The Gallows Black Read online

  He nudged the corpse with the toe of his boot.

  “Fucked up, right? He was a powerful mage, too. But he died to a stray bullet like an asshole, so I guess he couldn’t have been that great.” He shrugged. “Anyway, we could still use him as a vessel, alive or dead, so I was told to bring his body back. But by the time I tracked down his corpse, the Freemaker had him stashed, and if I killed her, I’d never find it, so…” He gestured to his current body. “Found Talmin, took his face, left him rotting in a ditch somewhere, got to work.”

  If you were me, you’d have a lot of questions for him. What plot did he need someone with a claim to the throne for? What had Gallicus been intended to be a vessel for that his corpse would suffice? Yeah, I had questions. But one above all others.

  “Who sent you?” I asked.

  Zanze flashed me a grotesque smile through his lipless mouth. “You know who.”

  I did. I knew the name. I had repeated it to myself every day when I woke up and every night before I went to sleep, like a reflex. I knew that name well.

  Because it was at the very top of my list.

  The Cacophony seethed, giggling in my hand. He knew as well as I did that I’d asked enough. I raised him in my hand, leveled him at Zanze. The pale creature stared at me, grinning.

  “Ah, hell,” he said. “You’re still pissed at us, aren’t you?” He stared at my scars. “I guess I’d be, too.” He picked up his sword. “Oh well.”

  “Don’t make it hard on yourself,” I said. “You never could hold a blade for shit, even when we were in the army.”

  He nodded.

  “True.”

  He tossed the sword away.

  His skin began to ripple.

  And the Lady’s song rose.

  I squeezed the trigger. Hellfire shot out and sped across the square, striking the stones and exploding into a column of flame. Against a sheet of orange, I saw him as a black shadow, leaping clear of the explosion and falling to all fours. I squinted, struggling to see what he’d turned into as he came rushing toward me.

  Fangs gaped. Claws flashed. My blood painted the stones as he raked across my side.

  A cat.

  He was a huge fucking cat, if you were wondering.

  He leapt clear of me, skidding to a halt and whirling around. His grin—unnervingly human—creased his feline face as he came lunging toward me again.

  My blade leapt up, lashing toward him as he sprang forward. He was too quick, twisting in midair to dart low under my sword and grasp my ankle in his jaws. He pulled me to the ground. I screamed, lashing out with my foot to kick him in the face. He wouldn’t let go, but I wasn’t trying for that. I just had to keep him from getting a good enough grip that he could break my ankle.

  He loved that trick. Used it all the time when we served the Imperium together.

  My boot finally caught him in the eye, the heel driving him back. I scrambled, dropping my sword and bringing up the Cacophony, trying to draw a bead on him. But he wouldn’t let me. I dropped the gun as he came leaping over me, above me, on top of me.

  He landed, jaws craning wide and reaching for my throat. I caught his muzzle with both hands, trying to push him back. But he had angle and muscle on me and I could feel his lips curling into a smile as he pushed slowly forward, fangs glistening with my blood on them.

  Now you know why they call him Zanze the Beast, I suppose.

  I felt his breath. I felt his chuckle pulling itself out of his throat. I felt my arms trembling, weakening, no matter how much I cursed at them in my head. Too many fights, too many fucking wounds, couldn’t keep it up. If only I hadn’t helped that fucking Freemaker. Why the fuck had I even done that? What had I gotten out of that? Just one night? One moment? Had I done all this just to feel like that?

  I didn’t know if it was worth it or not.

  But for now, I guessed it had to be.

  His fangs pressed against my neck. I closed my eyes. I waited.

  Under my hands, his entire body shuddered. His mouth spasmed, weakening enough for me to push him back. I could see his face, looking as confused as I was, as he wondered what the hell had happened. Slowly both of our eyes went to his side.

  And the crossbow bolt jutting from it.

  Another one followed, jamming into his flank. He let out a scream, rolled off me. His skin rippled as he pulled himself into his true, pale shape. He pulled the bolts free with agonizing shrieks, his blood bright and grotesque across his pallid skin.

  Across the square, he looked up to see the little girl with the big glasses.

  Reloading a crossbow.

  Liette calmly raised the weapon, took aim, fired. The shot missed, clattered off the stones. Zanze, wounded and terrified, leapt back. She loaded again, aimed at him. His skin rippled. When she fired again, all she caught was the wake of the wolf that now went loping across the street and ducking into an alley.

  Shitty shot. But a timely intervention.

  She appeared beside me, reaching down and taking me by the arm. She pulled me to my feet, dusted me off. Before I could ask why, she took me by the chin, inspected me, before settling on the smear of ink across my chin where her sigil had been.

  “Huh,” she muttered. “You should have been able to take him. If you hadn’t ruined my work, you would have.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “What?” She blinked back. Her hair was mussed, her face smudged with grime and dried sweat. Her eyes snapped open. “Oh. Was I supposed to say something clever and witty? Hang on, let me try again.” She slung the crossbow over her shoulder, forced her voice deeper. “Looks like I came just in time.” She held up a hand. “Wait, no. I can do better than that. Let me think of something about cats and—”

  I didn’t let her.

  I didn’t let her speak.

  I took her by the face, pulled her close to me, pressed my lips to hers. I smelled her sweat, her toil, the desperation in her. Her body was tense as she pressed it against mine, her breath heavy, her fingers trembling as she set them upon my hips.

  “You released Gallicus,” I said. “Why?”

  “Simple.” She smirked. “I gathered that, if I found the Judge, I’d find you. And I further reasoned that, if enough of his memory remained that he could recognize his mother, perhaps I could wright him so that he could find her.”

  I blinked at her.

  “If you couldn’t think of any other way, you can just say so,” I said.

  She wrinkled her nose, offended. “Well, by then I’d found the crossbow, so maybe you could find some gratitude.”

  I glanced back to Gallicus’s corpse. “All your work…”

  “I made an assessment. I weighed all the time, labor, and energy I had poured into that against the strange woman I met yesterday, and…” She stared at me flatly. “I’m brilliant. But I’m not smart.”

  She suddenly gave me a harsh shove.

  “Go. Find him.” She stared at the Cacophony in my hand. “Kill him.”

  “But your laws, your debts…”

  “My debt is technically to Talmin. Whatever that… thing is, he isn’t who I owe anything to.” She stared at me, settling upon the scar on my chest. “He hurt you.”

  I nodded, gun in hand. “I’ll be back soon.” Then I was running.

  I knew, in that moment, that we’d live this scene many times. Me running away with blood on my face and smoke in my nose. Her standing and watching me go. I’d tell her I’d return many times, and one day, it’d be a lie.

  But today, I was going to make it true.

  Tomorrow belonged to me. To her. To those trembling hands on my skin and the taste of her in my mouth.

  But today belonged to the list.

  And the Cacophony.

  EIGHT

  In the Imperium’s arsenal, a Maskmage is the trickiest of weapons.

  Their magic allows them to become any living thing, so long as they’re willing to pay the price. Those who are willing to give up a few facial feature
s—a pair of eyebrows, a few cheekbones—usually are content to be able to transform to other people. Those who give up more—skin color, eye color, hair—can turn themselves into beasts. A mage who gave up as much as Zanze had could be just about anything that ever walked or crawled on this dark earth.

  And as you can imagine, tracking someone who can be anything isn’t easy.

  There are a few known methods of varying complexity. Some magics can see through their disguises, some wrights can force them to change. Having hunted a few, I tended to favor the simplest method.

  Namely, punching a hole in them and following the red stuff that came out.

  At times they were footprints. At times pawprints. Occasionally illegible smears where he had tried to become a bird and take flight and failed. He must be too wounded for that.

  And as I walked through the alleys and ravaged streets of the city, I felt a cold, black smile creep across my face.

  I had him.

  After all the threats I had made, miles I’d ridden, arms I’d broken, information I’d extracted, I had him. Zanze the Beast, who’d turned Vagrant and disappeared into the Scar. Zanze the Beast, who had been chief among the Empress’s Maskmages. Zanze the Beast…

  Whose smile I could still feel as keenly as the scar on my chest.

  It wasn’t excitement I felt. It was need. It was the ache in my scars and the creak in my bones. It was the knowledge that nothing was going to feel right until he was sent back to the dust, along with every last name on that list. I was desperate. I was cold. I wasn’t excited.

  But he was.

  The Cacophony burned in my grip as I loaded shells into his chambers. His joy couldn’t be contained, seething through the leather of my glove, his brass groaning as he rattled to life. Normally, I knew, this wasn’t a good sign. He was a weapon, born solely to destroy. If he was eager, if he was this lively, it was for a reason I knew wouldn’t be good.

  But today, I didn’t care. Today, when I looked at the grinning dragon of his barrel and felt him staring at me and almost heard him whisper in my head…

  Soon.

  I agreed with him.

  The bloody tracks turned to fading boot prints. He’d stanched his wounds, found a new shape, a humanoid one. I shut my eyes, opened my ears as we turned a corner. I heard the sound of boots struggling to hurry along the street and failing. He was limping. He was slowing.

  He was dead.

  “Colonel!”

  A voice caught my ear just as I caught myself, pressing against the wall of a building and peering around. A knot of Revolutionary soldiers—too many for me to take—stood at attention, weapons ready and eyes wide with shock. I couldn’t blame them.

  They were staring at a man who had died just last night.

  He might have been hard to recognize with his ragged limp and all the blood leaking out of him, but the officer’s garb, the medals, and the sharp, angular face left no doubt. Colonel Tatha—the same Colonel Tatha that I had incinerated—raised a hand in weary salute.

  “Sir!” A pair of guards rushed forward to catch him as he fell, wheezing into his arms. “You were reported dead! The survivors from the tower incident said you were—”

  “Well, they were fucking mistaken, weren’t they?” Tatha growled. He waved a bloodied hand, shook his head. “About everything. The whole operation’s fucked. The Imperial forces are moving in. We can’t let them take this city.”

  “Sir?” one of the guards said, scratching his head. “We’ve received no reports of—”

  “You think I did this to myself, you fuck—” Tatha winced as people shot him concerned expressions, shook his head. “We have no time, soldier. We cannot let this city, these people, become subjects of the Imperial oppressors.” He looked around them. “Or have you all forgotten the Mandate?”

  He narrowed his eyes, spat through gritted teeth.

  “Fire upon the city. Leave nothing for them.”

  I could see the doubt on their faces, could feel it in their eyes. This wasn’t the Tatha they remembered. This man cursed too much, stood too low, even if he was wounded. Any one of them could have stepped forward, could have asked just one question, and realized this wasn’t Tatha, this wasn’t a good idea.

  There’s an old saying about betting on a soldier to follow his heart or follow his orders.

  “Signal the cannons,” one of the guards said. “Open fire.”

  But I was far too tired to remember what it was.

  “NO!”

  I leapt out, raised the Cacophony, pointed at them. They whirled on me with their gunpikes and squeezed off panicked shots. Severium charges tore holes in the road and chunks out of the building as I ducked back behind it.

  “You see?” Tatha screamed. “They’re already here! Give the signal! OPEN FIRE!”

  From my corner I could see one of them kneel behind a row of soldiers as they reloaded their gunpikes. I saw her raise a hand cannon into the sky and squeeze the trigger. A flare shot out and cut a red-hot path through the gray dawn. It exploded in the air, a bright flash that couldn’t have lasted more than three seconds.

  That’s just how long it took for everything to get completely fucked.

  Somewhere beyond the city walls, a siren began to blare. And though I couldn’t hear them, I knew soldiers would be scrambling, cannons would be loaded, rising, aiming. And the Imperium would follow suit, calling spells to answer their cannons, mages to answer their guns.

  This city would be a crater before lunch.

  “Withdraw back to the walls!” the soldier in command barked. “Save as many citizens as you can on your way out, but get to safety. This city will be purged.”

  I peered around the corner. The soldiers began backing away, gunpikes raised at my hiding position, ready to fire if I poked more than my nose out. Tatha was bundled away by two other soldiers, carried off to safety. But before they disappeared, I saw him turn. I saw his eyes catch mine.

  And I saw his face split wide with that broad, ugly grin.

  I counted the soldiers. Two dozen. Two dozen guns. Two dozen swords behind those guns. At least one hand cannon, probably a few others. And definitely enough severium charges to blow a small hole in a big wall.

  The Cacophony burned. I looked down. He looked back at me with his brass eyes, his brass grin. And in that voice he didn’t have, I heard him in my head.

  We can kill them.

  He seethed.

  All of them.

  I winced.

  And him.

  He was right. They were many and they were armed. I had just myself and the Cacophony. But together we had every black story torn from the screaming mouths that we’d left in our wake. We could kill them and him with it. We could make this city safe.

  But.

  A voice, not his, whispered in my head.

  You can’t do both.

  Through the coldness in my skin and the heat in my hand, I felt a warmth. Five little points of heat on my back, on my scar.

  Where she had touched me.

  I shut my eyes. I held my breath. I whispered a curse.

  I made my choice.

  The sky was filled with screams.

  The streets were thronged with bodies.

  The people ran, terrified and desperate, fleeing for their lives.

  And for once, it wasn’t my fault.

  Sort of, anyway. I suppose you could make the argument that this entire situation was my fault. And I would have gladly indulged you in that argument long enough to punch you. But that would have required I stop running.

  I mean, it’s not like it was my idea to bomb the city.

  Those citizens who hadn’t seen the flare in the sky had heard the sirens wail. Those who hadn’t heard the sirens had heard the screams of their neighbors as they fled their homes. Those who hadn’t heard either, I assume, saw the population running for their lives and screaming “We’re all going to die” and probably got the general idea.

  They had packs and sat
chels of their belongings—they’d known this day would come since the day the cannons rolled up outside their walls. Some might have held out hope that a Freemaker’s execution would soothe tensions, but as anyone who lives in the Scar eventually learns, hope isn’t a very reliable shield.

  Certainly not against a bunch of giant fucking guns.

  Though they’d known this day was coming, the evacuation was not orderly in the least. They ran in a panicked surge, the only thing keeping them from trampling each other being the fact that they all moved in the same direction.

  Almost all, anyway.

  I was the only idiot pushing against the crowd, suffering elbows to the face and ribs and the occasional glob of saliva from anyone who could be bothered to remember that I had started this whole fucking mess. I took the injuries, to body and pride alike, without a word. I shoved my way, fought through the screaming crowds as they flooded like a tide of panic and shrieks toward the gate.

  I swept my eyes over the crowd for her, but I knew she wouldn’t be there. I might have only met her yesterday, but I knew Liette’s first thoughts wouldn’t be for escape.

  After all, I knew a few things about obsession.

  The crowd was thickening, turning from a tide to a wall. The elbows became fists, the screams became curses, and the fear became fury. There was too much panic, too many people, no way through. I couldn’t move. They were forcing me back. I couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t—

  No.

  The thought punched its way through my panic and into the fore of my mind. I drew my breath in. I drew him out of his sheath.

  I am not leaving here with nothing.

  I pulled a shell out of my satchel, loaded it into his chamber, aimed the Cacophony toward the sky.

  Not again.

  I pulled the trigger. Hellfire shot into the sky and exploded above their heads. The air rushed in on a hot wind as the flame exploded in a laughing blaze. Too high to reach them, the fire nonetheless grasped for the people on red fingers. Their fear renewed, they parted around me, a terrified sea broken and flooding.