Blood of Empire

Chapter 57

Michel was swept along helplessly in the wake of Ichtracia’s fury. They navigated the countless tunnels of the catacombs beneath the plateau, their path lit by flames flickering on the tips of Ichtracia’s gloved fingers. Michel lost track of all sense of time during their journey, but the sun had already risen above the eastern horizon when they finally emerged into the streets of Landfall.

His first thought was that they were too late – but he didn’t smell smoke and Ichtracia gave no indication that the Depths had already been assaulted with sorcery. His second thought was that something else was happening, and it didn’t take him long to spot what.

Whole companies of soldiers had marched onto the plateau. Their helms and breastplates shone in the morning sun, blinding Michel as he and Ichtracia dashed from one alleyway to the next. As if in answer to the soldiers marching up the avenues, immense barricades had been thrown up to block their paths. Thousands of Palo, many of them likely still rioting and looting from the night before, had taken to the street with clubs, swords, blunderbusses, and any other weapon they could get a hold of. They screamed at the soldiers, who ordered them to stand down, hurling clay shingles from the roofs and tearing up paving stones for heavier ammunition.

Violence wasn’t coming. Violence was here.

Michel emerged onto one of the streets behind a battalion of Dynize soldiers, all of them focused on Palo partisans shouting at them from second-story windows. He stared at the group in dismay as the commander very clearly vacillated between retreat and attack. Michel knew enough about uprisings to be confident that all these partisans would be dead by nightfall.

Ichtracia stumbled out of the alleyway behind him and turned her attention on the soldiers, raising her hands. Michel leapt back and grabbed her by the arm. “They’ll be fine for now,” he told her. “If we’re still alive, we can come back and help after we stop the Privileged from destroying the Depths.”

She hesitated only a moment before lowering her hands and giving him a determined nod. He tried to swallow his own terror at the realization that she’d been a hairsbreadth from attacking her own people – something she’d claimed she would avoid doing at all costs. He pulled her toward the next alley, where they cut across several more streets and then through a tenement, taking them behind the barricades.

As they neared the rim of Greenfire Depths, Ichtracia suddenly came to a halt, throwing her hand up. Michel froze while she stood stock-still, her chin lifted, sniffing the air like a hound at the hunt. After what felt like an eternity, she finally said, “They’re here.”

“The Privileged?”

“Yes. There are three of them, and they’re not even bothering to hide.” Her lip curled, and she pointed at the wall and then slightly to the left, and then farther to the left of that. “There, there, and there.”

“Do you know them?”

“Doubtlessly. Our cabal is enormous, but not that enormous.”

Michel watched the side of her face, wondering if she was about to get cold feet at the idea of attacking her companions. He could see a flurry of emotions playing out across her face, revealing that moment of weakness before her expression hardened once more. “It doesn’t matter who they are,” she continued. “They’ve come to slaughter innocent people.”

She moved slowly, carefully, in a half crouch as they emerged from the alley. Michel followed her to their next hiding spot – an overturned cart off to one side of the street – and she raised her hand once more and turned to him. While her expression was cold and distant, he was surprised to see tears streaming down her cheeks. “Ichtracia?”

She suddenly reached out, touching his face with two gloved fingers. “I’ve liked you from the beginning, Michel. You made me laugh, but then you made me care about things. Thanks for that.”

“I’m kind of sick of people thanking me for doing my job,” Michel retorted with forced bravado. His own gut turned somersaults. “You don’t need to thank me for anything. Just stay alive.”

“I’m afraid that’s not very likely. There’s three of them and just one of me.” She wiped her sleeve across her face. “You shouldn’t make a Privileged cry, Michel.”

“We can do this,” Michel replied, biting his lip.

“No. I can do this. You’re going to hide. You’re not in charge this time, lover. I am. Now, go find Jiniel. Help her organize whatever needs to be done next.” Without another word, Ichtracia broke from their hiding spot and began to sprint.

Michel tried to shout after her, but he choked on the words. She was soon gone, leaving him alone in what seemed like the only pocket of quiet in the entire city. He looked over his shoulder to the east, where he could now hear the reports of musket fire and the screams of men and women. The south echoed with the same language of the rioters – and the soldiers sent to put them down.

It was just a few blocks back to the catacombs. He might find relative safety down there – unless Ichtracia’s fight with her countrymen collapsed the entire plateau. He grit his teeth and emerged from his hiding spot. Ichtracia did not deserve to die alone.

He ran along the street, perpendicular to the alley Ichtracia had disappeared into. The sound of an explosion nearly threw him off his feet, and he paused briefly to look toward the Depths, where a cloud of smoke now rose above the buildings nearest to him. No, not the Depths. That smoke was coming from the Rim. A thunderclap followed it, then a heart-wrenching sound like the world’s largest pane of glass had just shattered. More smoke followed it.

He traveled three more blocks and took a hard right, dashing down an alleyway. The sorcerous cacophony continued, setting his teeth on edge and making his hands shake violently. Anyone with any brains would be sprinting in the opposite direction.

He emerged from the alley onto a narrow street that cut precariously along the Rim, and stopped to get his bearings.

A ways down, around the curve of the Rim, he caught sight of Ichtracia as a fireball appeared out of the sky and slammed into her. To Michel’s shock, she seemed to absorb the sorcery with a flick of her wrist, emerging from it unscathed. A section of the Rim suddenly collapsed, dust exploding outward. Michel caught sight of the first Privileged – a woman who leapt from the falling ledge, barely making it to solid ground before more fireballs appeared in the air above her head and shot toward Ichtracia.

Michel searched for the second and third Privileged and found both of them standing between himself and the ongoing fight. The second Privileged watched the fight with clear confusion, gloved fingers pressed to his lips. The third Privileged was less than two dozen paces away, with his back toward Michel. He regarded the battle with disinterest before turning away and looking down at the Depths. A few moments passed before he raised his hands, and one of the tallest buildings in the Depths became enveloped in flames.

Michel crept toward the Privileged, trying to watch both Ichtracia’s duel and the sorcerer at the same time. Another fire started down in the Depths, and then another. The Privileged smiled to himself. If he spotted Michel in his peripheral vision, he gave no indication. Michel removed the knuckledusters from his pocket.

A scream suddenly cut through the morning air, punctuated by another explosion. The Privileged looked toward Ichtracia’s fight. Ichtracia made an emphatic gesture, bringing her whole arm around in a chopping motion. Her opponent reeled, screamed again, and then slumped.

The Privileged closest to Michel gave an irritated sigh and turned to Ichtracia, raising his hands.

“Hey,” Michel said, sprinting the last few feet between them.

The Privileged whirled just as Michel’s shoulder connected with his kidneys. The Privileged gave a gentle “Oof” and disappeared off the Rim. A series of crashes followed. Michel caught himself on a railing and peered over the edge, noting broken shingles and a torn storm drain. There was no sign of the body. Michel gripped the railing under him hard, trying to calm his nerves, then looked up to find the second Privileged had turned to stare at him.

His eyes were drawn past the Privileged to Ichtracia, and past her to a figure that had just emerged on the Rim over her shoulder, tugging on a pair of white, runed gloves.

A fourth Privileged.

“Look out!” Michel screamed.

“I told you to run!” she shouted back. She flipped one hand toward him, and he felt himself suddenly lifted and thrown, cartwheeling head over heels up and over three-story buildings. The last glimpse he caught of Ichtracia was one of surprise, as flame and rock crashed down over her in a spectacular explosion. Michel’s flight was swift but steady, and he soared along in a clearly controlled bubble before it disappeared. He dropped the last dozen feet into a pile of rubble, catching himself with his three-fingered hand. The whole left side of him lit up with pain.

He lay that way for several seconds before the thought of Ichtracia being consumed by sorcery got him up and moving. He took one step, then another, forcing his body along until he was knocked backward by an unseen force. The air was smashed from his lungs, and he was thrown into the side of a building a split second before a rumbling sound reached him. Dust and flame coalesced, threatening to suffocate him, until suddenly he could feel air reaching his lungs once more.

He lay unmoving, trying to peer through the dust. When it had cleared enough to see, he found himself looking at… nothing. Every building between him and the Rim was gone, leveled to scattered rubble. The corpses of unfortunate bystanders were barely recognizable in the mess, and it only took him a few moments of searching to see that Ichtracia was missing.