The Broken God by Gareth Hanrahan (desktop ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Rasce steps closer. “Then take the ash. Swear to serve the dragon. You take my place here.” He makes the proposal lightly, but as soon as the words pass his lips he realises how perfect it is. She’ll take on the burden of the city, the role she was made for. He can fly with Great-Uncle again – and he’ll return to Guerdon between flights.

Return to her.

It’s a solution as perfect as the architecture of the New City, as elegant and soaring as the towers. His heart leaps. “Cari. Gods – I’ve shared Spar’s memories. I’ve been him. There are things he never told you. I know how he loves you. He is dead, but I – I am alive. I can love you. We are alike – who else knows you as I can? With your gifts added to mine, my place as Great-Uncle’s favourite is assured!”

“Fuck that.” Cari stares at him with disgust.

“Join me! You want your sainthood back? Have it! I shall give up that power gladly. The gods of Ishmere want you dead? To hell with them! Become Eshdana, and we shall protect you! Only take the ash, beg Great-Uncle’s forgiveness, and all shall be well, yes?”

“What about Moonchild? What about the people I brought from Ilbarin?”

“They crossed the Ghierdana. Their lives are forfeit to the dragon – but I am Chosen! Great-Uncle will spare their lives, I promise.” He spreads his arms and proclaims his words with pride. “I say to you, you have the word of the dragon!”

Cari’s eyes widen. A shiver runs through her.

“Adro,” she whispers. The name means nothing to him.

Then, in a swift motion, she drives her knife into Rasce’s ribs.

Baston’s woken from an uneasy sleep by rumours of fire up near the dracodrome. Someone’s set a storehouse full of Lyrixian military supplies alight. Explosions and the flash of burning phlogiston light up the night sky, like Dredger’s yard all over again. A thrill of pride runs through him, and he wants to run out there and join them, but they’ll never trust him again – and his oath still binds him, anyway. If he betrayed the Ghierdana, he’d only bring more trouble with him. Better to stay here, in this lonely house, and do what he can from within.

There’s no sign of Rasce. Baston put guards on the door of the bedroom, but now there’s a second door in the room, leading outside. Rooms can’t hold someone who can reshape the city. Without Rasce’s miracles, they’re blind – no idea what’s going on beyond the walls of the compound. All they can do is hunker down. Hold the Lanthorn Street compound and wait out this storm.

Baston walks the walls, a loyal sentry. A few troublemakers throw stones at the compound. There’s a moment of excitement when one lad flings an empty tin can over the wall, and everyone fumbles for gas masks thinking its withering dust. But aside from that, the first few hours are quiet.

Then, outside, a gunshot.

Baston moves to the window, carefully standing to one side so he’s got cover. The courtyard outside is dark and empty, but the gunshot was close at hand. By the main gate, maybe.

There should be more guards out there. He left half a dozen watching the walls.

Baston moves to the hallway. He checks the locks on the main door – it’s heavily barricaded, just like it should be. He shouts up the stairs to the sniper. It’s young Nic tonight. A Brotherhood boy.

“Nic? See anything?”

Gurgling, like the boy’s swallowed his tongue. The sound of a body falling in the attic. Then a voice, oily and thick, from his own mouth. “BASTON. OPEN UP.”

Scratch. Scratch from the far side.

“OPEN THE DOOR, BASTON.”

“I can’t do that, Rat.”

“HURRH. QUICK NOW. DON’T BE A FOOL.”

“Is Karla there?”

“SHE IS ALIVE. OPEN THE DOOR AND YOU CAN SEE HER.”

“I can’t. I swore an oath.” He backs away from the door. “Go away, Rat. Go back to your tunnels. Leave here in peace, and the Ghierdana won’t come after you.”

“NO.”

The door shudders as a huge weight slams into it.

As soon as the knife goes in, Cari knows she’s fucked up. She feels the blade skitter off some barrier – an armoured vest beneath Rasce’s jacket, maybe – and slash Rasce’s side, a shallow cut. Not the lethal blow she needed, and she knows that was her only shot.

So now she runs, pushing past him to flee the way he came.

The tunnels become a nightmare. Rasce can’t attack her directly with a miracle, but he can throw up obstacles, conjure chasms beneath her feet. She finds a stairway leading up, but it melts away when she sets foot on it. Another tunnel she tries suddenly floods, a spasm in the stone breaking open a water pipe.

All the while, Rasce pursues her. He’s slow, limping, clutching his side with one hand, but he won’t stop. The Ghierdana never stop.

Then – she’s out. She races up a staircase, each step vanishing behind her, but she’s too fast. Night air on her face, honest Guerdon drizzle, and she’s out. The towers of her home rising above her. Rasce lashes out with a miracle, and the tower above her convulses and calves a huge chunk of masonry. Spar used that trick before, to squish invaders, and Cari’s ready for it. She steps to the side, knowing exactly where it will land. She springs atop it, and from there to a windowsill. From there, up to the fresh scar in the building’s flank, climbing for the rooftops and the gutters that have always been her domain.

Rasce follows, but he’s slow and she’s got the edge. She can’t draw on the stone the same way he can, but she can twist his miracles, blunt them and steal them. He conjures a spear of stone, and she uses it as a stepping stone to reach higher ground. He conjures a wall, and