Chapter 18: Gerald

The trick to using the Craft to generate a concussive force was in how quickly you could flash-heat the air. Any Crafter, and even most rejects, could make a fireball or a whirlwind of flame, given enough time. But a rapid explosion was the kind of skill that separated the masters from the hobbyists.

His master had taught him, in quiet defiance of both custom and the Shadows. Learning how to wield the flame in war was not a skill the Bureau of Oversight tolerated letting many Crafters learn. But Master a'Loria had felt, in what now seemed like sublime wisdom, that wielding the Gloam would demand a similar calibre of willpower to battling another Crafter.

And either his master had held back a great deal when she taught him, or this Rider was quite a bit better at it.

Gerald reached into his pocket with his left hand, as he held a Salamander shell between the fingers of his right fist, pointing the shell straight towards the Rider as it swung its firebrand at him again.

Two steps. First, ignite the shell. The will, sudden awareness, and the life of all that flame stretches out in a flash of blue fire. Once you have that flash of awareness, take it and lash out.

After that, in barely enough time to call it an instant, the flash of blue fire turns into a fierce inferno of heat that could reduce rock into ash. The concussive force of the flash-heated air was breaking apart the stone battlements, and even cracking the Causeway.

And it was barely enough to counter the raging onslaught of fire barreling towards him with each swing of the Rider's firebrand.

He had traded eight blows with the Rider, matching swing with Salamander shot. Each of his own shots, amplified with the shell, could have punched a hole through a building. Whatever the Rider was conjuring was at least as powerful, and wasn't taking advantage of an existing flame.

Despite his own training, he was already beginning to feel the scalding hot winds that rushed around him as he swept fire into motion. The stones beneath his feet were inhospitably hot, searing the bottom of his boots, and his coat had small tendrils of smoke rising from the sleeves.

His right hand clutched another shot while his left dropped the spent shell onto the stone. The battlements had been broken apart a few blows before now, and chunks had been hewn from the Causeway in wide rivulets almost deep enough to hide inside.

But the Rider, that eighteen foot tall creature of flame, did not stop as its horse continued its slow, unrelenting march forward. Each of its steps was slow and careful, and its head was held low to let the Rider's sweeping blows pass overhead.

Gerald nearly groaned aloud as the Rider swept its blade in another vicious arc over the horse, and the air ahead of him erupted into flame.

His right hand was pointed forward almost of its own accord, as he ignited the Salamander shot, and detonated it into a flash of blue fire that screamed into the night as it threw air and stone out of its path.

He followed up with another, before even the blue Salamander fire could fade, and another. He could feel his blows smash into the swirling fires of the Rider's assault, and felt it crumble.

Smiling, he poured more of himself into the attack, and threw the fires at and into the Rider itself.

He felt his fires hit another wall, and felt his attack recoil as if he were trying to punch a brick wall. He flinched back, stunned, and began to let the fires die off. But he felt, through the flame, something coming at him.

He threw himself to the side, and drew his sword.

The fire coming towards him was blade-thin, and astonishingly bright. It passed in a blur, just where he was standing, and tore a deep gash into the stone as it swept by.

He saw the next, and swung his sword into its path. The white-hot wave of fire met the cold-stone, and the arc of fire snapped into pieces, blowing apart as the sword devoured the heat.

The momentary reprieve let him glance to his left, to see the ship flying away, now well clear of this fight.

He noticed it wasn't flying towards the next wall, but lingered in the distance. He knew his Lieutenant wasn't inclined to abandon him at the first sign of trouble, but there was little she could do from the ship, except make it a target.

He gestured with his free hand, and the fires of the exhaust port bloomed into a mass of fire that leapt out and devoured the Rider in a swirling vortex of bright red flame.

The Rider's own fires rose up in defiance, a haze of heat that made his assault feel feel as feeble as trying to destroy one of the walls with a wet rag. He could feel it holding its sword at its side indifferently, and could almost feel its contempt.

Gerald grinned, and beneath his breath, said "Boom."

He took hold of the vortex of flame around the rider, all of the flame swirling harmlessly around its defences, and detonated it.

The thunder crack hit him like a blow, knocking the air out of his lungs and forcing him to his knees. Stone cracked and crumbled, and the exhaust port was blown apart by the force of the explosion.

He coughed hard, forced himself to breathe, and stood.

The causeway had been broken apart in nearly a dozen places. The devastation was so thorough that what was left was barely wider than the length of his sword.

The horse was pushing itself to its feet almost as quickly as he did, hurtling its body up and above its hooves. The Rider, a few yards away, pushed itself up on to its knees, and slowly rose to its feet.

His eyes widened in disbelief, and his free hand went to his pockets, drawing out a small handful of shots. As he readied himself, his thoughts screamed at him frantically.

He had beat its defences! He felt that thing's heat haze crumble as if he held it in his hands. His blow struck so hard he may as well have dropped his Airship on it from half a mile up. By all rights, that thing should be a smudge of hot ash on the walkway.

As Gerald grimaced, and as he held a pair of shells between his fingers, he admitted that what he just did was probably his best move.

The Rider stood, and turned back to its horse, which was trotting in a wide circle around its master. The Rider pointed back down the Causeway, towards the last wall, and the horse turned to canter away.

The Rider turned back, and held out its other hand as flames congealed into a second brand of fire. It paused for a moment until the brand formed fully, then stepped forward and swept one of the swords in a wide arc. As its sword passed, the entire width of the Causeway lit up in flame.

Gerald pointed his hand, and lit both shells into a whirling tornado of fire, hurling the Rider's fire off the battlements and holding the Causeway. At the same time, he seized a small tongue of flame rising from the exhaust port beside the Rider, and before he could use it to attack again, felt the Rider thrust its other firebrand towards him.

He instinctively threw himself to the side, dropping to the ground and rolling as soon as his hands connected with the stone. Where his head was, a moment ago, the air burst apart as fire exploded all around him, the force of the sudden explosion hurtling him across the causeway.

He cursed and spat, seized all of the fire he could reach, and used it to ward off the rest. He coughed hard, spat out the dust in his mouth, and was surprised to find his sword was still in his hand.

He shook his head, and grinned ruefully in admiration. That Rider, whatever else it might be, was talented. It used one hand to stretch his defences thin, forcing him to block the wave of fire, while the other punched through and aimed for a killing blow. As the fires died away, and he saw its form with his eyes again, he was surprised to see it simply standing, brands of flame held lazily in its hands, staring at him.

They stared at each other for a long moment, long enough for the wind to grow cold as distant air reached him again. Comforting in the wake of the fires that left the stone Causeway still smouldering, it buffeted against his shoulder as it swept across the stone. Smoke whisked between them, blowing into the open air to his right.

That attracted his attention.

The wind only ever blew in one direction, in the City. The Bore made the weather. It always blew towards the Spire.

He looked to his left just in time to watch his ship hurl itself through the air faster than he had ever seen it move, sweeping above and across the Causeway despite its nose being pointed towards him. The wind he felt came from its swivel propellers, whirling at full throttle as they tried valiantly to slow its breath-taking speed.

From the railings, blue fire flashed from the muzzles of more than a dozen Salamanders, as every soldier on his ship and a few of the engineers had taken position along the side of the ship. They fired down in a cascading staccato of lancing flame that caused the now horseless Rider to stagger back and hold one of its arms over its face.

Despite flinching reflexively, the rider looked as unfazed as Gerald might under a drizzle. Its fires did not dim, and as it reared its firebrand back to swing at the ship, it looked only as if it were swatting away at a bug.

Gerald cursed, and his hand reached into pocket for more a Salamander shots. But as the Rider prepared to swing, the two newest passengers on his ship reached the railings, and hurled over some sort of large chest over the side.

It was halfway to the ground before Gerald recognized what it was.

The ammo chest.

Beside the pair, the Corporal who gave him her ammo pack levelled a Salamander at the falling chest, even as the Rider began to swing its brand.

Gerald fired every shot he had left, even the half-dozen shots still in his pockets, burning holes through his coat. Eight lances of flame arced into the Rider in the blink of an eye, the force of the shots crashing into its fires and causing it to stumble, its swing flailing impotently into empty air.

The Rider turned back to him with renewed fury, and began to swing its weapon at him. Gerald only smiled and pointed his sword defiantly, almost laughing aloud as the Rider kept its gaze fixed upon him.

As the chest fell next to the Rider, the Corporal fired her Salamander, and struck the chest with a lance of flame that punched straight through it. For Gerald, the moment slowed to a crawl, as he seized the explosion, and poured his will into it.

The crack of blue fire was a luminous ball of light that buffeted at the Airship, throwing it back and causing the crew to stumble as they grasped at the railings for support. Despite the distance, and his own power, he felt the explosion as a blow that forced the air out of his lungs and knocked him to his knees.

He blinked hard and readied himself, as his gaze scanned the causeway. He shook his head, disbelieving his own eyes for a moment, until a second glance confirmed what he saw.

The Rider was gone.

So was a chunk of the causeway half as long as his ship.

He shook his head and hissed through his teeth.

He waved to the ship, and lit a small torch between his fingers. The Midnight Songbird began to fly towards him at a brisk pace, its main propellers just beginning to twirl.

The rope dangled low, draping along the ground, as the ship came towards him. He turned, and started running along the Causeway, towards the next wall as the rope made its way past him. He grabbed it, set his feet in one of the knots, and gestured for them to pull him up.

After few seconds of rapid ascent, he was met at the railings by the old Sergeant, who grabbed him by his arm to help him over. "Sir," he said, quietly but urgently, "You should get to the back of the ship. Immediately."

Gerald noticed the concern in the old soldier's eyes, and decided to take him as seriously as he could. He dashed past, up the short flight of stairs to the raised aft of the ship. Lucille and Lieutenant Rustov were already there, Lucille's knives already in her hands as they both stared down at the grounds on the far side of the Causeway.

The Rider was standing, its fires swirling around in a maelstrom of fury as it stared after the ship. In its hand, the firebrands burned with a renewed intensity as the colour of its flames turned from red, to yellow, and then bright white. The air shimmered around the Rider, and even from this distance, the cracking air rang like a gong.

"Maxwell! Aft propellers to overrun speed! Left turn, twenty degrees!" Gerald shouted, as the Old Sergeant reached the railings beside him. He shook his head sadly, as he stared down at the rider and swallowed hard.

"Stand back," he said to Lucille, who nodded and stepped back from the rails. The Lieutenant and the old Sergeant followed suit after a moment.

The Rider brought its arms to one side of its body, and swung hard. As the brands passed through the air, they seemed to explode, and the Rider vanished behind a new onslaught of fire.