by Ann Aguirre
He shrugged. “It’s a risk, but better it than us, and it’s streaming data as we speak.”
Moving closer, she saw the live feed on his screen. Buildings on fire, Eldritch against Eldritch fighting in the streets—as they watched, a woman dropped to her knees, maybe to beg for her life, and the man looming over her smashed her skull with a makeshift club. Every part of her itched to charge in and start kicking ass, but she’d promised not to be impetuous. It wouldn’t help the people of Ancalen if she got herself killed, overwhelmed by sheer numbers. While Gavriel had his bad points, he knew how to kill quietly, and he always got away with it.
That’s what we need right now. Stay calm.
“Understood,” she forced herself to say. “How’s your shoulder, by the way?”
“A bit sore, but it won’t slow me down.”
Mags waited in tense silence until the drone returned and Gavriel analyzed the number of targets it had detected. Finally, he glanced up with a grim expression. “There are more combatants than I’d hoped, at least fifty. Many of the townspeople have taken shelter in a stone building at the south edge of town. They don’t seem to be letting anyone else in, either, so those caught outside are left to fend for themselves.”
“There’s no militia or police force?”
“It’s up to the governor of the territory. In this case, that would be Ruark Gilbraith, and he follows Lord Talfayen’s playbook in that regard.”
“Not giving a shit, you mean?”
“Exactly so. He would certainly send a punitive force if their taxes went unpaid, but he has nothing to gain from saving lives or defending people from civil unrest.”
Mags growled. “He’s probably hoping this will make folks blame Thalia.”
“That’s one plausible outcome,” Gavriel agreed. “This is our entry point. Most of the fighting is centered in the square. If we approach from here…” He indicated a spot on the screen. “There’s good cover and the shadows will be with us as the sun sets. Night will grant us greater anonymity and allow us to pick them off without them realizing we’ve joined the fight.”
“I like the way you think.”
“This is what I was trained to do. Ordinarily, I’d have a specific target, someone important and well protected. Tonight, my goal will be to kill as many as I can.”
“Should we make this more interesting?” Mags never could resist a good bet.
Gavriel raised a brow. “Life and death stakes aren’t interesting enough for you?”
“Are you in or out?”
“I’m listening.”
“The highest kill count wins a favor from the loser.”
“Anything we want?” he asked.
Briefly, she considered tagging a self-protective caveat into the wording. Nah. Where was the fun in that? He wasn’t going to win, and even if he did, he’d probably ask for something he hoped would embarrass her.
Yeah, good luck with that.
“Yep, anything at all. No whining, no refusal.”
“Then I’m in. I’ll attach my phone to my belt and start recording once we’re in combat range.”
“Good idea. I’ll do the same. We can count kills together afterward, so there’s no doubt who won.”
Sighing, Gavriel shook his head with an expression Mags couldn’t interpret. “I truly don’t know what to make of you. This should be a nightmare for me because I must kill my own people yet now, I’m almost looking forward to it. I ought to find everything about you appalling, but…”
Don’t finish that sentence.
“It’s horrifying,” she said quietly. “But you’re helping your people too, doing awful things so they don’t have to. And this is a defense mechanism, I guess. Turning the terrible thing into a game so I don’t focus on how bad it is.” She hesitated, weighing whether to say this and deciding to go for it. “Maybe this sounds callous, but you can’t act if you think too much about your enemies. Why are they doing this? What made them take that drug? That doesn’t matter anymore, really. Even if they did shitty things for good reasons, they’re hurting people and they have to be stopped.”
Gavriel let out a long, slow breath. Somehow, she always knew what to say. He hadn’t thought he had any conscience left, but the frayed tatters of it had been pulling at him. “Nobody will thank me. If Gilbraith prevails, I’ll become a butcher who preyed on this town, used it as my private hunting ground to indulge my taste for blood sport.”
“Then we make sure he doesn’t win,” Magda said firmly.
Nodding, he indicated the path before them. “Let’s go.”
He could’ve said thanks, but she’d made it clear that he ought to stay on his side of the line. While she hadn’t said they were done playing sex games, he’d grasped that fact from her behavior. He should be glad that she wouldn’t cling to him and demand emotional outpourings that would confound him and leave him feeling baffled and inadequate. This, this was perfect.
A bit of entertainment, no strings and no regrets. Exactly right.
Exactly over.
They had worked together well before they had sex, and there was no reason past coitus should inhibit their ability to cooperate. He fixed his mind on the mission and led the way around, staying on the other side of the slope. It was unlikely that the chaotic force pillaging Ancalen would have posted a watch, but it paid to be cautious.
If only I’d been careful at the retreat. Grimly, Gavriel banished the memory—the dream too—from his head. Superstitious, but he feared past failure might cloud his judgment and impact tonight’s outcome. Part of him couldn’t believe he was moving to pacify an entire town in enemy territory because Magda said it was the right thing to do.
While other reasons motivated his decision also, he wanted her to think well of him, even if their brief encounter was done. Of all the Animari in the world, her opinion was the only one that mattered.
He reached the point where they’d enter town and dismounted. After tethering Gray loosely, so he could pull free if they were gone too long, Gavriel patted the animal and turned to survey Ancalen. Magda came up behind him, hunched low and not particularly adept at it. Her awkward attempts to hide made him smile.
So many things about her did.
“Why have we stopped?” she whispered.
“I’m waiting for the sun to drop a little more. Though the days are a bit longer than they were in the heart of winter, it still gets dark relatively early.”
“Understood. There’s a little food left. We should eat before we move anyway.”
“Help yourself.” Gavriel preferred not to fight on a full stomach. Food made him sluggish, slowed his reaction times, and sometimes, if the conflict got bloody, it was better not to have anything to toss up.
“I’ll wait if you’re not having anything,” she said.
A flash of annoyance made him glare at her. “Don’t be foolish. Your metabolism is higher than mine, and you haven’t eaten properly for days.”
“I won’t pass out,” she muttered.
“No, but you will digest muscle and lose strength.”
Magda blinked at him, seeming startled by his awareness. “Did you study up on Animari physiology or something?”
Not for all the gold in the world would Gavriel admit that he had, but probably not for reasons that would please her. He’d wanted to know how to make Pru Bristow suffer, how long she could go without food, and how much he could torment her without letting her die. He hadn’t given up the idea either, though he had no doubt Dominic Asher would end him for it. Currently, the issue was tabled, until they dealt with Tycho Vega. Then he’d decide once and for all—life or death, forgiveness or revenge.
“Or something. Eat your food, dammit.”
As expected, his bad temper didn’t faze her, though she did consume the last of their provisions as the shadows lengthened. Finally, he gave a silent signal, leading the way down the hillside toward the dilapidated buildings on the south end of town.
Ancalen was a newe
r settlement than Kelnora with more wood buildings. Therefore, it was also more flammable. The fires were spreading, leaping from house to house, and soon there would be little left to save. If there ever had been an active fire brigade, they were either dead or fleeing, no help to be had there.
“If we can stop the fighting, maybe we can organize the citizens to put out the fires,” Magda said at his shoulder.
Odd how closely her thoughts often paralleled his, though she usually went a step further, seeking a means to help rather than dismissing a cause as lost.
“One step at a time.” Nearby, he spotted a fallen combatant, and nobody had the presence of mind to loot the body. After grabbing the rifle on the ground, he handed it to her. “Get to high ground, away from the blaze, and cover me. You’ll be more useful if I don’t have to worry about you.”
She stared at him, fury and incredulity warring in her face. “Are you serious? Do you honestly think I’ll hinder you on the ground? I could kick your ass.”
“You could, but not silently. You can’t disappear afterward, either. This is what I do, and you are not asking how high.”
“When I said that, I didn’t think you’d actually make me jump,” she muttered.
“Climb, you mean.” Gavriel scanned the terrain quickly and pointed. “The church tower looks sound enough. The chapel is stone and it has a view of the square. When I strike, take out as many as you can from up there and demolish anyone stupid enough to try to melee you.”
Finally, she sighed. “Tactically, it’s a good position. It will be hard for them to mass enough numbers to overwhelm me in the tower, even if I run out of ammo, and you’re right. I can’t vanish after a kill like you do. I won’t be a liability.” With a quick salute, she turned and hurried toward the cathedral.
Freeing Gavriel to head for the square, where the mayhem was taking place.
He was used to fighting alone; this was better. If he was constantly watching out for Magda, he’d make a mistake sooner rather than later, and under these circumstances, it might be fatal. He lacked her ability to heal grievous wounds, and he couldn’t walk away from poison either.
What he could do was become a shadow. And he did.
First, he centered himself, slowing his heart and his breathing. This gift also let him fool technical equipment, but the brain sensed things in much the same way. Gavriel let go of everything for the first time in a long while and became what he was most famous for—Death’s Shadow.
Even his blades were black, carved from obsidian and tipped with volcanic glass. The handles were wrapped in onyx leather, a final gift from Oriel. That day, there had been no last words, no inkling that things would go terribly wrong, and that Gavriel would be left with these knives instead of his brother.
Now he knew all too well how quickly an encounter could go bad, how unforeseen factors could change everything. That was precisely why he’d sent Magda to the tower. Some mistakes must never be repeated.
In the plaza, the Dead-Eyes were holding court, judging captives by some mysterious criteria. Either they were searching for something or playing a monstrous game because they let nobody live at the end of their diabolical interrogation. The one in charge couldn’t be on the drug, however, because he was questioning the prisoners, and none of the Dead-Eyes Gavriel had met could speak.
I’ll leave him for last. If he’s asking questions, he can answer them as well.
Staying to the shadows, he stalked to the edge the group and struck. He wrapped his arm around a Dead-Eyes’ neck and twisted. Sometimes this didn’t work, and he had to follow with a silent cut, but the spine popped, and the body went limp in his arms. Perfect. Gavriel dragged the corpse back toward the rim of the frozen fountain. So far, so good.
He hoped Magda wouldn’t open fire until he was spotted. If she let him, he could execute quite a few without anyone noticing. Though he’d always secretly hated the nickname his people had bestowed, they’d done it for good reason.
If murder was money, he’d be one of the richest men alive.
18.
There were two Dead-Eyes guarding the church, which suggested something important might be inside. Magda made a snap decision and went up the exterior wall, free-climbing as fast she could manage. The roof tiles were old, but they should hold her weight.
Only need to take five or six steps anyway.
Remembering their bet with a faint smile, she activated her camera and whispered, “It’s on, Gavriel,” then she clipped it to her belt.
Time to play.
After setting the rifle down carefully, she launched herself from directly above her targets and let her weight do the hard work. They both dropped, and she snapped the first one’s neck before he could get up. The other one brought up a gun, but she kicked it away and then followed with an open palm slam to his temples. Normally that would be a stunning blow, not a kill shot, but she didn’t pull the strike, and Eldritch bones couldn’t survive Animari strength. His skull caved in with a sickening crunch, and viscous blood greased her palm.
Mags smeared that on the dead man’s clothing, looking for a likely place to hide the bodies. There. Twenty meters away, she spotted a trash receptacle, big enough to hold these two. She grabbed one, then the other, one on each shoulder, and race-walked to the bin. A couple of heaves, and she hid the evidence of her kills.
Good, Gavriel would be proud.
Why am I thinking about him anyway?
She hurried to the back of the church and collected the bag one of them had dropped, but it only contained a stash of the med that was making the Eldritch weird and violent. Her blood chilled when she recognized the trademark stamped on the vial, even as relief spilled through her.
That’s from Burnt Amber’s lab. Seems like the leak is a bear problem.
It didn’t improve the situation in Ancalen, but she could contact Callum McRae about this; it wasn’t an Ash Valley issue. They still had Slay at large, a fact she hadn’t forgotten despite taking this detour.
I’ll keep this as evidence in case the war priest doesn’t believe me.
Mags slung the sack over her shoulder and went back up the wall to retrieve her rifle. There, she hesitated. Most likely she could access internal stairs if she went in the back of the chapel, but there might be more guards inside. Ascending outside didn’t look impossible but scaling the tower itself might be a problem without equipment, and she risked being spotted.
Inside, it is.
She dropped from the roof a second time, wincing at the impact in her knees. Their bodies really had cushioned her fall. Then she crept up to the back of the church, listening for signs of life within. If anyone was talking, she’d be able to hear it, but the Dead-Eyes were silent as the grave. To her, it seemed like the longer they took the drug, the more their minds deteriorated, until they were only creatures of rage and violence. Mags suspected that they probably couldn’t even follow orders after a while. Somebody had tried to create super soldiers and wound up with a bunch of unruly addicts instead. She’d probably have more sympathy for the Eldritch who got hooked on the stuff, if she didn’t feel sure they’d started taking it out of fear of the ‘brutal and bestial’ Animari.
The door was locked, and she wasn’t about to waste time searching their bodies for the key, so Mags used brute force to break off the door handle. That let her pull it open, and she slipped inside, paused to breathe in, searching for more sentries. The fires burning all around messed with her senses, filling her lungs with smoke.
Damn. I’ll just go carefully.
Sneaking around like this felt weird. She was used to hunting as a tiger, not crouching on two legs while carrying a rifle, but she’d promised to follow Gavriel’s orders, at least for this engagement. Funny thing was, he didn’t even ask if she could shoot. That unquestioning confidence in her skills felt pretty good. In fact, Mags was better at unarmed combat, but she did weapons training too, especially after the conclave went boom.
There were no guards in t
he main worship area, and she debated silently whether she should search the place first, looking for enemies and maybe to find out what those Dead-Eyes were guarding. Finally, she shook her head and started looking for the stairs.
Anyone in here would find her the minute she started shooting and she’d told Gavriel she’d cover him. The longer she spent inside the church, the longer he was working on his own.
That wasn’t the plan.
Behind the chancel, she found a narrow staircase that led to a loft overlooking the pulpit. Mags headed up, keeping her head on swivel. The rifle was a welcome and reassuring weight, but she only had so many rounds.
Got to make them count.
The stairs spiraled upward, until she came to a small door. She could feel the cold air coming from the cracks in the frame. This must be the entrance to the tower. She didn’t have to break the knob this time, as it wasn’t locked.
The door opened easily, and ancient steps led into darkness. She could see just fine with the ambient light, however, so she went up quickly, practically jogging. It had been too long since she split from Gavriel; he might need help.
Normally, she might’ve admired the view for a few seconds, but hell, everything was on fire, and she was scanning for a ghost. This would be an impossible job for someone without special abilities or advanced equipment, but only a bird shifter could’ve done better for hunting at night.
There he is.
Mags caught the barest flicker of movement as Gavriel took down a target, then she lost track of him. It was like he could fucking vanish at will. A little shiver ran through her, as reluctant admiration sprang to life.
No wonder they call him Death’s Shadow.
She didn’t make a move, biding her time while he worked, picking off targets with a quickness and precision that amazed her. What the hell was he doing with all the bodies?
Soon the square was visibly less crowded; she guessed he’d taken out ten potential combatants, at least. A few times, she tensed because someone would glance to the side, as if wondering where the person next to them went, but the Dead-Eyes weren’t sharp thinkers, and the asshole in charge was too busy screaming at the hostages to notice what was happening beyond his immediate proximity.