Into the Storm (33 page)

“How many?”

“Hundreds of them. Zealots and Flameguard with ’jack support. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Charge blades,” Cleasby ordered.

“Belay that,” Madigan said. He checked the skyline. They were still half a mile from the Great Dome. “We’re too few to fight our way through that line.” He pointed at a large structure. “Into the shipwright’s. We hide and wait for them to pass, then sneak through.”

“We’re all wearing plate armor, and we have a heavy warjack,” Cleasby pointed out.

“Then we’ll need to try to be extra quiet then, won’t we? Go.”

The shipwright’s building had been looted of everything of value ahead of the approaching army. Little remained except a small fishing vessel supported on wooden blocks in a small dry dock. “Everyone into the pit who’ll fit. Hurry.” The men began clambering down the sides. There was splashing as they discovered there was a few feet of fetid water in the bottom.

“What about Headhunter?” Pangborn was worried for his ’jack. “He won’t fit, and if he does I don’t know if we can lift him out of there.”

“Improvise.” Madigan pointed at a nearby scaffold that had been used for painting. Pangborn made a clicking noise with his tongue, and Headhunter crouched, trying to fit beneath the planks. “Shut it down.”

“His boiler’s shot. I might not be able to start him back up.“

Acosta was looking out the window. “They’re almost on us.”

“Shut it down or the smoke will give us away. Hurry!” Madigan ordered. Pangborn gave a command, then opened the boiler plate and began turning a valve. Madigan dragged a tarp over and threw it across the scaffolding. The warjack’s galvanic blade stuck out, but Rains draped rope over it. Thornbury ran up and tossed some chain over the ’jack as well. It made a terrible racket as it hit the steel.

“Quiet, fool!” Acosta snapped.

Most of the men were hidden in the shadows beneath the boat, where they’d be helpless in a fight. A few of them were still above ground, and they quickly tried to find hiding places around the shipwright’s materials. Madigan crouched next to Acosta, deep in the shadows behind some suspended fishing nets. The smell reminded him of his youth. He could see a bit through the dusty, leaded windows. Dozens of torches appeared around the bend in the road, bouncing quickly.

“They’re moving fast,” Madigan whispered. “Good. They’ll pass right by.”

“Zealots,” Acosta responded. Then more torches appeared, and more, and more after that, until the whole block seemed to be aglow.

There weren’t hundreds of Protectorate soldiers. There were
thousands.

The army was marching past the shipwright’s with so many stamping boots that the building shook. “They’re heading for those trenchers we saw dug in.” Acosta didn’t look away from the glass, as any movement might be spotted. “They’re outnumbered ten to one. The trenchers will be slaughtered.”

“I know . . .” Madigan answered. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“Good. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to try some futile noble gesture and get us all killed . . . Shhh.”

Scouts.

The doors opened with a creak. Shadows flickered through the hanging nets as torches were waved about.

“Empty,” Acosta said.

They didn’t have time to stop and gawk. Excellent. The Malcontents would hold here until the force passed, and then they’d make one final push—

“Wait. What’s that?” asked a voice with a rough Idrian accent. “Is that a warjack?”

Damn.
Madigan shifted slightly to better reach his sword. Acosta slowly shook his head. He dragged one finger across his throat. Madigan nodded. The Ordsman would try to do it quietly.

There was the whisp of soft-soled leather boots across the floor as the Idrian approached the deactivated Headhunter. He passed within feet of the suspended fishing boat. Madigan could only imagine the helplessness the soldiers hiding beneath it had to be feeling.

Clank.
Chains hit the floor. There was a loud click as a rifle was readied. The tarp was pulled aside. “It’s a ’jack all right . . .” He said something in their language.

The Stormclad’s hull would still be hot to the touch . . .

Acosta moved slowly, his grimace visible through his open visor. It was impossible to move quietly in storm armor. Even if he managed to silence the Idrians quickly, the whole Protectorate would swarm like a kicked hive when the scouts didn’t return.

“Son of dogs, it’s beaten to pieces.” There was a loud noise as the scout threw something at Headhunter. “I don’t know much about ’jacks, but what a pile of dung.”

He laughed, then said something else in Idrian that sounded profane. “Such charcoal wouldn’t be fit to pull a wagon in Voyle’s army. Let’s go.”

The two scouts rushed back outside. Madigan listened carefully, trying to ascertain if it was a trick. There were still hundreds of soldiers marching by, so he really hoped it wasn’t. The doors swung closed. Troops kept on marching by, followed by the rumble of several warjacks, then more support troops, and then wagons and pack animals.

The rapid gunfire of a trencher’s chain gun filled the night air, followed by the crack of rifles. The battle seemed to go on forever, taunting him. He knew it had to be just as hard for the men to listen as their fellows were overrun. The gunfire tapered off and was finally silenced. The zealots began a mighty chant of supplication and thanks to Menoth. Madigan was sick to his stomach. And still, the enemy marched by.

An hour later, he could move again. The streets seemed quiet. The battle had moved on.

“Everybody out. Time to go.”

The Storm Knights came out from their hiding places, covered in dust. Some could barely move because their limbs had fallen asleep from being trapped in awkward positions. The men who’d been beneath the boat were shivering, their lower bodies having been submersed in water the entire time.

“That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, lying still while some Menite worms insulted my warjack!” Pangborn went to the partially exposed Stormclad and yanked the tarp the rest of the way off. “The bad men didn’t hurt your feelings, did they, Headhunter?” He opened the boiler door and cranked the valve. “I wanted to snap their twig necks. Rains, you speak Idrian. What’d they say?”

“You really don’t want to know.”

“I’m gonna murder a bunch of god-blinded fanatics for that,” Pangborn muttered as he lit Headhunter’s boiler. “Damn it! Flange clamp broke again. Sorry, sir. It’s is going to take some time to get steam.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know,” Pangborn said. “I’ve had to work with bodged-together parts here.”

Madigan looked to the east, toward Culpin’s Great Dome. They’d wasted too much time as it was. He didn’t like abandoning their heavy hitter, but the huge Stormclad could get them spotted anyway. “Leave it.”

“If they’ve got a heavy of their own we’ll need Headhunter to buy us time.” The big man rushed to a nearby workbench and began sorting through the tools. He found a pry bar. “You go without me. I’ll catch up. I’ll get him working, I swear.”

It was a damn hard call. “Time’s of the essence. The
minute
Headhunter’s ready, come after us. Don’t worry about being quiet, because by then they’ll all be trying to kill us.”

Pangborn went to work. “I need another pair of hands.”

Rains stepped forward. “I’ve helped before.”

That leaves ten to assault the Great Dome.
Madigan swore under his breath. “Stick with him, Sergeant. The rest of you, let’s move.”

Thornbury thumped Rains on the shoulder. “Don’t leave us hanging.”

Moving quickly, the Storm Knights ran through the narrow streets. The Ordsman went back on point without being told, running far ahead, until he could barely be seen in the shadows. Several times Acosta had to raise a fist, and the platoon came to a metal-rattling halt. Each time, he waited for the danger to pass, and then Acosta would wave for them to move up as he took off running again. They cut through tenements, homes, and places of business, avoiding Protectorate, until the Great Public Works was before them.

The structure was a marvel of engineering. It looked almost like a dome lifted from a great cathedral, but far larger. The interior could fit a parade ground, only Cleasby had told him it was filled with thousands of great alchemical vats and tanks, plus miles and miles of pipe. It was a skeleton of curved iron beams covered in a skin of brass, tin, and glass, and sadly, it was swarming with Protectorate soldiers.

Dozens of soldiers milled around the entrance of the Great Dome. Teams of draft horses were pulling wagons filled with wooden barrels. As each wagon came to a halt, the soldiers rushed up to unload the barrels and carry them inside. It appeared that some Cygnaran citizens had been captured and pressed into use as laborers as well. Madigan noted that the Flameguard who were serving as overseers were careful to keep their torches and their lanterns far away from the wooden barrels.

Menoth’s Fury
 . . .
Well done, Cleasby.

Acosta crouched down next to Madigan in a garbage-strewn alley. The men were hidden behind them. “Most of the enemy appear to be militia irregulars, lightly armed.”

Cygnar’s invasion of Sul had seemingly caused every able-bodied Menite in the Iron Kingdoms to rush to the fight. “Culpin’s inside. That’s where the capable bodyguards will be,” Madigan said.

“And so that’s where I will find a properly challenging battle. I didn’t come back just to slaughter Menite farm boys armed with pointy sticks.”

“By the way, thank you for coming back,” Madigan whispered in Ordic. “Blame it on your dark lady’s whispers if you must, Savio, but I think when it comes to your few friends, you’re actually a very loyal man.”

His smile was barely visible in the dark. “Please, Madigan . . . You’ll ruin my reputation.”

Thornbury had moved up alongside them as quietly as possible. “There’s another door to the north. It’s not as guarded, and it appears to be already broken open.”

“Lead the way, Corporal.” Sure enough, this entrance was far more vulnerable, being guarded by a squad of listless militia. Even then, there was no way to approach without being seen. “Charge blades,” Madigan hissed.

The order was repeated down the line.

“What’s that?”

It was difficult to hear at first, a barely audible hum, but the sound slowly grew in intensity.

The militiamen turned their heads nervously, side to side, scanning the darkness. They all saw it at the same time: a pale blue glow emanating from a nearby alley, and like the hum, the light slowly gained intensity.

By the time the alarm was raised, the pale glow had turned into a crackling blue nimbus.

Broad, hulking figures were walking toward them. Monsters cloaked in energy; faceless heretics, holding lightning bolts in their hands.

“Menoth save us!”

He didn’t.

“About got it!” Pangborn said.

There was a blue flash and a boom to the east. “Not a moment too soon,” Rains exclaimed.

He pulled his hands out of Headhunter’s side and wiped them on a rag, then closed and latched the plate and started getting his gauntlets back on. “It’ll take a minute to get the steam pressure up before he can get moving.”