43

The Gonish enjoyed a unique collision of luck, tenacity and courage when the empires came to colonise the Emerging Isles. Their nation stood as an exception that proved the rule that no one was safe from the imperial advances of the 6th century: it was perhaps because of their diminutive stature, rather than despite it, that Gonish diplomats were not met with open hostility, and in turn gained big concessions from Stanclif rule.

Empires of the Rocc, Xanthial, p. 562

More time than seemed healthy had passed before Wild Wish reengaged her thoughts, beyond petty rage and despair and words like unfair. The squad kept careful watch in case any Drail were alerted by Wish’s gunshot, but their surroundings remained empty. It was unlikely anyone had heard them over the storm, even if someone was nearby. They left Pound covered, downstairs, nothing they could do for her. Fixit didn’t suggest any burial rites, though Wish knew she wanted to. There must’ve been something in Wish’s expression, as she sat with her knees up, back against the wall, bag of waders in one hand, because no one said anything for the longest time. She stared at nothing at all.

The bag shifted, the men inside moving, reminding her they were alive. She gave it a light shake, not sure she wanted to see them again. She could toss them out in the rain, drown them in a puddle, not even have to look at them.

“Bastards,” Cade broke the silence, at last. “Ought to finish them right now.” Emi made a thoughtful sound that suggested caution. Cade glared. “What? You got something to say? They killed Pound. What’re you waiting for, Wild?”

“The Gonish aren’t our enemies,” Emi said. It was the unspoken fact that’d been troubling all of them; the reason the mage had stopped Wish from stomping on someone. They all knew – same as Wish knew. The Gonish weren’t fighters and they certainly wouldn’t have joined the Drail. Whatever had cost Pound’s life, the most likely cause was a misunderstanding.

“Then what’re they doing defending this place?” Cade spat, the one person refusing to see it. Taking her turn to snap, just as Angles had a few nights ago. Angles was keeping quiet, probably still remembering her reprimand, but Cade had been growing close to Pound. Finding a way to move on from Fuse.

“Guess it’s time we talked,” Wish said, quietly. She opened the bag and found two worried faces looking up. They did their best to look brave, but they had to be even younger than the scouts, and they were huddled together like children. Wish asked, “Why did you do it?”

They hesitated in fear that anything they could say might make her kill them. Wish worried about that, too. But the one who’d killed Pound managed to speak. “You ain’t Drail?”

“Fuck them,” Cade continued grumbling. “Why even talk? Break their necks, put them in the fire. We can roast them. About time we ate something proper.”

“What’s barbaric?” Cade said. “They’re rats on two legs. Soft-boned.”

“Rats can’t talk,” Emi pointed out. “Or run a government that’s successfully formed an alliance with the Stanclif Empire.”

“That wasn’t these ones. These ones killed our friend. All I’m saying is we return the favour. You get it, right, Fixit? We can put that meat to good use.”

Fixit folded her arms guiltily over her stomach, hungry like the rest of them, but kept quiet. Emi said, “I think it’s been considered poor taste, eating the Gonish, for a few centuries now.”

Angles moved into the doorway and looked outside as if in the hope that someone would come to save them from the rising tension. Brade or Oksy, even Rue, might better handle it. Where had they got to that Emi was the voice of reason?

It gave Wish her cue to move. She reached in and grabbed the murderer then lowered the bag with the other one to the floor. The man panicked, kicking and pushing at her fingers with quiet complaints, “No, stop!” But she lifted him and held him steady, and he went still, meeting her gaze. He looked frail and painfully ordinary in her grip, and the fear in his eyes brought back memories of Sarge. The hawk giant. These waders, hiding in the dark, intruded upon by Pound, no one thinking straight. The little people must’ve fought hard, trying to survive. Pound had killed one of them before they took her down. Who were the real monsters here?

But Pound was dead, so maybe Wish had every right to be a monster now. She said, “Why are you here?”

The man hesitated. He spoke in rough, clipped Stanish: “Promise you ain’t gonna eat us.”

“We’re not Drail.” Wish tugged the fabric of her top demonstratively. Showing the faded blue-grey material, which in this light could’ve been anything. The wader twisted to take in the others. He focused on their guns resting against the wall. Wish said, “But that doesn’t make us friends. You killed Pound.”

“She came at us stomping big,” the wader insisted. His Stanish was clear and surprisingly fluent, but he spoke with a particular Gonish roughness. “It’s like – we ain’t expected a patrol and it got Robards startled – he was defending us.” He looked around, desperate for them to believe him. “I dint want to – ain’t even think I could! But you’re Stanclif, gotta be here for the same reason as us. General Kettal dint send support did he?”

The room was quiet. The mention of Kettal, the southern theatre’s man in charge, only added sourness on confirming that they really were allies.

“He’d say anything to save his skin,” Cade said. “Pound would never have –”

“Shut up, Cade,” Wish said. “It’s plain to everyone but you that this was a mistake.” She rolled her eyes back, groaning. “The whole war’s just full of senseless killing.”

“Stop.” Wish met her eye with fierceness she wasn’t aware she had – because Cade froze in her tracks, mid-step towards her.

“Step outside,” Emi intervened. Quietly, calmly, and fully acknowledging things could easily get worse. She gestured to the corridor. Cade twitched like she wanted to argue – a heavy girl, if not tall, and the sort that could scrap. But if she might’ve dared cross Wish, she wasn’t about to test Emi. Cade huffed and stomped out and Emi slunk silently after her with an I’ve got this wink.

The others were perfectly still, waiting on Wish to make this all better. Even the man in her hand watched her with worried hope. He said, “You gonna put me down?”

He had blood on his face. On his uniform, sprayed off Pound. It distracted Wish enough to ignore the question, and she asked her own: “Why are you here?”

“Same as you?” he said. “Account of what the Dread Corps are building? Or built. That and they took my brother. Our brother.” He pointed to the bag. “Charl’s and me. Ain’t no one else gonna come. No one else believed us. But someone got word to you?” He scanned the room again. “Who are you? What are you doing here? You’re women?”

“Nothing – I mean –” He stopped himself. “Not getting rude, but why’s Stanclif sending women for a job this ugly?”

“We’re the best,” Wish said, flatly. “General Easter himself sent us. Without, as far as I’m aware, any input from General Kettal.”

“No. We dint get word to him. I only hoped someone had.” The wader sped up, confidence growing now they were talking. “See, we was in Garter, trying to get back to Gonland, when we got overrun. My brother got taken – him and a few others – and when we figured why, those of us that could, we knew we had to come hard and stop this.”

The wader hesitated again. He shifted, to get more comfortable in her grip. “Not officially. They wouldn’t have us. Dint listen. We took some supplies and went after Finton – my brother – on our own. After what we saw in Cleave, knew it was bigger than us.”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” Wish murmured, not meaning to joke. Just fact. The wader gave her an uncertain look. She moved on, “What did you see?”

“Magic,” the wader said. “Dark magic, being used on people. Lights, screams, and discarded bodies. Drained. They piled them up – bodies from all over, different races, human, trunk, kefir. Ain’t had obvious wounds, though, except blood about their orifices – ears, mouths, noses. Like their minds melted.”

The same sick experiments conducted in Blythe. Newk’s potential fate. Wish said, “They just killed them?”

“Didn’t manipulate the bodies?” Fixit clarified, recalling details they’d ignored since Brade took them on this journey. “To use them for energy or . . . bring them back to life?”

The wader frowned. “No, ain’t seen anything like that. I mean – have you seen something like that? Necromantics ain’t real, is it?”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Wish said. “But Captain Brade has been investigating the Dread Corps for months without any more to show than what you’re saying.”

“Months? Then why’d they never listen –” The wader took a breath. “Well, we found their locations. All along the front. Figured this was the place it was all feeding back to. You did, too, dint you? I wouldn’t never have hurt your friend if I’d known who you were! I’m sorry, I am – I swear!”

“Shit,” Wish said. “Shit on all this.” She looked up for contributions from the others, but Angles, Fixit and Newk held the awkward silence of knowing there would be no justice here, not for Pound. Worse than that – the wader was suggesting Brade and the officers in the Western Theatre could’ve had better intelligence if they’d given these waders a chance. They could’ve moved out sooner, been more careful. Wish asked, “What else did you see? Tell me everything.”

The wader nodded, exhaling. “Right on. Yes, ma’am. But do you have to –” He looked down, indicating his discomfort at being held up by her. Wish glared, to affirm that no she still wasn’t letting him go, and he swallowed the complaint to continue. “Right. Well, I’m Colm Hightower – that’s not a joke, our family came from a hill settlement – pleased to meet you.” He held a hand up for Wish to shake and she stared. He dropped it sheepishly and continued, “So, we Hightowers settled in Garter decades ago. Had a jewellery business. But our town was bombed and we moved out with a refugee caravan, headed for Elmn. Slanik troops ambushed us one night, killed half the caravan. They captured the rest. Only a handful of us escaped.”

Colm Hightower nodded. “They wanted to take people alive. Anyway, we headed straight for the Stanclif line, to get help, but we were told ain’t nothing they could do. So it was down to me and Charl, Robards, Killion and Banther. We followed rumours of Slanik troops near the Mattin Mountains, until we found this battalion in Cleave City. Slanik, with a Dread Corps company there. That’s where we saw these experiments. No sign of Finton, but they had machines and documents, maps. There were bodies, too, and a big mechanical thing which we figured did all the killing. It had pipes, weird lights, a sort of metal dish up top? Whatever it was, we ain’t about to leave it there, so we took what files we could carry and set charges – the blast was like nothing you’ve seen. And I know blasts, we worked the mines. It should’ve been more controlled, but like I said, there was magic in it.”

Hightower took a breath, then continued more slowly. “It was Killion who figured out the other locations were all along the front line. Doing experiments where no one was gonna notice people missing, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Wish murmured. It seemed so long ago that they’d pondered over the same fears in Blythe.

“We cut off some Dread soldiers on the way to Fever Forest, and we –” Hightower paused, an awkward memory. “We got one to talk. He told us any test subjects not killed outright would get sent here. But he took the piss, said we were screwed anyway and ain’t never gonna reach Slane alive. We didn’t see any sense trying to convince Stanclif again, so we did what we had to. Travelled through Garter, then Slane. And that Dread bastard was partly right, we ain’t all made it.” He crossed his arms in the Blade of Cane, muttering, “Rest their souls.”

Wish allowed him a moment. They’d been through a similar hellish journey to the scouts; no question they were kindred spirits in this, however much easier it would’ve been if they weren’t. How much she wished they could just get revenge, take out the injustice on someone, something. But no. She slackened her fingers and nodded to the bag, where Charl hadn’t stirred. “How did your brother get hurt? This one, I mean.”

“It shouldn’t have been like this,” Wish said, voice softening. “You’re right, we’re here for the same reason. We could’ve worked together. Instead of . . .”

Hightower swallowed, regretfully. “But we can work together now? We might not look like much but we’re more use than a good meal, guaranteed.” He gave a nervous laugh. Wish wasn’t quite up to smiling back, so he continued, “We’ve been here for three days, looking for a way in. You do not want to go in unprepared.”

“Good news is there’s only a skeleton crew of guards,” Hightower said. “Mostly left security to a couple of grekkels who come as far as here twice a day. But they ain’t thorough. Bad news is the place is sunk in magic. There’s a way around that barrier, but I dunno what we’ll find inside. Definitely Dread mages of some sort.”

“Pipes,” Hightower said. “Found one that runs under and between these buildings – for drainage, but you might fit. They go below the barrier. We were gonna go in, find Finton, set some charges. If it’s anything like Cleave, this place will blow like a Azrian gas pig. We were just waiting on Charl to recover. But with your help, we could do it fast.”

Wish let the proposition settle between them. Should she trust him, now, after everything?

“I want to,” Wish said. “But we can wait for the others. In the meantime –” She looked guiltily at the bag, Charl still inside. “Fixit, if there’s anything you can do . . .”

EMI AND CADE WERE SITTING at the edge of the courtyard, on the step, watching the rain. Smoking one of Emi’s unusual pipes. That was one way to calm the sapper. Wish walked up behind them and stared out, too. The storm hadn’t let up much, though the thunder had quietened.

“You kissed and made up with the midget?” Cade asked. More resigned than hostile.

“Hey, it’s been a while since we were top of the food chain,” Wish said, and Cade offered a dutiful snigger. Emi’s efforts had worked to relax her a little, at least. Wish went on, “This has been really shit, no kidding. But we’re not going to hurt them – this was a stupid mistake. I’ve got something you might like, though, Cade.”

“These guys want to blow the place to hell. Like, the entire abbey. I think you could get involved in that.”

It took a moment for Cade to let it inspire her, but slowly the traces of a smile crossed her face. Bless her and the hell they’d all been through, at least you could still amuse the girl with explosions.

“Someone’s coming,” Emi said, though, no hopeful moment sacred. Wish followed her gaze to the front of the building, where two shapes moved quickly through the rain. The forward one held up a hand for peace.

Dakoda. She and Rue ran through the rain and into their shelter. They were soaked through, hair flat against their faces and boots squelching as they approached. Dakoda flicked water off her arms and said, “We’re safe for a good distance, only activity we’ve seen is in the massive ugly building at the centre. Lights coming out the doors.”

“Not on your life. One for her to investigate.” Dakoda prodded Emi with a boot and the mage swatted her away.

“Hopefully not,” Wish said. “We’ve got company, claiming they’ve got a way in.”

Dakoda’s brow knitted with concern, correctly assessing that out here company came with caveats. Rue said, “The fuck kind of company?”

“They killed Pound,” Cade said, bluntly. “Then Wild made friends with them.”

“It was a mistake,” Wish said. “The fighting, I mean. Pound killed one of them first. They’re here for the same reason as us.” Dakoda and Rue glared in a stony silence that had become far too familiar. At once disbelieving, could Pound really be dead, and accepting, of course she could.

“Waders?” Rue finally said. Wish nodded. “And you wanna work with them?”

A slight echo of her disdain at bringing a ringer on board. Wish hadn’t heard Rue’s take on the Gonish, but it was unlikely to be good. She said, “They have a plan, and we need all the help we can get.”

“That’s true enough,” Dakoda snorted, wiping dripping water off her nose with an even wetter forearm. “Hope you know what you’re doing, Wild. Because the nature of that energy shield tells me if we don’t do things just right here, we’re all toast.”