of them were close. In fact April had let it slip once that Kyriel was teaching her swords. Why a priest of any sort should want to learn how to wield a blade he didn't know, but he knew that the bond between master and student was usually close.

“Thank you. Go and join your family and get some food.”

Marcus dismissed the man and turned his attention back to the war. He could do nothing if Kyriel was either alive or dead. He could do no more for Edouard. All he could do was what he was doing. Concentrate on taking back Theria.