The Way of Caine ,The Warcaster Chronicl - By Miles Holmes Page 0,42

vat between him and the stairwell, he hit it with his good shoulder and rolled around behind it. Immediately the vat was pelted with shots, creating a cacophony of ricochets.

Caine glanced ahead to the stairwell from behind the vat. Montague was there, halfway up. Caine risked a salvo in the direction he was taking fire, then ducked back behind the vat. As more return fire struck his cover he conceived it was now or never to cross the no-man’s land between him and Montague. If there’s no cover, I’ll make my own, he thought. Drawing on his magic, his form became vague, shifting. Emboldened, Caine ran from the vat like a specter, firing as he went.

A volley of shots followed after him. So many, it was as though he was the only target in a carnival shooting gallery. Scores of shots chased after him as he went.

All of them missed, save one.

Caine convulsed forward in mid sprint, falling on his face next to some barrels. In his side, the sharp jab of another bolt, and with it that unbearable fire in his head. Where were those bloody things coming from? He bit his lip at the pain and scrambled to roll behind the barrels. With the bolt in his side, his magical cover dissipated like smoke around him.

He could see Montague had made the top of the stairs, and now pushed on the exit. Still reeling at the pain, Caine leveled a shaky Spellstorm after him in a lame attempt to wing the man.

Pursuit had already made it as far as the vat he’d used only moments ago, three men with clear shots despite the barrels he now lay behind. They leveled their hand cannons with cruel smiles. Grimacing with the pain of the bolt in his side and still on his back, he put each man down in turn with rune kissed hellfire. As the last of them fell to the ground, he looked back up the stairwell to see the door slamming shut.

It’s like that, is it, he sighed.

He couldn’t flash away, and all around him the shouts of more men closed in. It was clear he wasn’t going to take the stairs without getting hit; they offered no cover at all. Rolling away, he struck off in another direction, firing his Spellstorms wherever he saw movement.

Caine found a corridor ending in another stairwell up. Pausing, he looked down at his side. The bolt had tagged him by the barest margins, and he tugged it free with a grunt. Gradually the fire it put in him seemed to ebb. Daring to reload, he had made it halfway through when shouts came from around the corner. Slamming both Spellstorms shut, he moved on. He’d lost sight of his mark and he knew he was fading with every drop of blood that hit the ground. I’m not done yet. Taking the stairs, he pushed the burning pain from his head with sheer, stubborn anger. At the second floor landing, there was an access hatch to the side of the building. He seized upon it. Unbolting it, Caine looked out to find a long drainpipe running up the side of the outer wall.

There, below.

Caine saw Montague leaping from a fire escape to the alley. The panicked man started running, soon rounding a corner and out of sight. Caine looked across to the adjacent rooftop a story higher up, and stepped back.

You’re going to lose him, he thought, pain shooting across his body.

“The hell I am!”

With an oath, he lurched forward into a running leap, and pushed himself to flash just before he would have hit the wall. With relief, he vanished, only to reappear some ten feet higher in mid-air over the alley. As he came to a skidding stop on the adjacent roof, he looked back the way he’d come, panting with the effort. His head was throbbing, and he felt slightly dizzy. Just the same, he’d leapt not a moment too soon.

Shots from the hatch he’d left behind chased after him, buzzing wide into the night air. He squinted at the mob, spotting the trollkin with the hammer at the head of them. Caine shook his head in exasperation, and started along to the eaves to try and find his lost mark.

Fatigued though he was, Caine made his way round a silo, arriving at the north side of the building. Just in time he saw Montague stepping out onto the main street. The man stopped, leaning against the wall