City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(139)

A wind stirs along Saint Vasily Lane. As if in a dream, dozens of pedestrians suddenly walk to the center of the street, stand together shoulder to shoulder, and face the north. They are mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters; none respond to plaintive cries from friends and family asking what’s wrong.

The wind increases. Citizens of Bulikov are forced to raise their hands and turn their faces away. There is a clinking and clanking, as if the wind has somehow blown thousands of metal plates down the street. When the people lower their hands and look back, they are shocked by what they see:

In place of the pedestrians, five hundred armored soldiers now stand in the streets. The armor they wear is huge and thick and gleaming, protecting every inch of their bodies: it is so thick they might not even be soldiers, but animated suits of armor. Their helmets depict the glinting visages of shrieking demons; their swords are immense, nearly six feet in length, and flicker with a cold fire.

Only Shara Komayd, who glances at the soldiers as she sprints to the embassy, recognizes them from somewhere: had she not asked Sigrud to tear that painting off of CD Troonyi’s wall mere weeks ago?

Kolkan’s voice says, “YOU WILL KNOW PAIN, AND THROUGH IT YOU WILL KNOW RIGHTEOUSNESS.”

The soldiers turn to the people on the sidewalk and raise their swords.

*

Mulaghesh sees Shara running toward the fortifications and bellows to her, “What in hells is that voice talking about?”

“It’s Kolkan!” Shara says, panting.

“The god?”

“Yes! He’s talking about his edicts!”

“White stone floors? Eating bright fruits?”

Soldiers help Shara scramble over the fortifications. “Those are his edicts, yes!”

“And where the hells did these white buildings come from?”

“It’s Old Bulikov,” says Shara. “Parts of Bulikov as it was. He must have pulled it all back in and tossed the buildings in with the normal Bulikov!”

“I have …” Mulaghesh searches for words. “I have no f*cking idea what you are talking about! Forget all that—what’s he going to do now? What do we do now?”

The sound of tinny screams echoes through the streets. Mulaghesh shades her eyes to look. “There are people running toward us,” she says. “What’s going on?”

“Have you ever seen the painting The Night of the Red Sands? By Rishna?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember the Continental army the Kaj faces in that painting?”

“Yeah, I—” Mulaghesh lowers her hand from her eyes, and turns to stare at Shara in horror.

“Yes,” says Shara. “It seems Rishna was quite accurate in her depiction.”

“How … ? How many?”

“Hundreds,” says Shara. “And Kolkan can make more if he chooses. He is a Divinity, after all. But I may have a weapon he doesn’t know about.”

Shara races upstairs to her office with Mulaghesh. She opens a drawer in her desk and takes out the piece of black lead she had reworked into the point of a bolt. “This,” she says softly.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“It’s the metal the Kaj used to kill the Divinities,” says Shara. “It’s immune to any Divine influence. He fired this very shot through the skull of Jukov, executing him. All we have to do is lure Kolkan out, and then someone, maybe, can use it to take a shot at him, just like during the Great War.”

“Okay. … Assuming everything you’re saying is true,” says Mulaghesh, “during the Great War, wouldn’t the Kaj have had hundreds or thousands of those little shots?”

“Well … Yes.”

“And you’ve only got the one?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. And how do we lure him out?”

“Well …”

“And what if that shot misses?”

“Well, we’d … we’d have to go and get it, I suppose.”

Mulaghesh gapes at Shara with an expression equal parts disbelief and exasperation.

“I didn’t have time to plan this out!” says Shara.

“I couldn’t tell!”

“I had no idea this’d be happening now!”

“Well, it is! And I must admit, Chief Diplomat, I do not have much faith that that plan will work!”

The floor rumbles. Soldiers begin shouting outside. Shara and Mulaghesh reach the window just in time to see a four-story building ten blocks down collapsing as if it’s been demolished. Glimmering steel shapes come marching out of the dust and debris, holding their giant swords straight up.

“They’re strong enough to destroy buildings?” says Shara aloud in disbelief.

“And what is your plan,” asks Mulaghesh, “for dealing with those?”

She adjusts her glasses. “How much weaponry do you have?”

“We have the typical bolt-shots, plus five repeat-shot small cannons.” She makes a small “O” with her forefinger and thumb. “You crank them and they fire rounds about this big twice every second.”

“No other large cannonry?”

She shakes her head. “None. The treaties outlawed mobile heavy cannonry on the Continent.”

“And do you think those rounds could pierce the armor of those … things?”