City of Games by Jeff Deck

Author:Jeff Deck [Deck, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-18T07:00:00+00:00

10

No. We can’t leave now. Not without Milly. Not after Ulrich died screaming—died screaming my name—trying to save her.

“We won,” I say urgently. “We won the fucking race.”

“Divya,” Sol says, his voice growing weaker. His head is still bleeding.

“We must go,” Priest Lord Guhnach says. “Look what’s happening in the crowd. Look!”

And I look, really look, for the first time since Ulrich got torn apart and consumed by these monsters. The mob is fighting itself. Specifically the silver suits are attacking the blue and gold suits and the occasional red suit, while the brown suits affect neutrality, attempting to flee. The silver suits swing giant hammers and clubs, the better to bash armor with, my dear. Everywhere they hit their opponents, metal twists and doors wrench off and tender flesh and stray teeth fly out. Those who hide out in cans should beware can openers.

“This betrayal has too convenient timing,” says Guhnach. “There was no loyal faction of soldiers, it seems. They serve Chaum—all of them. And now rumors fly that the Soldier Lord’s army breaches the Dragon Gate. Doxe Ungam and his nobles are lost. We must flee. Hurry!”

I can hear the advancement of Chaum’s army, too, thanks to the curse of my upgraded ears: far-off boots marching, screams and wails as the exiles cut a path into the city. But I holler at Guhnach, “We haven’t gotten our friend back.”

“Your friend too is lost.” Guhnach gives a signal to his red acolytes.

I brace for a fight, ready to beat my fists into bloody pulps on the unyielding metals, but the priests have a different strategy than blocking us. One of them scoops me up like I’m a naughty kid, heedless of the blows I rain on its armor. Another does the same for Sol, who in his battered state offers much less resistance. Then Guhnach and its acolytes charge through the crowd.

Silver suits make for us, shoving other Avariccians aside, and from my incapacitated position in a red acolyte’s arms I can do nothing about it. Will it be a maul or a club that bashes my brains out, or the sheer force of a plated arm crashing into my head?

Guhnach shoves to the front of our group and holds up its Relic. The object blazes with a sudden greyish light that physically repels the oncoming soldiers, knocking them on their tin asses. The next wave hesitates at the sight.

“The Hand condemns you!” Guhnach roars at the soldiers.

This, more than anything, keeps them at bay as we dash to the exit. It’s one thing to get into a theological debate about whom one’s god favors and whom it doesn’t. It’s quite another to see the vessel of the god’s power, wielded by the top religious authority in the city, blast attackers backwards.

The city streets are in near as much chaos as the Campo itself. A number of brown suits have retreated here, but now some hesitate. Rethinking their allegiances. Some strike out at their fellow citizens in gold and blue that run past, and skirmishes break out.

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