Chapter Twenty-Three
Rae woke up with a start. The carriage bucked into the air, coming down hard and slewing side to side. Rae tumbled from his seat onto the floor. La was braced in the corner of the compartment, knuckles digging into the plush leather, feet braced on the opposite seat. Estev was still asleep.
“What’s going on?” Rae asked.
“We’re going a lot faster,” La answered. “Just happened. I think—”
The dull thud of gunpowder sounded behind them. Three shots, followed by a lot of shouting. The compartment door rattled. Estev finally snapped awake. The hammering on the door got louder.
“Everyone stay calm,” Estev said, even as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. “It’s probably just bandits. They’re unlikely to use force. Just trying to scare us.”
The next shot hit the corner of the carriage, splintering wood and drawing a string of very specific curses from the driver. Three heavy blows landed on the door.
“I’m serious, Kelthannis! Let me the hell inside!”
“Mahk!” La shouted. She jumped for the door, twisting the handle open and giving it a push. The big man swung into the carriage, just as another shot slammed into the open door. He pulled it closed. It was tight in the narrow compartment with all four of them, and the rough ride had them jostling together like bowling pins.
“Three riders. They tried to block the road, but your ordered driver went straight through them,” Mahk said.
“So much for stopping for all potential patrons,” Rae said.
“These guys had flintlocks and masks,” Mahk said. “I wouldn’t have stopped either.”
“Rare enough this far into Anvilheim,” Estev said, “but if the justicars have pulled the local constabulary north to deal with the Hammerwall breach, some industrious bastards might try to take advantage.” Another shot skimmed off the thick wood of the carriage. Estev winced. “Though this is hardly typical of their methods.”
“Seems right to me,” Mahk said.
“Then you are a bad thief,” Estev answered sharply. “What driver is going to pull the reins when you’re shooting at them? Better to threaten violence.”
“So if they’re not bandits . . .” Rae let the implication hang.
Estev leaned forward and banged open the sliding panel that led to the driver’s seat. They had a narrow view of the road ahead, partially obscured by the driver’s knee. The team was in full gallop, their leads jangling against foam-flecked shoulders. Thick mist swirled between the high hedgerows on either side. They were plunging forward, practically blind.
“Under no circumstances should you stop!” Estev yelled. “These men want more than your cargo!”
“Brilliant observation,” the driver answered. “Are you useful with a gun?”
“I am not practiced in the fine art of hanging from a moving carriage,” Estev answered. “And even if I were, we are unarmed.”
“You have that pistol—” Rae started. Estev waved him to silence.
“Those bullets are worth more gold than you can imagine,” he said. “I will not waste them on highwaymen.” The black handle of a firelock dropped through the slot. Estev stared at it distastefully. “I hardly think—”
“I’ll do it,” La said. She grabbed the pistol and wrenched it through the slot. A small bag of powder and shot tumbled through after, landing heavily on the seat. “Rae, give me a brace, will you?”
Before he could answer, Lalette kicked open the carriage door and leaned out. Rae scrambled to grab her, looping one arm around her waist and bracing his shoulder against the frame of the door. The carriage jumped and bucked, threatening to send them both tumbling onto the road.
Other than the fact that they were wearing wooden masks and carrying pistols, the bandits were hardly remarkable. They were dressed in mismatched coats and pants, one in the roughspun of a dockworker, another in simple blue linens and leather boots, the last wearing the fur-trimmed wool of a noble huntsman. Their horses were fine animals, and the stained wood of their masks was carved into leering grins. Only the nobleman seemed to be practiced at reloading at the gallop. The other two were waving empty pistols and shouting for the driver to stop.
La leaned over Rae’s back, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she took aim. The noble bandit ducked low to his saddle, putting the beast between himself and La’s aim, but it didn’t matter. Between the bucking ride and the heavy pistol, La’s shot went far wide. It struck the hedgerow. A blister of fire swelled out from the wall, erupting into a coiling spear of white-hot flames that quickly spread through the hedges. The blue-clad bandit yelped, dropping his pistol as he covered his face. The nobleman popped up from cover and took a shot, his bullet whistling inches over La’s head. He started to reload as the other two bandits slowed down. La swung back inside, handing the pistol to Mahk. The big man already had a plug of powder and fireshot in hand.
“Is it the demon?” Rae asked.
“Don’t think so. But they don’t look like typical bandits, either,” La reported. “Can’t you do something about this, Cohn?”
“My fae is not for fighting bandits on a country road. My efforts at the justicar’s camp were singular, and against his nature,” Estev answered. “He has sunk deep into Elysium, and will not budge. If one of you takes a bullet, I can repair the wound and sustain your life, but that’s about it.”
“Rather not get shot,” Mahk said. He finished loading and ducked out the carriage door. A shot clipped the paneling, sending a spray of splinters into his face. Mahk grunted. “Fast reload on that guy,” he mumbled, then took his time drawing a bead. The sound of his shot boomed through the carriage. A horse screamed behind them, followed by crashing hedge and shouting voices. “One down. But that fancy fellow isn’t going to let up.”
“You shot the horse?” La screamed.
“My life’s worth more than a horse, at least to me,” Mahk answered. He was quickly going through the process of reloading, but his thick fingers were shaking. Rae had never seen him scared. “There’s going to be more.”
“More?” Rae asked.
“Aye. Even bad bandits can block a road, especially one this narrow. They want us to run.” He grabbed the door and leaned out, stealing a look forward before he twisted behind them and took another shot. “Mists are too thick to see. We’re charging into a trap.”
“You have a suggestion?” La asked.
“Never been on this side of a job,” Mahk answered. “I’d pull over and fight, but damned if there’s a way through those hedges. Maybe—”
Heavy feet landed on the roof. They all looked up. A shot followed, loud and close. Rae couldn’t help but flinch away from the sound, expecting the ceiling to erupt with the pistol fire, but nothing happened. They all stared at the ceiling, waiting for the next shot.
A heavy thump came from the front of the carriage. The driver’s lifeless body slid past the door, pinwheeling as she struck the road, arms flopping bonelessly. The horses screamed their terror and sped up.
They plunged out-of-control down the narrow lane. The spoked wheels of the coach brushed the hedgerow, scraping loudly through the branches, tearing off the door and digging ruts in the wood. Whoever was clinging overhead swore and lost his balance, landing heavily against the roof of the carriage. Mahk fired the pistol straight up. The unseen bandit lost their grip and slid off. Rae stuck his head out the gaping door. The remaining bandit, the one in the dockworker’s roughspun, slowed down to check on the fallen nobleman. The man struggled to one knee, screaming at the dockworker as he motioned toward the retreating prey. The dockworker put his spurs into his mount’s flanks, but he didn’t seem like much of a rider. Their main danger was their own team of horses crashing them into some unseen obstacle, or running them off the road completely.
“We need to get to the reins,” Rae said. He ducked inside just as the carriage swerved again, slewing as it scraped through the hedges. Something beneath them broke, and the whole compartment tottered on uncertain wheels.
“Always explaining, never doing,” La snapped. She waited until the carriage lurched away from the nearside hedge, then vaulted out the door and swung onto the roof. Rae hesitated for only a second before following her.
The roof of the carriage was a bloody mess. The driver’s skull lay in bits of bone, blood, and broken clockwork across the front. Lalette slid through the gore to land on the bench. Rae scampered forward, nearly slipped off the side as the team took a hard turn, sending the carriage reeling. With his knuckles white against the bench railing, he went to a knee and grabbed at the handbrake. The wheels screamed beneath him, sending a shower of sparks into the air for a long heartbeat. Then the handle came loose in his hands, the sparks stopped, and something heavy tore free from the undercarriage and bounced down the road. The bandit dodged it, keeping pace but not getting any closer.
“We’re going too fast for the brake,” La noted drily. “Can you reach the reins?”
Rae looked down. The lead had fallen between the horses, and was dragging against their flanks. He reached for it, coming up well short. Rae shook his head.
La clambered over him without warning, snatching the reins and pulling back, even as Rae started to fall forward. He put a hand against the splinter bar, staring down at the rattling gravel of the road speeding by below them. It took a heavy push, but he got back over the dashboard and onto the bench. La was still untangling the reins. Every time she pulled, the horses swerved from one side to the other. Rae looked behind him.
“That guy’s falling back,” he said. “I think he’s giving up. All we have to do is get these horses to stop, and . . .” Rae squinted. The bandit was pulling up, standing in his saddle, as though he were trying to see past the carriage at the road beyond. Rae whirled around.
The trap snapped shut. The swirling mists parted, revealing a solid wall of stone. A figure stood on top of the wall, gray cloak drawn close to his body, face hidden behind a wooden mask. Not the high mage. Then who? The horses screamed and tried to pull up, but the weight of the carriage and their own speed drove them forward. The team crashed to the ground, gathering up the carriage and upending it. The dashboard plowed into the road. For a heartstopping second, Rae was staring at the road rushing up at him, La at his side, the carriage flipping down to crush him. Then he was flying, thrown into the air like a catapult, legs pumping as his body tried to find the ground. He heard the carriage splinter behind him. He felt Lalette’s terror, her pain, her scream piercing him deep and sharp. And his own fear, stealing his breath as he flew toward the wall of stone. Its gray face rushed at him like a squall line. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact.
Deep in his soul, the voice reached for him. It answered the soundless scream of his terror, death building in his spirit. Ghostly hands twisted out of the nether, offering to catch him as he fell. Time slowed, then stopped. He hung in the air.
—i can save you, the voice said. let me save you. A face hung in his mind, left eye bisected by a blinding slash of light, the features as soft as mist in the morning sun, and just as bright. Thin, bony fingers reached for him, a hand, palm up. Offering help. Rae accepted.
The world rushed forward. Cold gripped him, and the color drained from his sight. Rae felt his flesh turn to mist, his veins run cold with slush. Empty screams filled his head. He opened his eyes and stared at a forest of ghostly light, the hedgerows disappearing. He could still see the carriage as it splintered apart around him. Four bright lights hung in the air, three behind him, and the last on the wall above. They looked like spiderwebs drawn in lightning, veins branching into the nether to fade into nothingness. Souls, Rae realized. He marked the soul in front of him as a spiritbinder; its tapestry was wound around another structure, like roots grown in on themselves. The rapidly approaching wall faded, dead stone becoming shivering ice, translucent and cold. He passed through it like an arrow.
The world snapped back together. Rae screamed, his breath coming out in a plume of icy fog. He landed in a tumble on the other side of the wall, skidding through the gravel, palms and knees tearing open. The figure on top of the wall turned to watch him. Even through the twisted visage of the wooden mask, he looked just as surprised as Rae.
The boom of the carriage’s impact shook the wall, sending a plume of splintered wood into the air. The figure went to one knee, swirling its cloak overhead. Wreckage splashed across the shield of the cloak, bouncing off as if the gray wool were steel, or stone.
Rae struggled to his feet and came up limping. A long gash traveled the length of his leg, and he couldn’t feel his left arm. Probably a blessing, considering the ragged tears in his clothes, and the rash of gravel embedded in his skin. His head was ringing, but under the deafening tone, there was another sound. The hollow echo of a grave.
He stood there staring at the plume of debris slowly settling onto the road. How could anyone have survived that? Lalette, on the bench beside him, probably sent flying. Mahk and Estev, crushed inside the carriage. They were gone. Dead.
The figure on the wall (Stonebinder, Rae thought. How else to explain the wall in the middle of the road, where no wall should be?) stood up. He looked at Rae, then stepped lightly from the stones and landed on the road, throwing back his cloak. The man was dressed in the tight jerkin of a justicar, identical except for the color, gray instead of white, with black borders and copper buttons. The stonebinder shot his cuffs, as though he were walking down the high street. Pale green eyes stared out of the hollow eyes of the mask.
“A child,” he said with distaste. “Everything I’ve risked, everything I’ve gained, and they risk it all for a bloody child. A pity for you. I’m in no mood to negotiate.”
Rae turned and started to limp away. The man gave a weary sigh and picked up his pace, heavy boots crunching through the gravel. Rae looked back. The man summoned a splinter of elemental earth in his hand. Its gray facets rotated slowly in his palm, growing and growing, its surface shifting in the light. The stonebinder tossed it almost casually. The splinter struck the ground at Rae’s feet with an earthquake’s force. Rae fell to the ground, quickly scrambling to his feet to face the ’binder. The man nodded.
“Good. Accept the inevitable,” he said. “That will be easier for all of us.”
Rae’s sword was somewhere in the carriage, possibly smashed to splinters, the shards mingling with his sister’s dying blood. Or perhaps it had survived the crash. It didn’t matter. It was no good to him on the other side of the wall. The stonebinder strode toward him. Rae had to fight back. This man killed his sister! He had to fight!
The anger in his heart reached his soul. Dangerous thunder echoed through his ribs, traveling through his blood and down the length of his arm. His fingers turned ghastly white, and a thin mist swirled in his palm. Rae tried to remember what little he knew about spiritblades, how they contained an imprint of the ’binder’s soul. He imagined the scrying Indrit had done of his soul, what felt like a hundred years ago, and forced that image through his mind and into his hand. The anger carried it, changed it, forged it.
Lightning flashed from his hand, followed by a clap of thunder as loud as a church bell. His fingers closed on cold steel. When he opened his eyes, Rae was holding a sword of silver light, wreathed in lightning and trailing a cascade of heavy mist.
The stonebinder’s brows went up behind the mask. He tilted his head in acknowledgment, then drew his own spiritblade and charged forward.