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By Root 794 0

now initiate Last Resort Storming. Because the warehouse was deep within enemy territory, a squad of garudas would drop them in, one bird for every soldier. They would swoop into a derelict street, half a mile to the south of their target location, where it had been reported there were minimal defences. Full-scale engagement had to be delayed as long as possible, therefore any interim combat would have to be swift and silent. Cultists could provide them with newly developed Reykr relics, a smokescreen tool. They would be armed with a sabre, a dagger, and a crossbow, and in small groups would penetrate in five locations, while garudas would blanket-bomb with Brenna three hundred yards north, to cause a distraction.

They would start under cover of darkness, but meanwhile there was still one other person Brynd wanted to speak to before the evening began.

*

He found her waiting as requested, in a dark annexe of the hospital, far enough away from the screams and howls of surgical horror. She was slumped in a chair at a table, a hot beverage beside her.

When he addressed her Nanzi looked up at him meekly, her hands still resting in her lap. Her eyes revealed the trauma of witnessing so many people in terrible pain. How could she ever be a killer, this woman who was little more than a girl?

‘Good afternoon, commander,’ she murmured expectantly.

Brynd nodded a greeting, then ploughed on. ‘With your . . . ability of transformation. What can you do with it precisely? I believe, you can ensnare several victims at a time.’

She expelled a bitter sigh. ‘You want me to fight, don’t you? You want the big bad monster to go to war on your behalf.’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’ Brynd divulged the details of his operation. ‘So you see, I’d like to make use of your skills, to secure certain vantage points that would help us infiltrate where necessary, then use your . . . secretions to hold back the enemy as we advance. And to aid with wounds, as you currently do.’

‘I will try,’ Nanzi agreed finally, then suddenly broke down in tears.

Brynd felt uncomfortable at this emotional outburst. She was a killer, nothing more, but he couldn’t let her see his resentment.

‘Look, after this war’s over, I promise both you and this Voland chap can leave as free people. You’ll have my word.’

She regarded him in wide-eyed incredulity. ‘I will do as you say.’

*

Armed and ready, the Night Guard lined up in neat rows in the Citadel quadrangle, while storm-torches flared and receded in the breeze. Brynd paraded up and down, calling out instructions, last-minute strategy. Then, in hand language he signalled to the garudas perched above.

They glided down, each landing behind a member of the Night Guard. They linked straps, binding man and bird together. Brynd gave some brief commands: the garudas spread their massive wings outwards, and the soldiers crouched in unison with the bird-soldiers, an awkward joint posture.

Then everyone leapt skywards.

*

Jeryd had received instructions to hold several streets situated on thestern side of the city, which seemed strange because this was practically now the invader’s turf. Clearly there was an operation about to take place, something big, but he didn’t know what. It was annoying how at times like this, even stray rumours got dissected as if they were encrypted orders.

Reading the entrails of gossip, that’s what you’re relying on, Jeryd. Why don’t you find a primitive tribesman and ask for a shell-reading?

The irregulars had managed to hold on to a street as the conventional military was pushed back, a professional regiment half slaughtered before his eyes. He felt proud of his rag-tag band of rumel – although they hadn’t suffered the brunt of that skirmish, they were holding their ground, so the position didn’t fall. Only the Okun had been tricky to deal with – with their daunting oneness of action, and they could somehow relay the irregulars’ position to each other so as to avoid their snipers. Which pissed Jeryd off immensely.

And now there was endless waiting, it seemed, and Jeryd didn’t know what