A Flight of Ravens by John Conroe (thriller books to read TXT) 📗

away, but Cort looked confused.  “The necklaces have been tampered with by an eslling,” I explained.

His mouth formed an O but he didn’t say anything as he processed that.  “It’s all artificial, then?” he asked.

“We think so.  But the fact that that they haven’t fought is interesting.  Freyla made it sound like anyone who touched those artifacts would go berserk,” I answered.

“Actually, she merely thought it a possibility, and I believe she was specifically worried about you,” Kassa said to me.

Cort’s face turned very serious.  “I’ve seen that before…” He broke off at my glare.

Kassa glanced at us and caught the exchange.  She raised one eyebrow, then turned back to the action below.  “Something’s happening,” she said, pointing.

Cort and I both leaned over the peak and looked where her finger indicated, the right end of the street.

A group of five newcomers, all wearing white robes with black trim, were headed down the street. Six big men, armed with cudgels, followed them, eyes watching the crowds.

“The Holy Assembly of Reformed Wickedness,” Kassa said, so surprised, she forgot to whisper.

I had recognized the robes on sight, as well as two of their wearers.

“Is that your girlfriend from Pit?” Cort asked, also speaking normally.  I turned, a finger on my lips.

“Girlfriend?” Kassa asked, eyebrows up.

I waved a hand to dismiss it.  “We’ve met one of the parsons in that group before.  Cort was smitten.”

She turned and studied the clergy for a second, then turned back.  “Gotta be the blonde behind the old guy, right?”

“Yup, that’s her,” Cort said, his own eyes locked on the girl below.

“Gwen Vancour, parson and assistant to Deacon Kittleby, the old guy in front,” I said.  “What the hell is the Holy Assembly doing on Montshire soil?”

“Hear me, residents and visitors of Porye alike,” the deacon called out as they approached the tense standoff. “Put aside your vitriol, your anger, and your distrust, and recall the long history you share.  A history of beneficial cooperation and tolerance.”

Kassa stiffened, her shoulders hunching at the same time that a wave of some sort of emotion rose from below. She whipped around to Cort and me, her expression alarmed.  “Someone is projecting,” she said in a normal voice, but I still almost didn’t hear her over the almost instant roar of anger from the crowds.

Below us, the church group had slowed to a stop, alarm beginning to show on the deacon’s face, his security people moving forward.  A rock flew from the Mandrigo side and hit the deacon in the middle of his chest.  It didn’t seem to hurt him much, but the effect on the Berkette faction was instant.  With a roar, they rushed across the street to attack the Mandrigans and battle was joined.

“The church party will be killed,” Kassa said but I ignored her, instead signaling Soshi. Prepare for action, alert team member, evade and regroup.

She signaled affirmative and tucked her bolter away as she turned and started to climb back up the roof.

“Corporal, prepare two flash grenades.  Kassa, start back down to the ground; we’ll be behind you in a moment,” I said.  The young essling woman stared at me for a moment, then hurriedly began to pick her way down the roof.  “Go slow and careful.  Falling from this height would be bad.”

She stopped without turning around and visibly took a breath, then breathed it out slowly before restarting her descent a bit more cautiously.  I turned back to find Cort pulling one proscribed piece of equipment after another from within his common workman’s jacket.  Two round pottery objects the size of plums, followed by a small brass cylinder with a length of rope hanging out of it.  He untangled fuses from the tops of the clay balls and twisted the top off the cylinder.  Then he looked at me and nodded.

Across the way, Soshi was gone.  Behind us, Kassa had made it onto the climbing pipe, her head level with the edge of the roof.  Her eyes met mine and then she climbed down out of sight.

From inside my own jacket, I pulled two coiled lengths of very thin, very strong climbing cord and looped each around a nearby chimney, tossing both ends of each cord back down into the alley where Kassa would hopefully be waiting.

Turning back, I held a pair of ropes in each hand. Below us was mayhem.  “Now, Corporal.”

Cort pushed a tiny lever on the side of the brass cylinder, which immediately sparked, and a small ember appeared on the charred rope poking out of the cylinder’s exposed top. He waved the device around, making the ember glow brighter, then with smooth, sure motions, he touched the smoking cord to each fuse to ignite them. Holding the sparking bomblets without seeming regard for imminent danger, he unhurriedly put away the rope lighter and coolly watched the fuses burn down.  When he judged them right, he casually tossed them underhanded out into the air above the street.

I handed him a pair of lines as we looked down over the roof. Cort put both hands over his ears and nodded at me.  I did the same.  Twin thunderclaps boomed and two bright flashes lit the sky, dust and debris peppering us. Below us, the crowds cowered, then screamed, and then broke apart. We each stepped between our two respective ropes, looped them around our waists, stepped over the new loops, and then pulled those loops up our legs, tightening them into our crotches.  Holding both lines in one hand, my right and Cort’s left, we backed down the roof and at the edge, I counted us down.  “Three, two, one.”

Simultaneously, we leaned out over the edge and then started to walk down the wall in an improvised rappel.  Because our ropes weren’t securely fastened, it was imperative that we took it slow and careful.  But it wasn’t our first time using such a roughshod setup.

Kassa was just stepping off the pipe as we reached the ground.  We each let go of our ropes and