see her body from this angle,” Andross said. “And if you think I’m going to lean out really far for you . . .”
“I’m not gonna murder you!” Teia said.
“And I’m not gonna bet on you. Made that mistake once.”
“Yeah, fuck you. That was me as the bet, not you betting on me.”
“Fair point. I’ll let the disrespect pass unpunished for that and your . . . reasonably good service here. The job’s done, or done enough. One hopes, anyway. I never believe an enemy dead when I can’t see the body myself. But you may go. Crawl back in your hole and die, or try to live. You seem like you could be useful. If you live, I’ll have work for you in the days to come.”
She turned, her heart falling. If she lived, now she was to be Andross Guile’s assassin?
Was there really no way out?
“Oh,” Andross interrupted. “Before you go. Help me get strapped in, would you? I have to see if I can figure out what the Ferrilux was trying to do.”
Chapter 134
“Is the black powder ready?” Corvan asked. The battle was raging at the barricades all around the Great Fountain. Corvan’s drafters had all burned through their mag torches. The Cwn y Wawr war hounds had each fought like a dozen men, but now every one of them bore wounds and was exhausted, panting, those intelligent eyes seeming to bear full knowledge of their coming deaths. The men Kip had recruited from Daragh the Coward’s forces had fought as if every last one of them wanted to win medals, and every last one of them would’ve earned one, too.
But the end was coming, and they knew it, and those hard men seemed to have no regrets that this was how they would face it.
“Yes, sir, powder’s ready,” his lieutenant, Lorenço, answered. Corvan’s usual attaché, Miriam, had leapt into a razor-wing attack, saving him. Her throat had been cut. She’d been alive when they’d carried her away, but hadn’t looked good. “But . . . sir, can you tell me what you’re planning?”
Something had happened with the mirror array atop the Prism’s Tower—perhaps the Ferrilux had been killed—because the mirrors were doing nothing. Maybe that was the only reason the Great Fountain—and the city—still stood, but it wasn’t enough.
Corvan had been right that the bane had meant to be sources for the Blood Robe wights and drafters all through the night, and losing the mirror array was a setback for them—but not the total catastrophe Corvan would’ve hoped.
The bane themselves, with single mirrors each, couldn’t reach many parts of Big Jasper, and they could only focus their light on one area at a time.
Some were more adept at this than others, clearly, already shining light to one area for ten seconds, then another for ten, then another, then repeating the pattern so that its drafters could go to any of those spots to refill their powers when they needed to.
Corvan had already sent orders to his drafters to attempt taking those new source depots—but his orders weren’t getting through now.
If the Ferrilux had kept the mirror array, the defenders would have been facing limitless magic that could be applied pretty much anywhere, pretty much instantly. As it was, the defenders were merely facing superior numbers of drafters and wights with lots of magic, while they themselves had none.
The dam was straining, and Corvan guessed his forces had only minutes here before they were overwhelmed. Hell, even if they held here, it was surely only minutes until key points elsewhere in the city broke.
If they hadn’t already.
He wondered if any of Kip’s Mighty were still alive.
He wondered if a distraction now—so very long after they’d requested it—could still do them any good.
“You ever try to read your wife’s mind, son?” Corvan asked. The young Ilytian was a newlywed.
“Yessir,” Lorenço said. “Doesn’t usually go well for me.”
“Me, neither,” Corvan said. ‘Titan of the Great Fountain,’ dear? Could you have been slightly less opaque for once? Loudly, he said, “Listen up! If I’m incapable of command, Lorenço will act as high general. He has my full faith. I took command of armies when I was younger than he is now. Got it?!” There was a small chorus of agreement, but many were too tired or too hurt to reply.
“You take these next moments to shore up the barricades. Messengers, get on your marks. No gawking! That’s for the enemy to do.”
He cracked open two red mag torches and began