Ian Irvine - Rebellion

Tobry should have stood out among both the Pale and the grey-skinned enemy, but she saw no sign of him, or Holm. She closed her eyes, remembering Tobry as she had last seen him through the mage glass, rampaging up and down the tunnels, gone berserker in his madness. Tears leaked from her eyes. How had such a wonderful man been reduced to this.

Could he be healed with magery? Both Holm and Tobry had said no, but no one really knew. If it was possible at all, the best chance must be here in Cython, close to the greatest source of healing power of all — the heatstone mine. But to attempt it she would have to make the irrevocable choice between healing and destruction, and if she chose healing she could never use destructive magery to help the Pale.

Alkoyl ate through the lock, silently. The door opened, closed again, then Wil’s callused fingers closed around Tali’s throat from behind.

“All Wil’s fault,” he slurred. “Should have betrayed you to Matriarch Ady when she asked.”

Tali fought her instinctive urge to struggle — he was too strong.

His fingers opened and closed, opened and closed, squeezing her throat so hard that her windpipe was flattening. He was playing with her life, drawing out the delicious moments before he took it. Tali waited until he was directly behind her then slammed her head backwards into his ruined nose, caving it in.

Wil screamed. She slammed her head back again and again, until his hands relaxed. He was lurching around, blinded by tears of agony. His face and hands were red from the acid fumes he had walked through to get to her and blood was flooding from his nose. She shouldered him aside, stumbled for the door, and out.

Most of the green mist had cleared, though the air still stung her nose and made her eyes water. She pounded across to the walled-off drive. Blood was still dribbling from the cracks, low down, and she could hear a few desultory hammer blows on it, but it was clear the Pale weren’t going to break through without assistance.

Tali ran down to the back of the chamber, to the racks and crates she had seen earlier. Her lungs were burning now, her eyes watering so badly that she could barely see. She stuffed half a dozen grenadoes into her pack, strapped on a belt of death-lashes and plodded back to the wall.

“Stand back!” she yelled through the biggest crack.

The hammering stopped. Tali hurled the first of her grenadoes at the centre of the wall, where it was cracked from Holm’s earlier blast. Boom! The centre of the wall crazed. She hurled the second grenado at the base, a third of the wall fell away and she saw the desperate Pale on the other side. They kicked and smashed the broken stone out of the way and burst through, slipping and skidding on the bloody drive.

What a pitiful remnant they were. Tali peered through, trying to count the ones up the drive. They numbered twelve hundred at most, less than half of those who had followed her out of the Empound only hours ago. Many were injured and all looked exhausted. The rebellion could not last much longer.

Radl was at their head, wounded in many places and trembling with weariness, but the light had not gone out in her eyes. And, to Tali’s joy, Holm was beside her.

“This way,” said Tali. “There are grenadoes and all kinds of other weapons down the back, in those crates.” She pointed. “Hurry! There’s a ramp on the other side — they may come that way.”

“Did you do that?” said Radl.

“What?”

“Knock down three thousand of the enemy.”

“I broke a great sunstone,” said Tali. “Nearly killed me.”

“You saved us. Without that reprieve, they would have slaughtered us all.”

To Tali’s astonishment, Radl, her enemy since childhood, threw her arms around her. After a few seconds she broke away and clambered onto the top of a steel retort.

“Arm yourselves and get ready to fight,” she yelled. “The enemy will soon be back; we’ve got to be ready.”

The Pale did not move. They seemed to be in shock, which was not surprising after all they had seen and done, and in the brief hiatus from fighting many had reverted to their apathetic former selves. They had to be roused again, quickly, otherwise the last resistance would be crushed and Lyf would lawfully order the rest of the Pale put to death.

Tali scrambled up beside Radl. “Do you have loved ones back in the Empound?” she said to the Pale.

They stared at her, sullen, afraid.

“Answer me!”

Nothing.

Radl growled, deep in her throat. Springing lightly down, she stalked to the nearest group of Pale and seized a woman by the throat. After shaking her like a cat with a rat, Radl threw her down, then slammed her fist into the jaw of the next man, rocking him backwards.

“Well?” she said.

“Yes. My family are back in the Empound.”

“Well?” Radl demanded, looking down on the gathered Pale.

“Yes,” shouted the Pale.

“You know what will happen to your families if our rebellion fails.”

They stood there in slack-jawed silence. Clearly, they did not want to think about it.

“We know,” said the woman Radl had shaken by the throat. “Lyf has issued the death warrant. The enemy will slaughter them all.”

“Every Pale in Cython will die,” said Radl. “All your wives and husbands, all your children.”

“Your families can’t help themselves; the Empound has been sealed off,” said Tali. “If you don’t save them, they die. Down the back there are crates of death-lashes, bombasts, grenadoes and fire-flitters — ”

Radl thrust her aside. “Arm yourselves and get ready to fight. Hurry — if we can get up the ramp quickly enough, we can take them by surprise.”

Hundreds of Pale stormed down to the back to the weapons shelves. Others gathered heatstones from around the retorts and stills, or wrenched iron bars and other implements off the alchymical equipment, taking anything that could be used as a weapon. Tali returned to Holm, who was leaning against the wall, holding his head.

“Have you seen Tobry?”

“No,” said Holm.

“I have. He’d turned shifter and was going berserker.”

“Then I dare say they’ve cut him down by now,” Holm said quietly. He put a bloody arm around her shoulders.

Tali glanced across to the ramp and her heart missed a beat. Lyf was halfway down it, a host of troops at his back. She pulled free. “They’re coming!”

“Attack!” bellowed Lyf.

Three hundred enemy charged down the ramp. Though they were greatly outnumbered by the Pale, the Cythonians wore chest armour and carried oval shields, and their first charge drove thirty yards across the chymical level before the Pale stopped them, fighting desperately with chuck-lashes and grenadoes, swords and knives, and drove them back to the foot of the ramp.

“Attack from a distance with your grenadoes,” Radl shouted. “Don’t let them get close.”

Enemy reinforcements appeared around the curve of the ramp, another couple of hundred. The company at the bottom assembled in ranks and charged again, and this time the Pale could not drive them all the way back. Their only advantage was in numbers and it was rapidly being neutralised. They were no match for the enemy in size, weaponry, armour or training, and if the Cythonians gained a foothold in the chymical level, the battle and the rebellion were lost.

As Tali ran, she fumbled a couple of grenadoes out of her pack. Her breath was rasping in her throat and her legs were giving out. Thirty yards from the foot of the ramp she propped and hurled the first missile.

“Like this!” she yelled.

It went off at the feet of the enemy, taking down half a dozen of them. She hurled the second grenado but it slipped in her sweaty hand and fell short, exploding and blasting white stone everywhere, and leaving a foot-wide hole in the floor.