Chapter 9: Arrival of the Iron Sky
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The ones who rule you will never let you stand higher than they do.
Book of the Immortals.
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The Sovereign's flagship, a monstrous shadow against the sky, looms ever closer. We dash into the ruins, seeking refuge in the crumbled shell of an old building. Dust billows around us as we press against the cool, rough stone. My heart pounds against my ribs as I glance upwards.
"Fire and Six, It’s General Lorentine," Tomas curses under his breath.
How does he know it’s General Lorentine’s airship from this distance? I’ll have to ask him to explain when this is over. We’re screwed if Lorentine has come for us.
I glance at my companions, their faces etched with anxiety and determination. We sit, in pairs or alone, spread out in the skeleton of this old building. Broken beams reach over our heads, the spine of the beast. Sunlight streams through gaping holes in the broken roof, illuminating swirling dust motes and the rubble and debris scattered across the cracked stone floor. This hall must’ve been majestic once.
Balen paces like a caged beast between the broken walls, his thick hands clenching and unclenching. Scar tissue, a vivid testament to a brutal past, ripples across his bald head and down his bull neck. Rumours of a mine collapse that killed dozens cling to him, but I doubt any natural disaster could stop this mountain of a man.
"We'll take these bastards down with us!" Balen's voice booms off the walls. He slams a fist into his palm with a crack that splits the silence. "Make them pay for every inch in blood. Show them the gutter trash has fight."
His words, though bold, carry an undercurrent of desperation. It's as if he's trying to convince himself as much as us that we have a chance. A reckless part of me wants to believe him, wants to cling to the fervour in his voice. In Balen's world of absolutes, every wrong is met with equal force, every injustice answered in blood and bone. It's straightforward, but the approaching airship is not going to be defeated by an angry punch to the face.
Jarek leans against the wall opposite me, watching Balen's bravado. The faded ink on his arms shifts as he moves. A joyless grin splits his cracked lips, revealing teeth that have seen better days, and he laughs. "Don't be daft Balen. That's not courage, it's suicide." He spits on the ground, his contempt clear.
Not far away, Lika sits on a bit of the crumbled wall. She's engrossed in an ancient tome, her mousey face shadowed by the patchy sunlight. Where does she even get all these books? I can't help but envy her as roiling turmoil churns inside me, making it difficult to think.
The twins, Tomas and Meli, huddle together, their heads close, whispering in fervent, secretive tones. Curious, I make my way over to them, my footsteps silent on the ancient stone. As I approach, they fall silent, casting wary glances my way. Meli offers me a strained smile, not quite masking the worry in her eyes. "Kormen," she says, her voice tinged with a forced casualness. "We were just... discussing options."
Her words hang in the air, laden with unspoken meaning. I stop a few steps away, the ghost of suspicion nagging at me. "Options for what?"
Tomas shifts uncomfortably, exchanging a brief, loaded look with his twin. "Just trying to figure out a way out of this mess," he mutters, not meeting my eyes. "You know, in case things go south."
I nod. "We could all use a way out right now. What’s your plan?"
Meli hesitates, biting her lip. "We might have an idea, but it's... risky. And we're not sure if it's the right time to share it yet." Her gaze flickers to me, searching, as if trying to decide how much to trust me.
I frown, waiting for them to elaborate, but they stay silent. Eventually Tomas gestures with his head, and the pair shift deeper into the shadows of the building.
A hand claps my shoulder and I jump. "Hey, Kormen," Olly says, his voice low but steady amidst the uneasy silence.
“By the Six, man, I almost screamed, loud enough for whoever is on that airship to hear.”
Olly laughs. “Sorry. As for our soon to be guest? The twins think it's General Lorentine. You disagree?”
I shrug. “I think it's strange they know it’s him. But it doesn’t matter, we’re dead even if it’s some lowly Sword.”
"It's not over yet, you know." A faint, reassuring smile touches his lips.
I raise an eyebrow at him, at the earnestness in his gaze.. "You still believe we can make it out of this?" I scoff, unable to hide my scepticism.
Olly nods, his smile widening just a fraction, his hope cutting through my despair. "I have to believe it." He adjusts his smudged glasses—a familiar, comforting gesture—and his eyes, though shadowed by the same fears as mine, still hold a bit of warmth. "The moment we give up, we lose. And I'm not ready to concede defeat, not yet."
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"You're stronger than you look, Olly," I say, a genuine smile tugging at my lips for the first time in what feels like ages.
He chuckles, a soft, self-deprecating sound. "Have to be. Someone's gotta keep believing, right?"
His words are simple but heartfelt, his optimism reminding me there are still things worth fighting for. It makes me feel like a traitor for keeping our discovery in the cavern a secret. I should tell the others about the strange doorway Olly and I found, but doubt keeps me silent. We still don’t know who betrayed us to the Sovereign and some jealous part of me wants to keep this knowledge only between us.
I glance up through the shattered ceiling. The airship cuts through the sky, bearing down on us with predatory grace. The thwack of its sails fills the air, a foreboding boom that sets my heart racing.
Are the twins right? Is it really General Lorentine on board? Lorentine is more than just a military leader; he is one of the five Sovereign’s, immortals enshrined in legend, their powers the stuff of myth. Each member of the Sovereign is a force unto themselves, and Lorentine, with his strategic mind and unwavering resolve, is no exception. He will crush us without a doubt.
"They say General Lorentine is an honourable man," Tomas says as he stands up. He walks to meet me in the middle of the building. His twin, Meli, follows. "Yes, perhaps he could be merciful?" she says, hope shining on her face as she arches her neck to look at the approaching airship.
At their words, Balen's marches up to them, face twisted in disgust, the essence vial dangling around his neck . "Mercy? From him?" He raises a fist, as if he can force the words back down their throats.
Jarek strides to us, and forces himself between the twins and Balen, staring the latter down. "What if there is? I'd rather live to fight another day than die in a blaze of misguided glory." There’s frustration in his eyes. "I'd rather take my chances rotting in a cell. Better odds than your grand heroic last stand."
Balen's face tightens, the air is thick with tension between two men who’ve lived too long on the streets.
"You think surrender's an option?" I say, unable to keep the scepticism from my voice. "The Sovereign’s don't show mercy, Jarek. We both know that."
Jarek turns, fixing me with a gaze that looks like he’s seen his dream shattered too many times. "Maybe. But there's always a chance. A slim one, sure, but it's there. And I'll gamble on a slim chance over a sure death."
His words hang. There’s no easy answers here. I look around, searching the gaze of the others, trying to judge how many want to flee, how many want to fight. Lika glances up from her book, closing it with a soft thud. She stares at me. Her pale eyes, the colour of sun-bleached bone meet mine, and I brace myself for her disdain. It doesn't come. Instead she gives me a nod, a nod that seems to say she’s throwing her lot in with me.
I'm the one who breaks eye contact first, taken off guard. I've misjudged her, I think. The old desert saying comes to my mind: 'Vipers lurk beneath calm sands.'
Something shifts something between us. I have the beginnings of a grudging respect for her, but there’s also fresh wariness – trust is fragile, and I don’t know what fuels Lika, or what secrets she guards.
The airship cracks overhead like a whip. I squint skyward, shielding my eyes from the glint of sunlight off the sleek underbelly of the flagship. It’s directly overhead now. Golden metal gleams on oiled wooden planks. The massive sails are emblazoned with the Sovereign’s crest.
A stifled groan escapes Balen as he stumbles to a halt, his massive frame shuddering. Head dropping into his hands, a deep, guttural growl of frustration rumbles from him. The essence is ravaging him from within, burning through his veins. Time is running out for him, the corrosive power consuming him in a losing battle. He lifts the vial of red liquid to his lips with a trembling hand.
I stir, unable to stay silent. "Balen. Don’t take any more essence. It’s not worth it,” I say. The agony etched on his face stirs an unexpected pity in me.
He freezes, the vial halfway to his mouth, and turns bloodshot eyes towards me. For a long moment, he stares as if struggling to comprehend my words. When he speaks, his voice is a ragged whisper.
"What choice do I have, Vardos?" His strained voice is muffled by the wind. "The essence is all that's keeping me on my feet, all that gives me a fighting chance against them.” Despite his words he lets the vial fall back against his chest. “I won't just lie down and surrender, not without a fight." He says it aloud, but it sounds more like a fervent mantra to steel his own resolve. He lifts his gaze and our eyes lock, his usually impenetrable glare now swirling pools of anguish and fury.
"Why do you fight so hard?" I say, unable to curb my curiosity. "Are you just angry at the whole three realms?"
Balen turns his fiery gaze on me, and for a moment, I fear I've overstepped, but then his expression relaxes, revealing a depth I hadn't seen before. "There’s anger…. But more than that, it's about standing up to the nobles, the Sovereign. It’s about not letting them grind me into the dirt. If the only language they understand is violence, then that’s what I’ll speak."
His raw admission, filled with vulnerability, hangs between us. Here stands a man driven to the brink and grappling with the harrowing cost of his choices. For a fleeting instant, Balen's rigid facade crumbles.
I open my mouth to tell everyone about the doorway, to share the secret discovery that could offer us all a sliver of hope. But at that moment the underbelly of the ship opens like the maw of some great beast, revealing a dark cavity. There’s a groan, a deep rumble of wood and wind and might, before a series of ropes and ladders unspool. They fall like the tendrils of some great spider.
Beside me Olly adjusts his glasses, and I can almost hear the ticktock of his clockwork brain as he stares at the ship in awe. "Remarkable engineering," he says under his breath, and his fingers twitch as if reaching for a pencil. But then he shakes his head
The first of the Sovereign Swords descend, precise and silent despite their heavy armour. They land with soft thuds, maybe thirty paces from us, dust billowing around their boots. Each soldier is discipline and intent, their faces obscured by masks. They fan out in formation, a seamless unit of destruction moving as one.
Balen stops pacing, his gaze fixed on the Swords. His hands, balled into fists, tremble - not with fear, but with restrained rage. "This is it, then," he says.. "They come with their grand ships to crush us, but we won't go quiet." His eyes blaze.
General Lorentine descends last, his figure majestic and terrifying as he rides the airship's lowering platform. He lands amidst his troops with an air of authority that asserts control over the chaos. His gaze sweeps across the ruins and the untamed jungle of the island, missing nothing, a predator surveying his domain.
He steps forward, his boots crunching on the stone and his Swords spread out, encircling the island.
There’s no escape.