The Fury Yet To Come Read online

  But Gallows’ luck couldn’t last forever.

  A mountainous kiro hauled Gallows up from behind and spun him around, driving the butt of his spear into Gallows’ face. Blood sprayed from Gallows’ mouth. He hung limp in the giant’s hands, his limbs unable to obey his thoughts.

  More enemies closed in—regular troops, kuramanusa and a few more kiros.

  ‘Atun!’ the kiro’s allies chanted. ‘Atun the Ironrender!’

  The last thing Gallows saw was Atun’s fist.

  How did Helmsley survive?

  Gallows relived the ambush but there was too much confusion to pick out single images—just flashes of fire and horror, reminders of the stale taste of copper in his mouth.

  Nidra. She must have manipulated the Daltheans from the first wave. They’d been commanded to kill their own people.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  If Helmsley really was alive, then Gallows had left him to die.

  * * *

  Sleep came in fits, and each time Gallows woke, he had no idea how much time had passed. For all he knew, he’d been languishing in the cell for a week, or more.

  He didn’t protest when the kuramanusa fed and watered him, didn’t lash out when they untied him to exercise his legs, nor when they recharged the ignium lamp. He kept his mouth shut, and listened for word on Helmsley’s survival.

  In the brief moments between the cell door swinging open and closed, Gallows strained to pick out sounds in the corridor beyond. The kuramanusa changed the routine—came at different intervals, brought different food. Without explanation, they even untied Gallows and let him sleep on the floor. It was filthy but it was damn better than hanging from the wrists.

  If Helmsley’s alive… Is Rocco?

  As best as Gallows could judge, a whole day passed without Nidra. For hours, he stared at Helmsley’s dog tags, waking in spasms to find them clutched in his palm. She’s still torturing me—she doesn’t need to get close to me to know the damage she’s doing. The thought made Gallows think back to his previous encounters with Nidra—if she was so powerful, and if the Idari were wielding black magic, then why not use it in the field? Why not infiltrate Dalthea and get all the information they need without drawing a blade? Why not turn the whole army against itself? Nidra could command others’ actions—but did that power have limitations?

  She doesn’t need to get close to know the damage she’s doing—but maybe she needs to get close to get inside my head?

  If that was a weakness, Gallows would find a way to exploit it. He’d have to.

  He ran his thumb over Helmsley’s embossed name. Blood caked the steel like rust. Or is she expecting me to fight back?

  The door teased open, and Gallows’ stomach filled with cement.

  When she walked in, Gallows stood up, balled his fists and planted his feet.

  Nidra had changed her clothes. A gown of gold and black hugged her form. She stood like a depiction of Musa herself; the amber in her eyes flared brighter, and her hair shimmered.

  She tossed a bundle of clothes to the floor, then disappeared.

  A Dalthean army uniform.

  ‘Screw you,’ Gallows spat into the cell, his coarse voice echoing against the stone walls. He couldn’t guess what Nidra was playing at, but it was a trick—it had to be.

  The dog tags pulled his gaze.

  If there was even half a chance Helmsley was alive, then Gallows had to take it. I beat her before… I can do it again.

  He took tentative steps to the open door, wrists burning with purple rings from Gods knew how many days hanging in here. He kept close to the wall, clenched his fists and risked a look into the passage.

  Empty.

  Gallows’ cell sat nestled in a corner, at the end of a narrow, stone passageway—which left only one way to go.

  Sharp pain jagged in Gallows’ feet—if he was going to grab Helmsley and run, he wouldn’t get far in his current state.

  The bundle of clothes included boots.

  * * *

  Gallows shuffled out of the cell, the fresh clothes reinvigorating him. He stayed close to the rough surface of the wall—its stone was the colour of day-old slush—and moved with slow footsteps.

  When he rounded a corner, she was there—hewn from the shadows, standing with her back to him. ‘Come,’ Nidra beckoned.

  Gallows followed her. It’s a trick.

  Identical doors to the one in his cell glowered at Gallows as he squeezed past. Odours of sour milk and rotten fruit filled his nose, of copper and burnt meat. The passage reeled in a shallow arc, and Gallows had no way of knowing if he was above ground or in a submerged dungeon.

  Nidra stopped, and turned. ‘Please.’ She motioned to an open chamber.

  Hesitating at first, Gallows stepped inside, his instincts on fire.

  The warm air in the chamber welcomed him. A fire crackled within an ornate fireplace, painting the chamber with a throbbing, living glow. Sumptuous rugs with dizzying patterns of reds, greens and yellows littered the floor. A four-poster bed laid with a light web of silk dominated the end of the room; its steel frame curved like vines with sharp thorns.

  And then Gallows’ eyes fell on the roasted partridge. It glistened on a silver tray sitting upon a small, round table by two curving chairs.

  ‘Sit.’ Even a single syllable from Nidra dripped honey.

  Gallows stepped away from her, keeping his back to the wall. His heart drummed.

  ‘You’ve nothing to be afraid of,’ she lilted.

  Gallows clenched a fist.

  Nidra’s eyes rolled. ‘And if you assault me, your friends will die.’

  ‘Helmsley—he’s alive?’

  Nidra placed her hands behind her back. ‘Sit—while it’s still your choice.’

  Bile churned in Gallows’ stomach. Tearing himself from the wall, he pulled a chair from the table and sat.

  The meat knife looked sharp.

  Nidra slinked past and sat opposite him, settling into the chair like it was made for her.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Gallows demanded.

  With slow fingers and eyes fixed on Gallows, Nidra clasped the knife and carved thin slices of dark meat, nudging a plate towards Gallows.

  His stomach grumbled at the tangy, pungent aroma. It mingled with piny rosemary and other herbs Gallows couldn’t distinguish. Butter slid from the meat.

  ‘Please,’ spoke Nidra. ‘You must be hungry. I know the gruel the kuramanusa feed you.’

  Gallows pulled his gaze away and glared at her. ‘I grew up in the shitty part of town. Gruel’s a feast.’

  When Nidra raised an eyebrow, it was as sharp as her nails. ‘It seems I’ve been too generous to you.’ She took a bite—her eyelids closed as she savoured it. ‘From south Idar. Exquisite.’

  ‘Where’s Helmsley? Is he hurt? Did anyone else survive?’

  Nidra dabbed at the juices on her mouth. It made her lips glisten. ‘First you answer my ques—’

  Gallows’ fists slammed into the table, causing silver cutlery to leap onto the floor. ‘I don’t know a goddamn thing!’

  Trickling at first, Nidra’s laughter burst like a river breaking its banks. ‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘I believe you.’

  Gallows flew to his feet, the chair landing on its side. He collected a butter knife from the floor. It shook in his hand. ‘This is a goddamn trick.’

  Nidra took another bite. ‘You’re wielding a butter knife.’

  ‘I’ll adapt.’ He lunged towards her—

  ‘Harm me and your friend dies.’

  The knife hung in the air. Gallows stood motionless, weighing his options. ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Your friend is alive. He spoke of your Fayth Collegium. Spoke of not lifting a finger to hurt another person. Frightfully boring little man—but alive.’

  ‘Take me to him.’

  Nidra motioned to Gallows’ chair.

  Gallows watched her for a moment—if he protested, she’d exert her wi
ll over him, and he’d never get Helmsley. He wasn’t sure he could beat it again, not without knowing her line of questioning.

  Defeated, Gallows picked up the chair and shrunk into it. ‘I’m… gonna die in here,’ he said.

  Nidra’s fingers danced on the table. She didn’t look at him when she said, ‘Yes.’

  A grinding weight pressed against Gallows’ organs, but worse was the yearning for Sera—that empty ache in his chest, like an expanding cavity. All the questions he’d never find answers to scratched in his throat: How would she cope without him? What would happen to her? Who would protect her if the Idari invaded?

  ‘Eat,’ Nidra said. ‘I have the information I need. I know you knew nothing of the weapon. When we know where it’s headed, we’ll pursue it. Our time together draws to a close, Corporal Gallows.’

  ‘Good.’

  Nidra winced at the word. ‘You were… right,’ she said. The words came elongated, stretched as if attempting a new language for the first time. ‘I am… like you. A grunt.’

  ‘I’d be lying if I said I give a shit.’

  Nidra stiffened, still unable to meet Gallows’ eyes. ‘I don’t care for your opinion.’

  ‘Ain’t you a great dinner guest? Can’t imagine why you need to lower yourself to dining with me.’

  The knife scratched against Nidra’s plate. ‘My… superiors.’ Now her eyes rose to meet Gallows’. ‘It’s not just the kuramanusa… They grind anyone they believe to be useful to them down. They take a person’s sprit and… repurpose it.’

  ‘Gee, I can’t think what that’s like.’

  ‘You have it easy,’ Nidra spat. ‘What I do to you is temporary, fleeting. But what was done to me… It is everlasting.’

  Gallows shook his head—he couldn’t believe she was actually trying to squeeze sympathy from him. ‘Boo-hoo, your bosses turned you into a monster—you’re still choosing to use your magic, or whatever you call that shit you do.’

  Nidra’s eyes clenched shut. For a moment, Gallows actually thought she’d cry. ‘If I refuse, they’ll kill me.’

  ‘Not an excuse. You enjoy what you do, Nidra. Lie to yourself if it helps you sleep at night, but you ain’t convincing anyone.’

  ‘What they did to me...’ Her voice sounded faint, like mournful music. ‘How I was given my gifts… It is beyond my comprehension. And yours. The things I witnessed while they remade me cannot be real, and yet…’

  Nidra’s words dissolved into nothing.

  ‘How does it work?’ Gallows demanded. ‘I been thinking: If you were so powerful, the Idari would have won before the war even started. But here we are—so what’s the catch?’

  Nidra stared at him without uttering a word. For a moment, Gallows thought he saw fear in her eyes.

  ‘You can’t do it from a distance, can you?’ he probed. ‘Your target needs to be close to you, right? Is it from your touch? Some chemical you secrete? Or gas?’

  Nidra’s fingers stiffened on the table. ‘You have no idea what’s to come, Corporal.’

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ Gallows asked. He made a show of looking over the room. ‘If you could control people from a distance, you wouldn’t need all these other tricks.’

  Nidra sat in silence, her breathing coming loud in the chamber.

  ‘Well it’s been great catching up.’ Gallows pushed the plate away. ‘Now, if you ain’t gonna tell me where Helmsley is, then I’d like to go back to my cell.’

  When Nidra spoke again, her voice reverted to its usual sickly-sweet tone. ‘What makes you think you’re going back to your cell?’

  Gallows’ gnashed his teeth. ‘If you’re gonna kill me, then for Nyr’s sake, do it.’

  The Perceptor’s eye flicked down to Gallows’ plate. ‘This is a better meal than most people will ever enjoy—you should be glad it’s your last.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Gallows snapped. ‘Get on with it.’

  He’d never get to say goodbye—never get to live the life with the woman he loved. He closed his eyes and said again, ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Tell me about Sera.’

  Gallows’ muscles stiffened. What?

  He’d told himself Nidra had forgotten her name.

  He’d told himself she’d been too stunned from being beaten to remember it.

  Fear melted inside Gallows before simmering anger. ‘I’ll tell you nothing.’

  Nidra nodded as she chewed. ‘You will.’

  ‘I knew this was a goddamn trick!’

  ‘No trick here, Corporal Gallows. I have not uttered a fallacy—have I been less than honest about the fact you will die here? Please, eat. And speak. Tell me about Ser—’

  ‘Say her name again and I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Harm me and—’

  ‘Helmsley dies. Yeah, I’ll be sure to feel guilty in my last moments.’

  Nidra set her plate aside. ‘If I wanted to make you talk, I would have. I want you to tell me about this woman of your own accord—the woman who gave you the strength to… momentarily break free of my will over you. Is she your wife? When was the last time you saw her?’

  Gallows’ forearms burned. It was so tempting, to leap across and hurl Nidra to the floor, and take her own knife to her throat. ‘How can you talk about the horrors your bosses inflicted on you and sit there and do the same to me?’

  ‘I can force you or you can do so of your own free will. The choice, Corporal Gallows, is yours.’

  21st Day of Musa

  ‘How’s my hair look?’ Gallows’ fingers brushed the jagged bristles on the back of his head. It was like petting a porcupine.

  ‘Stupid,’ Milo answered. The kid was around nine but looked too small for his age. His tattered clothes were too big for him, and he wore two odd shoes. At once, he carried a tray of baked cakes and wedged a sheaf of second-hand newspapers between his arm. ‘Want a kringla swirl? Go down well with a cup o’ tea.’

  ‘Nah, nah,’ said Gallows. His heart raced, and Gods, he could not get used to his new haircut.

  ‘What’s got you so worried?’

  Gallows fussed with the tie on his navy-blue uniform. ‘Nothing,’ he muttered, pacing around the kid.

  ‘You been lookin’ at that pocket watch every two seconds!’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Can’t be that interested in the time.’

  ‘No, it’s…’ Gallows checked behind him before saying, ‘Can you keep a secret?’

  Milo beamed. His thin arms tremored with the tray of baked kringlar—Ryndaran cakes popular in Dalthea. They smelled of cinnamon.

  Gallows felt a suffocating pressure on his throat, but nevertheless, he managed to say, ‘I’m going to ask my girlfriend to marry me.’

  ‘Oh, I get it.’ Milo nodded. ‘You’re going off to war tomorrow, and before you die, you reckon you might as well propose.’

  Gallows froze. ‘Uh, no. Gods, is that what she’s gonna think?’

  ‘O’ course not!’ said Milo. ‘But probably.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Don’t worry ’bout it, she’ll say no anyway.’

  Milo talked a lot but Gallows liked him. Hell, Gallows was him, not so long ago. ‘If the Idari have half the mouth on ’em that you got,’ he told the kid, ‘I’m gonna enjoy kicking their ass.’

  ‘Aye, maybe she’d marry you if you wasn’t so ugly. Want a paper?’

  ‘Not any more. Alright, scram. I'll bring you back a souvenir. Like a decent kringla recipe.’

  ‘Can I get a sword?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A gun?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Alright,’ Milo huffed. ‘See ya.’

  ‘Say hi to your mum for me.’

  ‘Will do!’

  Milo scampered off, his calls for kringla swirls disappearing amidst the gushing fountains of the Old Town Square’s Royal Garden. It was the most beautiful spot in all of Dalthea.

  Gallows paced in a circle. Wooden bridges arched over the myriad waterways. Tall, thin l
ilac trees lined the snaking paths, and airships glided above like butterflies. Couples sat huddled together and threw aerons into the ponds, ripples of hazy fire blooming beneath the tall, curving ignium lamps. Were they making the same wishes as Gallows? How many of them were setting off to war in the morning?

  He tapped at the ring in his pocket. ‘Corporal Tyson Gallows,’ he said. Of all the paths his life could have taken, this seemed the strangest. He’d been to so many corners of the world, he’d forgotten what home was—and it wasn’t until he met Sera that he’d remembered.

  The silver pocket watch appeared in his hands again—just after nine. She does like to be fashionably late.

  Sera had accepted his decision to volunteer—the Enlighten had been destroyed and with it, Horizon Bridge. War was coming, and Gallows owed Major Fallon too many favours to back out. His first instinct was to run, but it was Sera who convinced him to stay and fight—and if he was going to stay here with her, might as well make it official.

  At least Fallon had started him as Corporal.

  No matter how much water he drank, Gallows’ throat was as dry as the desert out west. Gods above, I don’t know if I can do this—

  The cool skin of Sera’s gentle fingers wrapped around his eyes.

  ‘You’ve had a haircut,’ she said.

  And like that, Gallows’ anxieties disappeared. ‘To go with my new job.’

  She turned him around and kissed him. Gentle and powerful, calm yet passionate—that was Sera. Her smile lit up the entirety of Old Town Square. Her silver jewellery sparkled, the skin on her tanned arms smooth as she locked her fingers in his.

  ‘You’re doing the right thing, Ty.’ Sera squeezed his hand. ‘I’ll worry about you non-stop, but you’re doing the right thing. Also, you’re better looking with short hair. Can’t believe it took twenty-five years for that revelation.’

  He brushed a strand of Sera’s glossy brown hair from her face and kissed her again. Clasping hands, they strolled upon the cobbles.