Chris Wooding - The Ace of Skulls

‘Doc. .’ Silo croaked. His throat felt like it had been scorched.

‘I think she might’ve cracked her skull,’ Malvery muttered. ‘I think there might be a crack there.’

He put on big hand on her head, feeling clumsily around. At his touch, Ashua bucked and fell out of his grip. Malvery gasped and tried to gather her up, but she kicked out and fought him off, and ended up scrambling away on her arse, with one hand held to the side of her head.

‘ Ow! ’ she said pointedly, scowling at him. ‘That bloody hurts!’

‘You’re alive!’ Malvery cried out in delight.

‘Course I’m alive,’ Ashua said. She was slurring her words, and sounded drunk. ‘Reckon I’d rather not be, though.’ She stared about dreamily. ‘Crawler hit us?’

Malvery laughed, and went over to her and gave her an awkward hug. She winced as he squeezed her, but she didn’t protest. She laid her head on his shoulder, and let herself be held.

Silo got to his feet again, and this time found that he had more strength in his legs. The sense of dislocation was lessening moment by moment; he was returning to himself. There was something he was meant to do here, he just couldn’t remember what.

Above him, through the drifting black haze, he saw a great swirling vortex and explosions in the sky. They sounded distant and hollow, as if they were no part of the world he occupied here on the ground. But the longer he looked, the more the picture came together.

The Awakeners had been mostly scattered or destroyed now, but the core of the convoy remained. A dozen battered frigates hung static around the flagship, hemmed in by the Samarlans. But the Samarlans weren’t attacking them any more; instead, they were defending them from the Manes on their flank, whose terrible dreadnoughts were still arriving. The Awakener convoy struggled and fought, but they were bereft of leadership or tactics. They could do little but harass the craft that surrounded them.

Why are the Sammies helpin’ the Awakeners ? Silo thought; but the answer came to him almost as soon as he’d posed the question. The Awakeners had the Azryx device. The Sammies must have known the Awakeners would guard the device at the heart of their fleet, and didn’t want to risk it being destroyed. They wanted the city guns neutralised until they could get their landing parties down to secure them; it was worth taking a few casualties for that.

The guns , he thought, and suddenly he remembered it all. He lurched away across the blasted square, stepping over rubble and bits of bodies.

The guns were their only hope now. With the Awakeners all but out of the game, it was between the Manes and the Sammies as to who would control the skies. Once the victor had beaten their opponents, they’d descend on the city in force. The Samarlans with their troops, or the Manes with their howling hordes. Slavery or conversion. Not much of a choice.

What were the Manes doing here? He didn’t know; nor did he know who’d summoned them. But if they hadn’t, the Sammies would have swarmed all over the city by now. The Manes’ intervention might just have bought the Coalition the time they needed.

‘Fall back!’ someone was shouting in the distance. ‘Fall back to the palace!’

Silo frowned, not sure if he’d heard the order right. A bloodied young soldier went stumbling past him, his uniform ragged and a wounded hand held to his chest. Silo grabbed him by his shoulder.

‘Where you goin’?’ he asked.

The soldier stared at him, bewilderment in his eyes. ‘The palace,’ he said, as if it was obvious.

‘You’re goin’ back?’ Silo asked in amazement. ‘You still got your gun, ain’t you?’

The soldier surveyed the scene of destruction around him. ‘Going back to the palace,’ he muttered blankly.

‘They’re dug in, you mad bloody Murthian!’ said another soldier. ‘Let him go.’

Silo let the young soldier wander off. The man who’d addressed him was in his late twenties, with a short moustache and a thick head of black hair mussed by the battle. Other than that, he looked relatively unharmed. ‘You seen the commander? Any sergeants?’

‘No,’ said Silo. ‘Where’s the gun?’

‘It’s over there,’ the soldier replied, pointing across the obliterated square. Through the flames, it was just possible to make out the barrel of an anti-aircraft gun tilted upward. ‘They’ve dug in, didn’t you hear? They retreated back up that road and shut the damn gates.’

Silo looked at him levelly. ‘Show me,’ he said.

Maybe it was something in his tone, or the determination in his eyes, but the soldier did as he was told. ‘Come on, then,’ he said, and he led Silo away.

‘Fall back!’ someone was shouting behind him. ‘Gather up! We’re falling back to the palace!’ They saw a golem wandering aimlessly, a dim giant without direction, searching for opponents.

The soldier, who introduced himself as Eltenby, guided Silo through the wreckage and bodies. On the far side of the square was a swathe of smouldering rubble where a row of buildings had been demolished. Beyond was a shallow rise in the land, and the anti-aircraft emplacement sat on top of that, surrounded by a wall. It had escaped the destruction. A short uphill stretch of clear ground led to the gate.

‘There,’ said Eltenby, pointing. ‘You can see them on the wall. The only way in is through that gate. They have another gatling gun up there, a three hundred and sixty degree field of vision and open terrain all around. Anyone tries to approach from any side, they’ll cut us down.’

Silo narrowed his eyes. ‘Not all of us,’ he said. ‘We gotta take that gun.’

Eltenby stared at him in surprise. ‘Are all your people as crazy as you?’

Silo didn’t bother to answer that. He got to his feet and stalked back across the square. Somewhere, a man was still shouting, ‘Gather up! Fall back!’ Silo headed towards the sound, with Eltenby tagging after him. The soldier seemed interested to see what Silo would do.

Silo found the owner of the voice behind a pile of rubble. He was a stocky man with short blond hair and broad, scowling features, and he was directing soldiers back up the road towards the palace. Silo wasn’t clear on the ranks of the Coalition Army, but he knew enough to see that this man wasn’t much higher than a grunt. If any commanding officers had survived, he couldn’t see them.

The sight of the soldiers leaving inspired anger in Silo. He didn’t know where it came from; usually he was good at mastering his emotions. But this. . This was wrong . He felt it powerfully, and it took him over.

‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘Hey! Where you goin’? We ain’t done here!’

Several dozen soldiers, most of them dirtied and carrying wounds, stopped and looked back at him.

‘You all goin’ home?’ he cried. ‘Ain’t you noticed there’s a war on?’

‘Shut your mouth, foreigner,’ sneered a soldier as he passed. ‘Bet you can’t wait for your masters to get here.’

Silo’s eyes blazed, and he grabbed the soldier by the front of his uniform and dragged him close, until they were face to face. The man smirked nervously, but he couldn’t meet Silo’s gaze, and he wilted. Silo shoved him away.

‘Ain’t nobody the master o’ me,’ he snarled. He raised his voice, addressing the others. ‘I am a foreigner. This ain’t even my land. So how come I’m the only one here got any guts?’

‘Fall back to the palace!’ shouted the stocky soldier, ignoring him.

But Silo wasn’t in the mood to be ignored. ‘There ain’t time to fall back to the palace!’ he roared. The other soldiers had stopped retreating now; he had their attention, at least for the moment.