Paul Kearney - Corvus

Above them, Kerusiad Hill rose on its crag like a vision beyond the smoke and roar of the streets below. They were under two pasangs from Druze’s siege-towers.

“Left here,” Sertorius shouted above the din. “Up this way.” They turned off the main thoroughfare, and the crowd was less packed. Men and women were trundling handcarts down from the hill piled high with their belongings and wailing children too small to keep their feet. Sertorius led his men against the current of the exodus, feeling the hill rise under him.

“It’s not far now,” he said. “Phaestus is in that house on the right, up ahead, the one with the yellow roof tiles. We do him first.”

“And that little shit of a son he has,” Bosca snarled. “I want some fun with him before he goes!”

“As long as we make it quick,” Sertorius said. “Remember, the real prize is at the top of the hill. And don’t forget the slaves – I want them too. They’re gold on the hoof, brothers.”

The men around him growled in anticipation.

The rented villa had stout doors of iron-studded wood, locked shut against the chaos of the streets. At a nod from Sertorius, Bosca and Adurnos swooped on a family pushing a handcart, tossed the children off the vehicle, and when the man protested beat him down, leaving him a broken bundle in the street with his family shrieking around him.

“Now, lads, after three,” Sertorius said.

They crashed the handcart into the heavy doors, running it up with a roar, and the bolt wrenched free of the wood. They whooped happily, and poured inside with drawn swords. A dark-haired man who was in their path stood frozen and was cut down with barely a pause.

“Phaestus! Phaestus, you cheating bastard. It is I, Sertorius, come for you!”

They careered through the house like mad children, kicking over furniture, pawing through drawers and cupboards. Not a lamp was lit in the place; aside from the dead man near the entrance the place seemed deserted.

It was Adurnos who found him, and shouted for the others to join him. They crowded at the door of the room, breathing heavily.

“The fucker got away from us boss,” Adurnos said moodily.

Phaestus lay like a wax image on the bed, a blanket drawn up to his chin. His face was white as old ivory. Sertorius leaned over and touched it.

“Cold as a fish. Antimone got to him before we did.”

“Let’s torch the place,” Bosca suggested. “There’s not so much as a mouse in it – they’ve cleared out long since.”

“No, no burning,” Sertorius said. “I’ll not give this son of a bitch a pyre. Let him lie here and rot.” He straightened.

“Let’s get us that cart again, lads, Karnos’s house is just up the hill a ways, and I don’t mean to be done out of my fun a second time.”

They turned and ran back through the empty house like a dark, flapping gale, a curse spoken by Phobos and given form.

Rictus was exhausted, but kept going out of pure will. He had thrown away his shield and helm, picked up a discarded drepana, and was fighting his way east through the streets like a salmon wriggling upstream. In his wake followed Valerian. There had been other Dogsheads with him, but they had become separated.

Fornyx was still leading the bulk of the men in the destruction of Kassander’s last stand.

There was no other kind of ordered resistance left in the city, but the entire population of Machran appeared to be on the streets, most people trying to make their way north, to the districts Corvus’s army had not yet captured. They had no plan in their minds beyond that. Half-crazed by hunger and fear, they had no kind of plan at all.

The red cloak and the Curse of God cleared a path for Rictus, people recoiling from him as he strode along. Or perhaps it was the look on his face. He no longer cared if Machran stood or fell, if it went up in flames and was burnt to ash. He knew only that he had to find out whether Karnos had been speaking the truth. If his family were in this city he would tear the place down brick by brick to find them. He would have struck down Phobos himself if the god had stood in his path.

Kassia and Rian closed the door shut, slid the heavy bolt across and leaned their backs against it.

“Better in here than out there,” Kassia said, setting a hand on Rian’s shoulder. “The slaves were fools.”

“They weren’t slaves any more,” Rian said. “It was their choice, to stay or go as they wished.”

Philemos stood to one side with a short stabbing sword, his soldier’s cuirass too big for him. His eyes were red-rimmed. “We’ll stay here until things settle down. I can go out and look, later, see what’s been going on.”

Polio shook his head. “Young master, do you hear that?”

They went quiet. The agony of the city rose up Kerusiad Hill, people wailing and screaming in their tens of thousands, their feet raising a murmur from the earth.

“That is the sound of a city’s fall,” Polio said, and his face gnarled with grief. “Karnos has failed. Have you looked to the east? They brought towers to the walls. But the fighting there is over now – the enemy is inside the city.”

He drew a deep breath. “I will abide here, and wait for Karnos. If he is alive, he will return. For the next few days, there is no more dangerous place in the world than the streets outside this door -especially for the women. Ladies, you must trust to these walls.”

“My mother wants to leave as soon as it’s dark – we have people we know in Arienus,” Philemos said. He looked at Rian.

“You are the head of your household now,” Polio told him. “It is for you to decide what is to be done. Your mother must realise that, Philemos.”

The boy nodded. “It comes hard. It’s new to me.”

Rian reached out and took his hand.

Kassia stood with tears running silently down her face, but she managed a laugh. “Listen to us, conjuring up the worst picture we can! Polio, if ever any two men were going to live through a disaster, then they are Karnos and my brother. They’ll be back here, you’ll see. Even if Machran falls, those two cannot be kept down.”

Polio nodded gravely. “Lady, I believe you’re right.”

“So what do we do?” Rian asked. “Sit tight and wait for order to be restored?”

“Yes,” said Polio. From the folds of his snow-white himation he produced a long iron knife. “One more thing – all of us should arm ourselves.”

“A kitchen knife will not do much,” Kassia said.

“Better than nothing,” Rian told her. “Kassia, even if the city is lost, my father’s men will be out there. Fornyx and Kesero” – she darted a swift, strange look at Philemos – “and Valerian. The Dogsheads will find us.”

“Friends in both camps,” Kassia said with a small, bitter smile. “I’m sorry, Rian – I forget sometimes. You have ties to the men outside the walls.”

“I have ties within them also, Kassia,” Rian said.

Corvus rode across Avennan Square with an escort of Companions. Ardashir was beside him, and thronged throughout the square were hundreds of spearmen from the commands of Teresian and Demetrius. These were too spent to join in the general pursuit careering through the streets of the city.

Many of the men were sitting on their shields with their helms off, mouths hanging open. At the moment, they were too glad to be merely alive to yet feel the triumph of the city’s capture. But as Corvus entered the square and took off his helm, they scrambled to their feet, and began to smite their spears on their shields and cheer.

Hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, standing cheering in that great corpse-choked open space, the Empirion rearing up white behind them and the agony of the city a backdrop to their delight. Corvus raised a hand and the cheers redoubled. They began chanting his name. The sound carried across the city in a wave, unmistakeable, crushing the hope out of the last few defenders still fighting despair.