Page 104 of City of Stone and Silence

As soon as Momo starts cranking, all that changes. The gates swing open, slowly at first, but with gathering momentum. A group of Ward Guard on the far side, caught flat-footed, struggles to block the archway, but they don’t get a chance to set their spears before the crowd surges forward. I hear the twang of crossbows, and people fall, but not nearly enough. They don’t need my encouragement, not anymore. The guards are pulled down, beaten to a pulp, trampled underfoot, and the mob surges past onto the highway.

I run across the room to the other windows, facing north. From here, I can see out onto the military highway that separates the Fifth and Eleventh Wards. Another wall rises on the other side, with a matching gate leading into the Fifth. A dull glow from beyond it indicates a mob has formed on that side, too—the people we sent through Thul’s hidden tunnels have been working all day. More Ward Guard, arrayed to contain the threat, now find themselves assailed from both directions. They have better warning than their comrades at the Eleventh’s wall, time to form up and make a line of spears. But they’re badly outnumbered, and all their defenses are facing the wrong way—the walls were designed to contain insurrection from inside the wards, not repel an attack from the outside.

Run, I urge the soldiers, silently. Just run. Take off your uniforms and lose yourselves in the crowd. Don’t die for no reason. The mob is hesitating, those in front not wanting to risk a charge onto that wall of spearpoints, but the pressure from behind is unstoppable. A bloodbath looms.

I open my Kindre senses, the world unfolding to me like a flower, minds full of powerful emotion all around. It washes over me: acrid fear; hot, sweaty rage; crimson pain; and the sick purple of a lust for violence. And duty, a sound like a distant skirl of drums, holding the terrified guards in place.

No. I reach out to them, still the drums, push that away. No duty to die. Not here. Not now. Run.

For a moment, the two sides are still, in balance. Then the first spear falls from a guardsman’s nervous fingers. A sergeant shouts at him, inaudible in the din, but the young man pushes past, leaving his place in the line. Those on either side turn to watch him, and another spear hits the dirt. Then another, and another.

The Ward Guard crumbles, like a sugar cube soaked in water. The mob surges forward. My mind feels like I’ve rolled it in filth, but I find myself smiling.

Garo and I return to our impromptu headquarters at the Immortal safe house. Giniva stays behind, organizing a team to secure the gate. A couple of the volunteers carry Nari back with the rest of us. It’s hopeless, unless there’s another ghulwitch in the city with Grandma Tadeka’s skill, but I don’t have the heart to stop them. By the time we return, her faint moans have ceased, her dark tunic soaked with cooling blood.

I should care about that. She was one of ours, from the sanctuary. The people I’m supposed to be protecting. But I feel numb. There were bodies in the High Market, rioters cut down by crossbow bolts from the walls. No one seemed to be doing anything about them.

Back in the upper room of the safe house, someone has found a map of the city, started drawing lines in pencil. As the sun sets, reports start to trickle in from the other teams Garo sent out, and the picture they draw is one of brilliant success. Our people have taken the Ward Guard by surprise across nearly a dozen districts, opening gates and spreading the news of the rebellion. Some garrisons surrender outright, or even defect, turning on their officers and joining the mob. The fire of rebellion spreads across Kahnzoka, reaching out from the lower ward to move up the hill.

The guards, desperate, hold the line at the Third Ward. None of Thul’s tunnels and secret doors go that high, and the walls are well-fortified. Garo gives orders to let them be, secure what we’ve won. The guards have abandoned the outer walls, now hopelessly outflanked, and he sends people to man them, in case the government tries to launch an assault from the countryside.

I sit beside him, nodding, while it all happens, excited people shouting at each other and sketching pencil lines on the map. They ask my opinion, and I defer to Garo. My thoughts have returned to the Immortal captain in the basement, and what she might know.

Where are you, Isoka? Does it even matter? If my hands were bloody before, they’re positively steeped in crimson now. What was I supposed to do?

Not this.

Giniva returns, just after midnight. Garo is still at the table, deep shadows under his eyes, working by candlelight. He looks up as she comes in, and she wordlessly hands him a sealed envelope. In the flickering light, I catch the color of the wax: Imperial purple. Garo breaks it open with one finger, scans the contents, and smiles.

“It’s from Kuon Naga,” he says, as a hush falls across the room. “He wants to negotiate.”

20

ISOKA

I’m walking toward Prime’s bone-strewn ziggurat. Skulls grin down at me, and the ropes of bones clatter faintly in the afternoon breeze.

The last time I came here, I had the best fighters in the crew with me, and we failed. People died.

This time, I’m alone.

A dozen walking corpses wait in front of the entrance, a wall of desiccated flesh and blank, staring eyes. I ascend the staircase and stop in front of them, ready to ignite my blades.

“Isoka Deepwalker,” one of them says, in Prime’s rich, resonant tones, so different from the rasp he makes in my head. The corpse steps forward, its torn, dried lip twisting into a smile. “Are you here to kill me?”

“I’m here to take you up on your offer,” I tell the thing. “If it still stands.”

There’s a moment of silence that I take for hesitation. Then Prime laughs.

“He’ll know it’s a trick,” Meroe says.

“Probably.” I inspect my boots, which have seen better days. There’s a hole developing near my left toe. I wonder if the angels make boots.

It’s nearly noon, and we’re standing in the arched doorway of our own ziggurat. I’m checking my gear one last time.

“So,” Meroe says, “how do you know he won’t kill you immediately?”

“I don’t, not for certain. But I have a hunch.”