Ventus - Karl Schroeder (good short books TXT) 📗

it myself. But it must be done, if there is no alternative.”

“Your highness?” said one of her men. “Give the word and we will throw these traitors out the window.”

“Do as he says,” she said hoarsely. “There is no point in your dying too.”

“But your highness—”

“Do it!”

The maids and the two guards knelt in a line. Two of Lavin’s men stepped behind them. Galas flinched as the crying maids were struck down one by one, and the men who had stayed to protect her life. In moments they lay silent on the floor. One of the women had stopped breathing; blood pooled behind her ear. Galas stared at it until Lavin took her arm.

“Goodbye, General,” Lavin said. The soldier standing behind Armiger raised his sword and slammed the pommel down on the back of Armiger’s neck. There was a loud crack, but Armiger didn’t even blink.

Armiger held the man’s sword-arm before anyone could react, and then he was on his feet. With a casual motion he tossed the man out the window. For a shocked moment no one moved.

“No noise!” commanded Lavin. He grabbed Galas by the arm and pulled her out of the way as his other three men raised their swords to stab Armiger.

One staggered back, his own sword in his gut. The other two whirled, for Armiger was no longer where he had been.

Hands like iron clamped onto Galas’ wrists, and then Armiger was hauling her towards the door. Lavin leaped to intercede, and Armiger side-kicked him. The general was sent flying into a wardrobe, shattering it.

“We must get you to safety,” said Armiger. His voice was flat, his grip on Galas’ arm like iron. He towed the queen out into the corridor, where several servants stood, looking bewildered and offended at his handling of the queen.

She was still half-stunned. Had that really been Lavin? It looked like him. “How did he get in here?” she heard herself ask.

Armiger stopped abruptly, making her stumble. “Good point,” he said. “I’ll interrogate him. You find Megan.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s time to leave.” He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. He seemed completely unruffled by what had just occurred. “The Diadem swans are coming,” he said. “They may well obliterate Lavin’s army. I broke the rules of war, Galas. I deliberately involved the Winds.”

Galas shook her head. “Don’t hurt Lavin.”

For the first time he looked surprised. “If you wish.” He let her go and turned.

“General Armiger?”

The voice was that of a woman. They both looked up, to find what at first seemed to be a soldier boy standing by the doors to the roof. It was a woman in bloodied armor. She had an oval face, dark brows and black hair that lay now in dusty tangles. She held something like a mirrored crossbow in her hands.

“Get Megan,” said Armiger. He thrust Galas behind himself just as the woman’s gleaming weapon spat fire.

Armiger screamed. Galas made herself run and not look back—around the corner, the way they had come.

And there stood Lavin, truly him this time, grim with his sword drawn.

“Come,” he said, and reached for her.

Galas snatched her hand back. All her confusion and resentment boiled over. “Never! You destroyed me!”

“In time you’ll understand why I had to do it,” he said as he reached for her again.

“Help me!” At her cry, all the doors in the corridor opened and her servants poured forth.

Then Lavin had her wrist and twisted her arm behind her painfully. She felt the blade of his sword slide past her throat. “Back off!” he shouted. The servants stopped, their makeshift weapons raised.

“Idiots!” she screamed. “Kill him!”

In the moment while they hesitated Lavin pulled her to the end of the corridor, where it met the one that led to the stairs. She caught a confused glimpse of shattered wood and stone here, smoking embers on the carpet. A loud explosion sounded somewhere nearby; she felt a wave of heat and suddenly the ceiling split open like a ripe fruit. Lavin pulled her back just in time as beams and stonework clogged the corridor behind them.

She coughed; Lavin’s sword nicked her throat. She heard him panting, heard herself cry out in pain from the way he twisted her arm. He dragged her along the hall, spun her around, and suddenly she saw Armiger. He lay on his face at the foot of the stairs. His armor was smoking. Over him stood the black-haired woman, weapon aimed at his head.

A musket shot spiked Galas’ ears. The woman spun around and fell, limbs akimbo. Soldiers were coming down the stairs from the roof; one threw aside his smoking musket and drew his sword as he approached her.

Galas saw the woman’s foot lash out to trip the man, then Lavin had her through the door into the antechamber of the audience chamber.

Lavin spun her around again, shoving her ahead of him now. She was dazed, but beginning to think again. She should just let him kill her. Or just fall like a dead weight that he could never carry. They entered the audience chamber. Megan stood by the throne, hands clasped nervously. “Your highness…?”

“Go to Armiger,” she shouted. “He’s hurt!”

Megan ran past them. Lavin picked up his pace, so they were trotting when they reached the main doors.

She needed to know what had happened to Armiger, Galas realized. That he and his woman survive was suddenly as important to her as Megan’s survival had been to him. It was simply this that made her decide not to slide her throat along Lavin’s sword, and vindictively bleed to death in his arms.

“You’re a snake,” she said. “I can’t believe I loved you.”

“I don’t mind your cursing me,” he said. “As long as you’re cursing me, at least you’re still alive.”

“And I will curse you, as long as I do live!”

They were on the marble landing. “I know,” he said. “I knew the price when I took on the task.”

*

Armiger rolled over, gasping. His human body was nearly dead again. He had seen the microwaves from the woman’s weapon, a blinding corona that had burst inside his body like a sun. His cells were in chaos; the nanotech skein of his real body was broken and burned. Another blast and he would have been incapacitated; three or four more and the damage would have been too much to recover from.

His human eyes could not see, but he sensed Megan above him. “My soldier,” she whispered, as she drew him into her arms.

He reached out with his other senses. His attacker had been subdued; two soldiers sat on her back now as she struggled vainly. Her weapon lay neglected under smoking wood panels that it had blown from the wall.

The woman’s voice carried suddenly. She had stopped struggling. “This man tried to kill the queen,” she said. Her voice was calm, liquid, as convincing as any orator’s. With his nanotech’s sensors, Armiger could see that she lay facing him. Her eyes were open, searching out his. Her face was a mask.

A deeper sound reached his senses. Armiger cursed weakly. “Help me up,” he said to Megan.

“No, you’re hurt, don’t move.”

“They’re here,” he said. “The Winds. We have to get out of here.”

“Oh—but you can’t move!”

“I can. Help me!” She helped him up and he stood, blind and bent, above the woman who had attacked him. When he felt strong enough, he knelt and gathered up the weapon his mysterious attacker had used on him. He felt the Galactic workmanship immediately. This woman was from the Archipelago, doubtless a mercenary sent to pick off stragglers such as himself from 3340’s force.

“Sir!” A soldier saluted. “What shall we do with her, sir?”

“Bind her in chains of iron,” he said. “But strike her unconscious first.”

“Sir.”

He staggered into the antechamber, leaning heavily on Megan. “Where did they go?” he hissed.

“Who?”

“The queen, and General Lavin.”

“This way. Please, you must rest.”

“No! There is a secret way out. He has taken her to it. We must follow.”

Thunder grumbled beyond the windows—but he knew there were no clouds in the sky. “The siege is nearly over,” he said. “Maybe no one will survive. We have to hurry.”

*

Jordan had ordered Ka to transfer its visual sensorium to him. The little Wind was high over the walls now, fluttering doggedly in the direction of the keep. Jordan held tightly to Tamsin’s hand, trying to remember that he was really still sitting on the sand, and not suspended impossibly high in the air.

He could make out all kinds of fascinating details if he looked closely—ladders being raised here, the whizzing thread of steam-cannon missiles wavering in the air. Sounds drifted up to him: hissing, shouts, sharp impacts, clash of steel. But to look closely was to invite vertigo; he preferred to keep his eyes fixed on the row of windows that was their goal.

He could hear Tamsin muttering above him. “I hope the swans kill you all,” she said. “Every last one of you.” The sound of her voice chilled him; it held rage and hate such as he’d never heard before. He almost let go of her hand, but she was his lifeline, and she still clutched his fingers tightly. Her rage was not directed at him.

He had made Ka look upward once, and instantly regretted it. The sky faded from blue at the horizon, to emerald, to purest gold at the zenith. Cupped in that roseate glow was a lowering spiral of fine, glowing threads. A sound was coming from those threads, a kind of song sung by inhuman tongues.

It took all his will power to remain seated here in the sand, while the swans fell at him. But Ka was only meters from the tower now. Jordan mentally urged him forward, and held his breath until the little Wind finally soared in through an open casement, and hovered inside the queen’s chambers.

“Find her!” he commanded. Ka began to flit from room to room, and Jordan found himself swaying in sympathy as his visual field ducked and swooped from corridor to room and back.

He could see the duennas, and soldiers; people were weeping and running about. There was no sign of the queen. He couldn’t make out what was going on until a single word leapt out of the tumult:

“Captured!”

Jordan opened his eyes in surprise. “What is it?” asked Tamsin.

“Something’s happened. The queen’s gone.”

“Now what?”

“I must find Armiger.” He closed his eyes again.

*

“Bind her wrists, Enneas.” Lavin stepped back. “Your majesty, we are leaving now. You may walk, or we will drag you.” They stood in the catacombs. Galas’ eyes were dark pools in the light from Enneas’ lantern.

The thief fumbled with the bindings. “Excuse me, majesty,” he said. He seemed overawed. Lavin realized he had assumed Lavin would fail. The thought made him laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” demanded Galas. “Is my humiliation so comforting to you?”

All Lavin’s joy shrivelled. “Galas— I… I would never laugh at you, nor hold you in contempt. You are my dearest ideal and the only woman I have ever loved. Your pride and anger will never let you admit the favor I’ve done for you, but listen—we have time as we walk back to discuss terms. Our terms, not the terms of Royalty versus Parliament.”

“What do you mean? Ah, that hurts!”

“Sorry, your majesty.”

“Lead on, Enneas.” The thief walked ahead, lantern raised. Lavin picked up a second lantern, leaned close to Galas, and whispered, “I mean that I am, and