Page 42 of The Simurgh

‘Has the Lady sent you?’ Sybilla wheeled her chair in closer, Tyvain taking her hands off the handles when a scowl was sent her way.

‘Well, I dunno if she’s officially a lady, but sure as cripes acts like one. Mostly. Now, let’s give this a go, then. And you may want to hold on, if this goes according to plan.’ Phillipa screwed up her face in concentration and grabbed at the string. Her hand swept through it, once, twice, and a third time that was joined by some rather foul language from the ghostly coach driver. ‘Give me a moment. I’ll get this. She said I just need to keep my head clear.’

She grabbed at the string again. Her fingers found a hold. With a whoop, Phillipa tugged at it.

The sewer lid rattled in its frame.

‘What the feckin’–’

Tyvain’s words were lost beneath a blast of wind so fierce that the lid was lifted into the air and flung. Silas barely escaped a beheading, diving for cover, the heavy lump of cast iron shooting through the space where he’d been standing. Wind roared from the hole in the ground. Silas’s coat whipped like a flag caught in a hurricane, for that’s very much what it was. The strength of the wind was astonishing, slipping up from the sewers like the roar of a dragon. But his heart soared.

The scent of jasmine was near to overwhelming.

‘Jane.’ Silas staggered to his feet. The wind slammed against the main gate and shook it vehemently on its hinges. Tyvain raced to his side, dusting off her knees where she too had dived for cover. Sybilla was out of her chair, leaning on it like it were an oversized cane.

‘Silas, the gate. It’s the gate,’ she shouted. ‘I see it now.’

‘Are you certain? We tried so many times,’ he called out over the wind, strands of hair stinging his lips as it whipped about.

‘But I did not have enough of my magick then, nor an angry air elemental to add her touch,’ Sybilla called back. ‘It’s clear now, Silas. The upmost hinge on the right. That’s the linchpin.’

Silas shifted the scythe from bandalore to sword– a basket-hilted broadsword, for he knew better now than to merely pound upon the door with a mallet. He lifted the sword, and ran at the gate.

‘Make it quick, you lot.’ Phillipa’s voice was barely audible over the tumult of the wind. ‘She can’t keep this up much longer.’

Tyvain appeared at his side, her red hair so bullied by the wind it almost covered her face entirely. She ran straight into Silas, nearly earning herself a nasty cut upon the sword.

‘Careful!’ he yelled.

‘Can’t see a feckin’ thing. Where’s the feckin’ gate?’

Silas grabbed her shirt at the shoulder, dragging her with him.

Lalassu beat them to it, already rearing at the gates, aiming her flashing hooves towards the uppermost hinge. The mare landed her feet against the wood just beneath it, a mighty, thunderous slam that had the straining panels shuddering. The blow would have seen all the hinges torn free were the gate as simple and everyday as it appeared.

But this was unnatural resilience. And required unnatural means to undo it.

‘Lalassu! Hold.’ Silas ran at the mare who lowered her hooves, and shifted her body so it stood flush to the gate. He took hold of her mane, turning at an angle so he could leverage himself up. But she knew what he intended. Her mane slipped beneath his feet, lifting him, raising him until he was even with the lay of her back. Silas settled one foot just beneath her wither, the other on the swell of her rump.

‘Wait for me, Silas,’ Sybilla called.

He glanced over his shoulder. The angel had somehow covered the distance without the aid of her chair, but now draped herself over Tyvain.

She reached beneath Lalassu’s neck, and planted her hand against the wood. Silas swore the woodgrains screamed.

‘Now.’ The angel did not shout it, at least, it did not sound so to Silas’s ear. It was a steady, calm call to action that rode over the roar of the wind, the violent rattling of the gate.

Silas raised his blade, defying the weight of the wind that pushed at it, defying all the magick being used here.

His entire sense of the world narrowed down to the small panel of metal and its screws that rested in front of him. One step closer to finding the prince he missed so desperately.

Silas drove the blade down, aiming it for the hinge. The meeting of the two metals sent out a shock wave that nearly saw him topple from Lalassu’s back, but the mare was ready for him. The tendrils of her storm-kissed mane held him steady.

He struck another blow. This one sent white-hot heat through his veins. The boom was deafening. If Sybilla called anything to him, it was lost completely. Even Jane’s cyclonic winds seemed shocked by the sound, holding its breath.

‘Again!’ Silas shouted. ‘Once more.’

The wind lifted, his sword lifted, the Valkyrie raised her hand higher upon the wood panelling.