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Time only for one thought: Roll when you hit.

But when she hit, there was no time for anything at all. Whatever it was, there were multiple levels, and it was mercifully soft-which didn't stop it from whipping her head and limbs in different directions. When she finally hit ground, she couldn't move for a few long seconds.

Someone was cursing. She saw feet. She was lying on top of a man, and he was struggling to get out from under her. She must have crashed into the backs of half a dozen soldiers-and taken them all out with her. One man had his leg twisted at a nasty angle. Another turned to look at her, his nose fountaining blood, cursing.

A huge explosion took away whatever he was saying. Perhaps sixty paces away. Everything seemed to freeze for a moment on the battlefield, then things began moving too fast to take them all in at once.

Karris jumped to her feet-and almost collapsed. She was so lightheaded that it took all of her concentration not to fall. She checked herself quickly. There were stinging abrasions on her arms and legs, dress in pathetic shape, but no serious wounds. She touched her eyes. The eye caps were unbroken, of course. And smudged with blood so they were harder to see through. Just perfect.

Now that she was in the midst of the battle, the world narrowed. There were images like little paintings, but no whole. Karris saw a drafter up on the Mother's Gate-Izem Blue? What was he doing here? He stood, skin fully blue, both arms extended, shooting blue daggers in rapid succession-an absolutely stunning display to work so fast, keeping his will focused, shooting from both hands. He was like a dozen musketeers-three dozen, despite the hazy quality of the morning's misty sunlight. Everywhere he turned, men went down. He turned toward the Mirrormen, and Karris saw those blue blades shearing off in every direction from the mirror armor, chewing through everyone around the Mirrormen, but sometimes catching a chink or hitting the mirror armor flat enough that a knife punched through.

A body stood in front of Karris, headless, its neck spraying blood in time with the last beats of its heart.

The sound of muskets firing and the roar of blood in her ears melded together, a pulse, life and death twined together.

The Mirrormen surged toward a hole in the wall, perhaps seven paces across. So that was where the explosion had been.

A red drafter-one of King Garadul's Free-had gone mad. He was cackling, throwing pyre jelly on everyone around him. The men splattered with the stuff were shouting in fear. Someone was begging him to stop.

A man was falling off the shattered edge of the wall, slipping, screaming.

Off to one side atop the wall, the sun gleamed off a man's copper hair. Karris's eyes locked on him. Gavin! He leaned close to another man, issued an order. Corvan Danavis. So the man really was a general. And he was here? Gavin clapped the man on the shoulder, and they parted.

Karris turned, remembering the pursuing Mirrormen, perhaps too late.

The leader was twenty paces back, horse surging through the lines, shouting at men to move aside, sword drawn. He was alone, his men cut off behind him by a sudden sideways surge in the line, but he was too close. Karris was unarmed and still wobbly on her feet.

Ten paces away, her pursuer seemed to jump in his saddle. Karris could see the whole front of his body, so he hadn't been shot from the wall, but nonetheless, he tumbled out of his saddle.

Someone had killed the man from behind. What the hell? Karris looked behind the man.

Kip.

Kip? The young man was riding at a full gallop behind the Mirrormen, following the path they'd pushed open through the ranks of soldiers. But he didn't have a musket.

Instead, he was carrying a big green ball, larger than his own head. His skin was green, and he had a wild look in his eyes-and he looked like he was going to tumble out of the saddle at any moment.

Not seeming to care that he was guiding his horse directly into other horses, Kip drew the green globe backward like he was throwing a ball-classic tyro misperception, they always thought that because a ball had mass, you had to muscle it. Kip's arm came forward, and then with an audible pop he shot the green globe out at the Mirrormen.

It caught one in the side of his mirrored helmet. The mirror armor sheared luxin easily, but it still had to deal with the momentum of what was hitting it. A breastplate might withstand a bullet, but the man inside was still going to have some broken ribs. Here, the man's head snapped to the side, blasting him out of the saddle, and the green globe ricocheted off, hitting another Mirrorman's shoulder and not quite dismounting him, then caromed into a third Mirrorman's horse, catching the animal on the side of its head and knocking it off its feet.

The force of the shot blew Kip out of his own saddle, almost halting all of his forward motion. His horse shied, trying not to collide with the others at the last second, but they had been startled by riders falling and a giant green ball flying past their heads, and one dodged directly into its new path. Animal collided with animal at great speed, crunching a Mirrorman's leg that was trapped between them.

Both horses went down, but Karris was more concerned about Kip. She lost sight of him when he fell. Soldiers were still a river, pressing past the Mirrormen, not knowing or caring much what this fight was about. They just wanted to get out of the shadow of these deadly walls and into the city.

Karris snatched a sword off the ground and ducked through the crowd. Three riders had wheeled around and were pushing toward a spot farther back. She couldn't get there in time.

One was drawing his musket from the saddle sheath to kill her when his head exploded in a burst of yellow light and pink mist. Karris was sure this time the shot hadn't come from the wall. It had to have come from the opposite direction-from the hill? And what the hell could have done that? An explosive musket ball?

She was still too far away. She saw two Mirrormen pulling muskets out, aiming down.

Twin green spears-pillars, almost, they were so thick-erupted from the ground where the riders were pointing and impaled them. The first one was hit square in the chest. Green light fractured out in a spray as the mirrored breastplate held for a moment, and then burst-and still the green spear shot up, lifting the Mirrorman up into the air. The other man was no more lucky. That spear hit the top of his breastplate, again shearing some luxin away into a flash of green light. Then the spear rode up, catching him under the chin and going into his head, ripping his helmet off his ruined head like a child popping the head off a dandelion.

Each was lifted several paces into the air before the green luxin spears cracked and dropped them to the ground and dissolved to nothing.

Kip jumped to his feet, looking a lot less dead than he deserved.

Karris arrived a moment later. He gave her a curious look, and she said, "Kip, it's me. Do you recognize me? It's Karris." Despite that astounding display of power, Kip was a new drafter, and the mental and emotional effects of the colors were always greatest when you first started. The wildness of green could make a drafter dangerous.

He lifted a hand quickly and she flinched. "Kip, it's me, Karris," she said, all too aware that there was still a battle going on, though the amount of musket fire from the top of the wall had dwindled to almost nothing.

"Hold still," he said, staring intently at her face. He brought up a single finger and moved it as if to poke her in the eye. She could feel the heat radiating from it. What? Kip was a sub-red, too?

There was a hiss as he touched the eye cap, and he must have hit the fuse point because the eye cap dissolved. Then he did the other.

And like that, Karris could draft again.

Oh, hell yes.

"What do you say?" Kip asked.

What was he talking about? "Thank you?" Karris asked.

"I say we go kill us a king," Kip said, grinning recklessly. When they were in the grip of their color, greens didn't tend to be real big on common sense.

Karris looked and saw that Rask Garadul was just getting to the gap they'd blown in the wall. Half of his men were already through. It was the perfect time to attack-well, other than the fact that Karris and Kip were on the side of the wall with King Garadul's entire army.

Drafting some red off the pools of gore around them, Karris felt the comforting wash of red rage. She felt strong. "Let's go kill us a king," she said.

Chapter 84

I'm not important enough for this, Liv thought as Lord Omnichrome came back to the top of the hill where she was tied up. From her vantage point, she could see a familiar form taking a big red stallion from a groom, then mounting. Kip. If he turned around, he couldn't help but see her.

For a moment, Liv wasn't sure if she wanted him to see her or not. She had no doubt what he would do if he did. He'd come charging up the hill, and to hell with the odds. That was Kip. That was who he was and who he always had been. Not always smart, but always ferociously loyal.

She ducked her head. There was only death here for Kip. And sure enough, he turned for one second as he sat unsteadily atop the big horse. Then he kicked his heels in and almost tumbled out of the saddle as the animal surged forward.

Liv almost grinned at the sight, but the looming figure of Lord Omnichrome wiped away any thought of amusement. As he came close, she realized he wasn't as big as he seemed from a distance. His white robes and the white cape hanging off great blue horns rising from his shoulders made him seem bigger than a mortal man, but he wasn't even as tall as Gavin Guile. But he glowed. It was like yellow luxin filled his veins instead of blood. His hair had been sculpted into a spiky crown with yellow luxin, so it dazzled, as if he'd been crowned by the sun itself, and his eyes beneath were a constant riot of colors. And he was staring at her.

I'm not important enough for this, she thought again. Her cheek was throbbing, still dribbling blood. The powder wagon's explosion had knocked her unconscious, and shrapnel had cut her in a dozen places. She didn't know how they'd found her among all the bodies. She didn't know why they would want her.

"How did you come to be here, Aliviana Danavis?"

"I walked, mostly," she said. Danavis, so that was it. They knew her father was commanding the enemy army. And she'd stupidly delivered herself into their hands. Well done, Liv.

Lord Omnichrome's retainers surrounded them: broken-haloed drafters of every type, soldiers, messengers, and a few high-ranking officers from King Garadul's camp who looked decidedly uneasy around all the drafters, much less Lord Omnichrome. Lord Omnichrome picked up a strange musket as long as he was tall. He lifted it, fitted its leg into a slot on the barrel, propped it up in front of himself, and aimed down the hill toward the fighting.

"Dead center on that green door," he said.

"Third house from the left?" a spotter asked.

Liv didn't know much about muskets, but she knew you couldn't make a shot that accurate at three hundred paces. Not that you'd want someone shooting in your direction, but past one hundred paces aiming was more a general hope. Nonetheless, Lord Omnichrome took a deep breath, sighted down the barrel through the mists, fired.

The musket roared.

"Three hands high, one hand left," the spotter said.

Lord Omnichrome handed the musket to an attendant, who began reloading it. He turned to Liv. "I want you to join me, Liv. I saw you, last night, listening. You understood. I could tell you did."

Orholam, she thought he'd looked at her, but then she'd dismissed it as her imagination. There had been thousands listening last night. And how did he recognize her?

"You love your father, don't you, Liv?"

"More than anything," she said. How did he know her name, much less her nickname?

"And how old is he?"

"Maybe forty?" she said.

"Old, then. For a drafter. If he weren't a drafter, he could live another forty years. But as a drafter loyal to the Chromeria, he's an old dog already, isn't he? Most men don't make it to forty. Your father must be very disciplined, very strong."

"Stronger than you know," Liv said. She felt a surge of emotion. Who was this bastard, talking about her father? She wouldn't let anyone speak badly of him. He was a great man. Even if he had made mistakes.

The attendant handed the long musket back to Lord Omnichrome. He raised it, stabilized its significant weight on its leg, and said, "Blue drafter, just right of the gatehouse."

Liv watched, horrified, as Lord Omnichrome waited. The blue drafter was ducked behind a crenellation, popping up to throw death down on the men below and ducking down again. He popped up, Lord Omnichrome said, "Heart." The musket roared.

A burst of light and blood and the drafter disappeared from view.

"Shoulder, your left," the attendant said. "One hand left and three thumbs high."

Lord Omnichrome handed the musket back to the man with a polite thank-you. "When the time comes, will you tell them?" he asked Liv.

"Tell them? Tell them about my father?" Liv hesitated. "I'll do what I need to do."

"What you need to do. Interesting how they make it that, isn't it? What if you couldn't make it back to the Chromeria in time? Would you kill your father yourself, with your own hand? What if he asked you to stop? What if he begged you?"

"My father isn't such a coward."

"You're dodging the question." Lord Omnichrome's eyes were swirling orange. Liv had never liked oranges much. Always unnerved her. When she didn't speak for a long moment, he said, "I understand perfectly. When I started my own Chromeria, I followed them blindly at first, too. Despite what I am. One of my students broke the halo and I murdered her with my own hands. She wasn't the first to die for the drafters' ignorance nor the last, but she was the beginning of the end. When I killed her, I knew what I did was wrong. I couldn't shake it."

"Drafters go mad. Like you. They turn on their friends. They kill those they love."

"Oh, absolutely. Sometimes. Some people can't handle power. Some men seem decent until you give them a slave, and soon they're a tyrant, beating and raping the slave in their charge. Power is a test, Liv. All power is a test. We don't call it breaking the halo. We call it breaking the egg. You never know what kind of bird is going to be hatched. And some are born deformed and must be put down. That is tragedy, but not murder. Do you think your father could handle a little extra power? The great Corvan Danavis? An immensely talented drafter who's nevertheless had the discipline to make it to forty?"

"It's not that simple," Liv said.

"What if it is? What if the Chromeria has perpetuated this monstrosity because this is how they keep themselves in power? By scaring the satrapies, saying that only they can train the drafters born among them-for a price, always for a price-and only they can restrain the drafters who go mad, which is all of them. By doing that, they make themselves forever useful, forever powerful, and by divvying out drafters to the satrapies, they make themselves the center of everything. Tell me, Liv, when you judge the Chromeria by its fruit, do you find it a place of love and peace and light-as one might expect from Orholam's holy city?"

"No," Liv admitted. She didn't even know why she was defending it, except out of stubbornness. The Chromeria was everything she hated, and it defiled all it touched. Including her. She owed debts there, and she couldn't lie to herself so much that she would believe her flight to Tyrea and to follow Kip wasn't partly a flight from her debt to Aglaia Crassos and Ruthgar.

"The truth is, Liv, you know I'm right. You're just afraid to admit you've been on the wrong side. I understand. We all do. There are good men and women who fight against us, good people! But they're deluded, deceived. It hurts to leave a lie, but it hurts more to live one. Look at what I'm doing. I'm freeing a city that's ours, by rights. Garriston has been passed around like a whore to be abused by every nation in turn. It's not right. It has to end, and since no one else will end it, we will. Does not this land deserve freedom? Should these people pay because two brothers-neither of whom was born here or cared a whit for this land-fought here? For how long should they pay?"

"They shouldn't," Liv said.

"Because it isn't just."

He took the long musket from the attendant again. "Red drafter, top of the gatehouse. Head."

Liv watched. The battle in front of the Mother's Gate was hard to see clearly through all the smoke and flashes of magic. But she saw King Garadul's cavalry reaching the gate, loading their muskets and firing at the men at the top of the wall, but seeming to wait for something, frustrated it hadn't happened yet. Lord Omnichrome's musket roared, and an instant later there was a small bright flash at the top of the gate tower. Liv was glad she hadn't seen all of it.

"Dead center, Lord Omnichrome," the attendant announced. "Excellent shot!"

"Begone! Leave us." The top of the hill cleared quickly of everyone save the musket attendant, whom Lord Omnichrome gestured to stay. Lord Omnichrome turned toward Liv. He wasn't smiling. "I don't like killing drafters. I hate it," he said. "What I do here is what must be done. I want you to join me, Aliviana."

"Why? Why me? I'm barely a bichrome, not that powerful, no influence."

He snorted. "Are you ready for the answer to that question? You want to be an adult, Aliviana? You want hard truths? Because that's the only kind I've known for the past sixteen years."

"I'm ready," she said.

"I want you because you're a drafter and every drafter is precious to me. And because you're Tyrean, and this country will take a lot of reassuring after we win, and I'm not Tyrean. And because you're Corvan Danavis's daughter."

"I knew it!" she spat.

"Listen, you half-wit! Listen or you're unworthy of the role I have for you anyway."

That shut her up.

"As Corvan's daughter, I have some hope that you're half as intelligent as he is. If so, you'll be a formidable ally. I need bright leaders. But I won't lie to you. I hope that your coming to our side might free your father from the Chromeria's grip. I suspect that he only serves the Prism because they held you hostage. If that's true, Corvan might come over to us, and having a general of his standing on our side might prevent any further war from even being necessary. That's how much fear your father inspires. Men won't even take the field against him. During the Prisms' War, his enemies would use spyglasses to see which general was directing a battle. If it was your father, they would retreat and fight another day. That's how good your father is, and I'd be a fool to ignore him when he might fight for me. If you think that's me manipulating you, you're right. I'll use you. You're important. The Chromeria will use you too. Already has. Grow up and realize it. I'll be honest about it, that's all. And my honesty gives you a choice. That's better than they'll give you." His eyes were threaded with red and orange, like flames.

He was right. It was true. And if that was true, what if all of it was true?

"King Garadul slaughtered my whole town."

"Yes. He even took some of my drafters and made them help him."

Liv had expected him to deny it, excuse it.

"And yet you'd have me serve him?"

Lord Omnichrome lowered his voice. "Kings don't live forever. Especially reckless ones."

A huge explosion rocked the wall to the left of the gatehouse. It was powerful enough that it threw many of the combatants off their feet, and more than a few people off the wall itself, but as the smoke gradually cleared, to Liv it seemed that the charge must have been planted on the other side of the wall-the damage that she could see there was much more extensive, rows of houses simply obliterated. A cheer went up among the cavalry, though, as the clearing smoke showed a gap blasted in the wall itself.

"You see, the people of Garriston are working with us. They want to be free."

But Liv barely heard him. She'd just seen something through the mists on the battlefield that took her breath away. Kip. And not just Kip. Kip and Karris both were riding into the fray. For a moment, Liv didn't understand. Kip and Karris had switched sides? They were fighting to free Garriston? Then her eyes followed the path they were taking. The path led straight to King Garadul.

King Garadul, who Kip hated for wiping out their town and killing his mother.

And they were being pursued by half a dozen mounted Mirrormen.

"How much am I worth to you?" Liv said.

"I've already told you."

"Then I'm yours, on one condition."

The red swirled out of his eyes, replaced by orange and blue.

"Save my friends. Him, and her. The ones those Mirrormen are after." She pointed.

Lord Omnichrome beckoned his attendant sharply, and the man came running with his long musket. "You wish me to kill several allies in order to gain one," Lord Omnichrome said. "You barter lives like-"

"Like an adult," Liv said sharply.

"And a formidable one indeed. But I'm not in the business of buying loyalty. I'll do my best to save your friends. As a gift, regardless of what you decide." He sighted down his musket and fired. A Mirrorman riding toward Karris died in a flash of light and blood. Lord Omnichrome handed the musket off to be reloaded.

"So take that out of your calculations, Liv, but tell me now, whom will you serve? Me, or the Chromeria?"

Fealty to One. And to one only.

There was no good choice. There were no good guys. Trying to do the right thing had led Liv to spying on her greatest benefactor. The Chromeria corrupted even people's love for each other. Everyone she knew said Lord Omnichrome was a monster, but everyone she knew had been corrupted by the Chromeria. So maybe Lord Omnichrome wasn't perfect. Neither was Gavin. The only people innocent here were the people of Tyrea. They deserved to be free. If Liv had to fight, she wasn't going to fight for their oppressors. Fealty to One? A Danavis had to choose whom she would serve? So be it.

Taking a deep breath, Liv gave a full Tyrean formal curtsey. "Lord Omnichrome," she said, her voice even, her eyes meeting his. "I'm yours. How may I serve?"

Chapter 85

"Traitors!" Kip heard a woman say. His head snapped toward Karris. She spat on the dead Mirrormen. Imperious, masterful.

What is she doing?

Karris grabbed a musket and powder horn and began reloading it, as if she were a simple soldier. When Kip saw the looks on the faces of the soldiers near them, he finally understood. They'd just seen her and Kip fight Mirrormen, but none of the surrounding men knew who was fighting on which side or if they should interfere. It looked like these soldiers had lost all of their officers-not surprising, since the defenders on the wall would try to kill officers first. That was probably the only reason Kip and Karris were still alive.

"Well, drafter?" she said, finishing her reloading. She was as fast at that as she was at everything. Her skin was the color of blood. Her eyes were no longer capped with the violet eye caps that kept her from drafting. Wait, had he done that? He was feeling shaky, drained. Her bluff had worked, though. The soldiers were turning back to the fighting, determined not to get in the way of this virago.

She was talking to him.

That's right, genius, seeing how you're the one who just drafted two huge spikes and impaled a couple of Mirrormen.

Which made Kip look toward the men he'd killed. Mistake. One had a frothy gore-hole in his chest the size of Kip's fist. The other's head was torn in pieces, chunks of white bone mixed amid red in a picture that refused to coalesce into a face.

"Kip, ordinarily this is a bad idea when you're as new as you are, but I want you to draft more green. I need you with me," Karris hissed.

He was staring at the smear of head on the ground. The soldiers pushing toward the gate were trampling right over the pieces of brain and bone, giving more room to the two drafters than they did to the men Kip had killed.

"Kip!" She slapped him, hard. "Cry later. Be a man now." The red diamonds in her emerald eyes blazed. She cursed, cast about for a moment, looking for something, then a few threads of green wove their way from her eyes to her fingertips through the ocean of red that colored her pale skin, and she drafted something small in her hands.

Spectacles. Spectacles entirely of green luxin. She put them on his face, adjusted them, did something to seal them, and then stepped away. "Now draft!" she ordered.

Kip was a sponge. It was like going outside on a hot day, closing his eyes, and basking in the heat. Everywhere he looked there were light-colored surfaces, homes and shops whitewashed against the sun, and every one of them gave him magic. He soaked it in, feeling potent. Free. The throbbing in his burned hand faded to nothing.

He joined the stream of soldiers heading toward the gap in the wall. The musket fire from atop the wall had all but ceased. It was turning into a glorious morning, bright, crisp, slowly burning off the mist. It would be hot soon.

Where before, when he was unmoving, the stream of men had parted around him like a boulder as they saw that he was a drafter, as soon as he joined the stream he was jostled about just like everyone else. The lines compressed the closer they got to the wall, and men trying to stay with their units pushed hard. As it got tighter and tighter, more and more constrained, Kip started to rebel against it. He wasn't sure how much of the agitation was his, and how much was the green luxin's influence on him, but he could tell that there was more to his reaction than his own psyche.

With the confluence of horses and men in armor-though only a small fraction of King Garadul's army was armored or uniformed, those soldiers were intent on going in first-Kip lost sight of King Garadul himself. Karris had slipped into the line in front of him, and she was using her slender form and muscles to slip in between rows and push forward. Kip soon lost sight of her too. It was all he could do to keep on his feet as the crowd packed tight together right at the wall.

"You!" someone shouted.

Kip looked. A horseman, ten paces away, was staring at him. Kip had no idea who the man was.

"You!" the officer repeated. "You're not one of us!"

At first, Kip had no idea who the man was. He thought maybe it was one of the soldiers who'd escorted him with Zymun after Kip had blown up the fire. But even that was only a guess. Unfortunately, it didn't matter. The man recognized him.

The officer tugged at his musket, trying to pull it from the saddle sleeve, but there were other horses pressing in on either side of him, and it was stuck.

"Spy! Traitor!" the officer shouted, pointing at Kip. "He doesn't have the sleeves! He's not one of us! Murderer! Spy! That green drafter is a spy!"

Kip had been pushed up the rubble pile to the gap in the wall itself. It put him at a high point. Everyone was able to see him.

The officer finally pulled his musket free and kicked his horse savagely to come after Kip. Turned backward looking at the man, not really believing he would fire into a crowd of his compatriots, Kip lifted his hands to draft something, anything. His foot slid on the rubble, and the surging crowd, some pulling away, some reaching toward him, threw him off balance. He went down in stages. The people were packed so tight that he didn't fall all at once, but neither could he stop himself once he started.

The gap in the wall vomited them into Garriston. Kip fell and rolled.

Someone stepped on his burned left hand. He screamed. Feet were hitting his sides, someone tripped over him, someone stepped on his belly, someone kicked the side of his head. He tumbled, rolling down the slight hill of rubble, tried to gain his feet, and got smacked with the stock of a musket. He ended up on his back, head ringing, left hand on fire with pain, eyes having trouble focusing. Without meaning to, he'd gone turtle again, as he had when Mistress Helel had tried to kill him-and again, he was about as effective as a turtle on its back.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16