The Guns of Empire (59 page)

“Alex!” Winter said. “Whatever you're doing, hurry—”

The pile of bodies that blocked most of the doorway toppled forward, shoved from behind. Bobby, unable to see it coming, flailed wildly as she was borne down by dead priests, gore spraying wildly. More attackers jumped down from the desk, two burly priests in the lead and then a wild press of flesh—
priests, servants, and prisoners, all crammed together in the curving stair leading up to the top floor.

“Bobby!” Winter hacked and slashed at the mob in front of her but made no progress—for every person she cut down, others circled around, forcing her to give ground or be grabbed from behind. Bobby was invisible, thrashing under a mound of enemies, living and dead.

Millie, at the window, had her own sword out, but her first cut was tentative, and one of the priests grabbed the blade from her hands and wrenched it away. He reached for her with slashed, bleeding fingers, and she screamed and took a step back, onto the windowsill. She kicked her attacker in the face, looked over her shoulder, and jumped.

“Millie, wait—” Alex's voice came from outside.

Maxwell slashed back and forth with his own sword until it was wrenched from his hands. The Beast's bodies grabbed him, slamming him against the tower wall, arms and legs pinioned. He squeezed his eyes shut, but more hands pawed at his face, prying his eyelids apart as a black-robed figure leaned in close.

“Help!” The young priest's voice rose to a terrified squeak. “Winter!
Alex!
Help,
please
—”

His scream died in a strangled gurgle as the red light washed over him. A moment later Alex appeared in the window, trailing a knotted mass of cords wrapped over and around one another. When she saw the swarming, grappling things in the tower, lit by the hellish crimson glow of their own eyes, her face went slack for a moment, and then a wild look came over her. She raised her hands, and the globes of blackness expanded, growing to the size of twin cannonballs.

Some instinct made Winter throw herself flat. Ropes of darkness burst out from both of Alex's hands, spearing outward in every direction like the thorns of a cactus. They punched through cloth, flesh, and bone, and wherever they struck they multiplied into smaller bursts of darkness, little balls of black filaments that ripped apart whatever they hit from the inside out. The room was suddenly full of intersecting lines of black, blooming like hideous flowers among sprays of blood and shredded flesh.

When the lines of darkness vanished an instant later, there was a moment of shocked stillness. Alex took a deep breath, swaying, and Winter forced herself to her feet. She sprinted to the window, boots slipping on flesh and blood, and grabbed Alex just before she toppled backward off the tower. The girl blinked quickly, taking several rapid breaths, and then her eyes regained their focus.

“Max,” she said. “Where is he?”

“Right here.” Maxwell stood up, shrugging off the limp bodies of the men who'd been holding him. His eyes glowed red. “Come over here, Alex. I had everything wrong. Let me explain.”

“Oh. Oh, Karis,
fucking
God, no.” Alex was whimpering. “Please . . .”

Other figures were rising from the carnage. Winter saw Red, her back studded with bits of broken glass, helping Jane to her feet. All around were dozens of priests and servants, some of them missing limbs or bleeding from long gashes, eyes still glowing maliciously.

“It's not so bad,” Maxwell said. “Honestly. I love you, Alex—would I lie to you—”

Alex surged out of Winter's grasp, and a line of pure darkness connected her for a moment to the man who'd been her lover. It punched into his skull and out the other side, cracking the stone of the tower wall behind him. The glow in his eyes died, and he fell without another sound.

The pile of bodies heaved, and Bobby forced her way up, clutching her side. She was covered in blood, as though she'd bathed in the stuff, but her eyes were still firmly closed. She turned in a circle, and Winter screamed her name.

“Bobby! Over here!”

Bobby started to run, slipping and stumbling on the bodies. One of the mutilated priests grabbed her, but she shrugged him off and made it to the edge of the room. Winter took her hand, and nearly got her arm ripped off for her trouble before she gasped out a warning.

“Sorry.” Bobby opened one eye a crack. “You okay?”

Winter nodded. “We're getting out of here. Just jump, if you have to.”

“Use this,” Alex said, handing Winter the knotted cord. “It should take your weight.”

“And then what?” said Jane, from across the room. “This is
Elysium
. Where are you going to run?”

“Go,” Winter told Alex and Bobby.

Alex swung out the window, hanging from her own line of darkness. Bobby took hold of the knotted cord, hesitated, then stepped out the window. The line creaked under her weight, but held. She gripped it in one hand and stood on the face of the tower, holding out her hand for Winter.

“You can't leave me,” Jane said. “Not this time.”

Winter jumped on the windowsill and took Bobby's hand. Just as she stepped clear, an arm shot out from the piled bodies at her feet, fastening around her
ankle. For a single, teetering moment, she was balanced, pulled into the room by the grip at her feet and away by her grip on Bobby. Then her fingers, coated with blood, slipped from Bobby's hand. More of the Beast's bodies were closing in, running frantically to grab her. Winter took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let herself tumble forward.

—

There was a moment of free fall.

Then something hit her around the waist, hard enough to bruise. It was Bobby's arm—she'd jumped off the tower, one hand extended to catch Winter. Her other hand reached out for one of the spiderweb of thin cords that connected the two towers, which snapped instantly under their combined weight. There was another below it, and another, each supporting them for only a fraction of a second before giving way. Then they were through the web, hurtling toward the slate roof of the cathedral. Bobby curled up, rolling so her body was beneath Winter's, and then—

—
impact
. Winter's head slammed hard into Bobby's chest, slate crunching underneath them. The breath was knocked from her body, and for a moment she couldn't take another. She sat up, gasping, and felt a flaring pain in her arm that turned her vision gray. Her left hand hung at an odd angle, as though an extra joint had been added to the limb, and when she tried to move it, pain and nausea welled up until she vomited.

When her stomach was empty, she wiped her mouth with her good hand and looked down at Bobby. It was impossible to tell how badly she was injured, since she was absolutely covered in blood, but she wasn't moving. The worse she was hurt, the longer it usually took her to heal.
She saved my life.
Jumped off the tower and grabbed me.
She looked up at the web of fluttering flags and broken lines, and shuddered.

Alex landed beside her in a crouch, a line of darkness fading away above her. “Winter? Saints and martyrs, are you
alive
?”

“Bobby got underneath me.” Winter clambered unsteadily to her feet, fighting another vision-blurring spike of pain. “She's not in good shape, and my arm is broken, I think. Help me lift her.”

“But—”

“She'll survive,” Winter said fiercely. “We just need to find somewhere to hide before they catch up.”

Alex nodded, her eyes wide and face pale. She and Winter hoisted Bobby to her feet, trying to ignore the way her head lolled, and with her limp body
hanging between them they started walking. Winter let Alex set the course, concentrating on keeping her footing on the slippery slate and trying not to think about the sick tearing sensations in her left arm every time it moved.

Another body lay on the slate ahead of them.
Millie.

“She tried to grab one of the lines,” Alex whispered. “But it wouldn't hold her weight.” There was no need to ask if they should try to help her. Her head was the wrong
shape
, like a half-deflated balloon.

Winter lurched under Bobby's weight when Alex slipped out to open a trapdoor with a muffled
snap
as one of her shadow lances smashed the lock. Below it was a ladder, leading to a dark, dusty corridor. Alex went down first, and Winter had little choice but to push Bobby over the opening and let her fall through. She herself tried to climb down one-handed, but one of the rungs brushed against her dangling left arm and her vision went gray and spotty again. When it cleared, she found herself on the floor, with Alex underneath her.

“Sorry,” Winter said. Her head was spinning, and she would have vomited again if there had been anything in her stomach. She swallowed acid and struggled to her feet. “Help me with Bobby.”

They were in the upper story of the cathedral, a maze of passages and tiny rooms like its counterpart in Vordan. Winter and Alex stumbled through them at random, dragging Bobby's limp body. Winter's only thought was to get away from the trapdoor—it would take the Beast some time to get anyone up to these attics, but it had undoubtedly watched where they'd fallen. After a half dozen identical-looking corridors and random turnings, she picked a room with a particularly dusty door and opened it, careful not to leave obvious streaks in the coating. Inside were stacks of moldering wall hangings, moth-eaten and forgotten.
Perfect.

Winter pushed inside and kicked the door closed behind her. What light filtered beneath it showed only shadowy outlines. She and Alex dragged Bobby to one of the stacks and let her down gently, and then Winter sagged against another.

A light flared. Alex held a match up to Winter's face.

“Don't,” Winter said. “The light. They'll see it from the hall.”

“I just need to do something about your arm,” Alex said. She bit her lip, examining the break. “It looks . . . not
too
bad. I can get it straightened and tied down.” She shook the match out, lit another, and started rummaging around the room.

“You know what you're doing?”

“Only a little. I learned from Abraham.” Alex shook her head. “Where the hell is he when you need him?”

“I . . .” Winter swallowed again. “I'm sorry. About Maxwell.”

“Me too.” Alex's voice was tight. She lit a third match and knelt by Winter. “Okay. This is probably going to hurt.”

“If I'm lucky, I'll pass out.” Winter closed her eyes. “Give me something to bite.”

Alex put a leather sheath in Winter's mouth. It tasted of dust and blood. Winter sucked in a breath through her nose, trying to get ready—

Her left arm exploded, sending glowing lances of pain shooting through her body. She bit down hard on the sheath, but even so, a moan forced its way past before, mercifully, she passed out.

—

When she woke, she had no idea how much time had passed, only that her mouth was dry and tasted of blood. She reached for the canteen strapped to her side and felt a moment of panic when her left arm wouldn't move. It was tied to a splintery length of wood wrapped in threadbare cloth, with more strips of cloth binding it tight against her chest. That brought everything crashing back, and for a moment it was all she could do to fight back bile.

Eventually, she managed to sit up and get the canteen out, awkwardly opening it with one hand and gulping the contents. Water splashed on her chin. Across the room, she heard someone stirring, though it was too dark to see anything.

“Winter?” Alex said groggily.

“Mmm.” Winter emptied the canteen and set it aside. “Yeah.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better.” Her arm hurt, but it was a dull, red-hot throb instead of a white-hot burn. “You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “I wanted to do something for Bobby, but I wasn't sure where to start.”

“Bobby's demon will do more for her than we can.” Winter abruptly lowered her voice. “Have you heard anything?”

“People moving around in the distance, a couple of times. They must be searching, but they haven't come close yet.”

“Do you have any idea where we are?”

“I . . .
think
I do,” Alex said. “I know which direction the main stairs are, at least.”

“That's more than I've got,” Winter said. “So that's good.”

She paused, glancing in the direction where Bobby's motionless, shadowed form lay.
How long will it take her to heal?
When the Desoltai had cut her down, it had been most of a night before she recovered, and this injury was probably worse.
But she said the healing was getting faster.

“Have you got any matches left?”

“Yeah.” Alex shuffled closer. “Why?”

“I want to take a look at Bobby.”

A moment later a light bloomed in the darkness. Winter shaded her eyes briefly, then pushed herself over to where Bobby lay. She was liberally coated with blood, now drying into a flaking brown crust, and Winter brushed it off her face with her filthy sleeve. Her breath hissed. The skin of Bobby's cheeks was shot through with white, like veins of marble embedded in the ordinary flesh. They spiderwebbed across her wherever Winter looked, crisscrossing her forehead and forming circles around her eyes. Part of her hair had changed, too, the brown streaked with stony white.

“Karis Almighty,” Alex said. “What's happening to her?”

“It's part of the healing,” Winter said. “Other than that, I have no idea.”

Bobby shifted slightly, and she gave a faint moan. Alex shook out the match.

“It won't be long, I think,” Winter said. “Once she can walk, we'll try to find a way out of here.”
Assuming the Beast doesn't find us first.

“Yeah.” Alex's shadow shuffled in place, folding in on herself. Her voice was very small. “Fuck. Why did it end up like this? Why did he . . . ?”