SMOKE AND BLADES

by D Elias Jenkins

  Gaunt waited until the last embers of her soul had vanished and then stood up.

  He drew his war picks and stood in front of the iron door.

  Bracing himself as far against the wall as he could, Gaunt pulled the handle and the door swung open.

  He bobbed his head around.

  Long corridor lit with torches. Stairs leading up at the far end.

  He padded silently along, the torches reflecting in his green lenses. It was eerily quiet but Gaunt was prepared for a fight at any moment.

  He ascended the steps and kicked open the wooden door at their summit.

  Gaunt scanned the corridor left and right.

  He was in a Fallen mansion, one that by the looks of the décor had been long abandoned. A place for Emberdark’s gang to conduct their forbidden rituals away from the eyes of their brethren. The stained glass windows were broken and rain swept in to pool upon the cracked mosaic floor. Pale curtains billowed like ghosts in the wind that rose off the lake. The furniture was scattered, upturned or shattered.

  All across the walls of the once opulent mansion, graffiti had been scrawled. Angelic script that Gaunt’s rudimentary knowledge spoke of old gods and the freedom of appetite. Gaunt gritted his teeth.

  Gaunt advanced down the corridor with his weapons held ready. He passed walls lined with broken mirrors, the cracked segments distorting the real world they reflected. Ten Plague Doctors walked alongside Gaunt on fractured missions of their own.

  Gaunt stopped at a crossroads in the hallway. He stood before a red velvet sofa burst and rotten with damp. Above it the wall was a mirror shattered like a spider web. He stood there watching his own dark shape in the mirror and some distant morsel of knowledge tugged at his mind. Something he should have remembered from his days as a soldier. A little piece of folklore that made it seem strange that there were any mirrors in the mansion at all. Suddenly it came to him.

  Fallen cast no reflection.

  Gaunt did not see the creature standing behind him in the mirror but he sensed it and ducked just as the bladed wing swept across the hallway and lodged into the pale green wall.

  Plaster and dust sprayed across the hall and the huge Fallen snarled as it tried to dislodge its wing. Gaunt sprang up and smashed the hilt of his crow-pick into the being’s face. The Fallen cracked its neck and spat green blood onto the tiled floor and then drew back its lips in a grin. With mighty sweep it tore its wing from the wall and swatted Gaunt across the hall. He smashed through the plaster wall and into the next room, tumbling into a crate of wine glasses and ending up under a stack of fallen chairs.

  Gaunt struggled to his feet and stood face to face with the Fallen. He drew his pistol and fired but the creature folded its wings around itself in a blur and the bullet ricocheted off into the ceiling.

  It smashed a fist into his chest and sent him crashing back into the splintering chairs. It loomed over him with deadly wings drawn back and Gaunt grabbed the first two things his hands found. He thrust the broken shards of chair leg up into the sides of the creature where he knew its wing muscles contracted. It howled in pain and staggered back, the huge wings spasming. Gaunt staggered forward and picked up his revolver. The creature attempted to fold its wings in a shield but they just fluttered and seized up.

  Gaunt pointed the revolver and fired at the Fallen’s heart. It staggered back for a moment then hissed and launched itself at him.

  Gaunt felt the full brunt of the creature hit him and he fell back, firing as he went down. He managed to get his pistol twisted around and dug it into the creature’s protruding ribs. After the fourth shot he felt the deadweight upon him and the death rattle at his ear as the creature died.

  Gaunt could barely breathe. He levered himself up a little and rolled the heavy corpse off him. He sat there for a moment catching his breath. Then he dusted himself off and picked up his war picks. He shook the ringing from his ears and stepped through the hole in the wall his own body had torn and found himself back in the corridor. He reloaded as he turned right and moved along past empty salons and dining rooms.

  He took a left turn and found himself at the bottom of a wide main staircase in a lobby next to the front door. The arched ceiling was like a cathedral in pale green with faded frescos. The once opulent carpet of the stairs was threadbare. The bannisters were filigreed with gold.

  At the top of the stairs stood two more of Emberdark’s faction. They spread their wings and waited for him. They gripped longbows a tall as a man in their hands and quivers of black arrows were strapped to their thighs. Gaunt did not like fighting any enemy who held high ground but these creatures least of all. Not that he had a choice.

  The two creatures flexed the huge wings and took off into the vault of the great hall. They circled him carefully like hawks after a mouse.

  Gaunt raised his pistol to fire a shot but with lightning speed the Fallen notched arrows and let fly. Gaunt rolled across the tiles as meter long projectiles thunked into the floor next to him. The tiles sizzled as the poison on them began to react.

  Gaunt desperately looked around for cover but the Fallen had already notched another arrow in their bows and were sweeping around the high vault waiting for him to come into line.

  Gaunt ran for a heavy sofa, upturned it with a grunt and dove behind it.

  An instant later two black spikes tore through it an inch from his face and reverberated in the wall behind him.

  He knew they would get him with their next shot.

  He slyly took out a fundament stick and struck the fuse with his thumbnail. A rush of air escaped from it like a whistling kettle.

  As he heard the circling Fallen draw another arrow from their quivers, Gaunt jumped up and threw the fundament stick into the air between them. It spun upwards and activated high in the vault. The fundament of air contained within blew outwards with terrific force, shearing he feathers and blades from the creature’s wings, the bows from their hands and the eyes from their faces.

  They spun like shot birds and crumpled onto the staircase in a mass of broken wings and limbs.

  Gaunt walked slowly up the stairs, putting a bullet in the back of each one’s skull as it tried to rise.

  At the top of the stairs he stood on a rain soaked hallway. A skylight high above had been shattered and rain poured in. Ahead was a set of ornate double doors.

  Gaunt walked up and kicked them open.

  The long dining room before him ended in a crescent of night sky and the broken ribs of rafters. The roof at the far end had caved in and the balcony jutted out over the lake. Standing at the end of the balcony was Jonas Reach.

  His pockmarked face was a map of deep creases and scars. The greasy hair fell down to his eyes. Despite the expensive suit and gold timepiece, everything about him looked brutal and base. Sickly like a rabid beast.

  Behind him stood a somber Fallen with its hands clasped.

  Gaunt stepped into the room and threw back the corner of his coat. His hand hovered over his pistol.

  Jonas took a step forward and grinned. His tongue worked the big gap between his front teeth.

  “John, you really are the most tenacious son of a whore I’ve ever met. You say this is all about revenge but I’d say it’s more about embarrassment.”

  Gaunt scanned the room around Jonas for threats. His hand twitched.

  “How so?”

  Jonas spat thick phlegm on the floor.

  “Tracked me across the continent. Found me too late. Tried to stop the attack in Zalenberg. Failed. Tried to protect your wife and unborn little’uns. Failed. I take a guess that due to current state tried to kill yourself. Couldn’t even do that proper. Here ya are. Honestly John, if I was you, I couldn’t even look myself in the mirror. And there are a lot of mirrors in here.”

  Gaunt glanced at the broken mirrors lining the walls.

  “I reckon I’ll be able to look a little longer when your head’s on a plate.”

  Jonas drew back his coat and his meaty hand ho
vered over his holster.

  The two men stared at each other for a long moment as the sound of rain spattered off the broken floor. Gaunt waited until Jonas was out of range of the Fallen’s protective wings. Then he got ready to draw.

  Jonas smiled at him.

  “Thing about looking in the mirror John, is that it don’t show you everything. Just the mask.”

  Suddenly Gaunt was struck with a blow that sent him across the room and careering over the dining table. Glasses and crockery scattered and smashed as he slid off and onto the stone floor. He tried to stand but his head was spinning. In his peripheral vision he saw a huge Fallen descend from its perch above the doorframe and regard him with baleful eyes.

  Jonas laughed and stepped back onto the balcony.

  “You remember Rammiel Emberdark don’t you John? He certainly remembers you? And your good lady too.”

  Gaunt raised his pistol at Jonas but his vision was blurred and he fired wide.

  The somber Fallen beside Jonas grabbed him under the arms and spread its wings. Jonas waved.

  “I’m gonna leave you two to catch up on some old war stories. Ooh, heart in your mouth stuff this…”

  The Fallen fell back off the balcony taking Jonas with him. After a few second’s pause and a rush of air they swooped upwards and off into the night above the lake towards Warrelwall.

  Gaunt tried to run after them but staggered on the balcony and ended up on his knees.

  He raised his gun again but a taloned foot swept up and kicked it clattering across the room. Gaunt turned in time to see Rammiel Emberdark standing over him before he was kicked in the face and thrown across the tiles.

  Gaunt raised himself on his elbows and took off his mask. A drooling trail of bloody spit ran from his lips and he coughed up more.

  Rammiel walked up onto the balcony and circled him.

  “I was hoping you would bring the shreds of your lady upstairs with you. I hate leaving half a job done.”

  Gaunt managed to get to his knees and reached for the long knife in his belt. He drew it but Emberdark’s wing swept across and knocked it from his hand and over the balcony.

  The Fallen crouched down on its haunches.

  “People’s souls taste like their lives. Like a wine with layers and age and character from the soil.”

  Gaunt spat blood at the creature but it backhanded him, rocking him on his knees. Its big skull face with the skin stretched tight drew up close. The breath was rank.

  “Those excuses the black market sneaks in for us, all natural causes and stillborn and the like. Nothing to them. Tastes like ash in my fucking mouth. “

  Gaunt gathered his breath and smiled at the Fallen with pink teeth.

  “I hope they choke you.”

  Emberdark head-butted Gaunt with his thick skull. Gaunt saw the stars whirl in his mind. The Fallen continued talking.

  “The freshness when you rip one right out living thing, it’s like ripe pomegranate, you wouldn’t believe the sensations. The recipes. I wanted to taste your little whore wife so much. I could tell she was with child and sucking out that baby’s soul along with hers would have been exquisite. Only done it once before but it was a taste sensation. Like a little oyster.”

  Emberdark smacked his lips and kissed his fingers. Gaunt felt his consciousness fade in and out.

  The Fallen grabbed Gaunt by the throat and lifted him off his feet. Pressing him against the table, Emberdark opened his mouth and dislocated his jaw. Gaunt stared in to the exaggerated oval as Emberdark activated the organ within his throat that absorbed the essence of living things. His taloned thumb pressed on Gaunt’s chin and forced his mouth open.

  The Fallen inhaled in a long wheezing breath and closed its eyes in anticipation. Then it stopped and a look of confusion fell upon its face. Emberdark turned Gaunt’s head this way and that, peering in to the mouth.

  “Where is it?”

  Gaunt managed a bloody smile.

  “Ain’t nothing in there but trouble, Death-Head.”

  Gaunt brought Izzy’s dagger up under the Fallen’s chin and impaled it right up to the hilt. The creature staggered back, choking and scratching at its jaw. The grey tongue lolled out and accidentally severed itself on the blade. It tried to close its unnaturally wide mouth but the dagger kept it propped it open.

  Gaunt fell to the floor and reached into his belt for the last fundament stick.

  He jammed it in to the Fallen’s mouth and kicked it in the stomach, leaving the fuse trailing from its lips like a worm.

  Maeve Scurlock kicked open the doors and stood there in the rain blown room.

  She saw a tall dark figure standing over a kneeling Fallen. The creature was choking and clutching at its throat. The man had lit a cigar and was taking a long drag.

  She pointed her pistol at the man and shouted.

  “John Gaunt!”

  The man turned to look at her. His blue eyes were cold and hard but glimmered with intelligence.

  Maeve stepped in to the room with her heart beating hard.

  “Captain John Gaunt. Of Free Reign’s own Wing Clippers. Veteran of the War of Five Eagles, the Krazen campaign, winner of the Black Reign medal for gallantry. Wounded in action hunting known criminal and terrorist Jonas Reach in Zalenberg one year ago. Husband of Izabella Gaunt, killed in action on that same mission.”

  The man stood quietly, regarding her with narrowed eyes. She stepped a little closer but kept her pistol trained.

  “I am speaking to the right man, am I not? Otherwise that was all quite embarrassing.”

  Gaunt took his cigar from his lips. He did not flinch of blink. Blood covered his face and clothes but he registered no pain.

  “You’re talking to a ghost, lady. Man you’re speaking of used to live here, but no one’s home at present. Try another time.”

  Maeve looked to the stricken angel, blood trickling from its throat. She called across to Gaunt with as much authority as she could muster.

  “That would be Rammiel Emberdark. I’ve received information that he’s been breaking Fallen taboos and has committed crimes punishable by imprisonment. I am an Inspector in the Free Reign Wardens and I will be taking this being into my custody. Do you understand?”

  The Vigilante just stared at her for a long while, with blood dripping from his chin.

  “He’s unwell, Inspector. He needs medicine.”

  Maeve stepped closer and within good range of the Vigilante.

  “I’ve seen your treatments stuck up on walls all across this city. I’ll be honest, I don’t think they’ll be getting any better.”

  “Oh I think they’re much better.”

  Maeve scanned the room and quickly wiped the sweat from her forehead.

  “Where’s your spooky friend?”

  “Elsewhere.”

  Maeve stood there breathing hard. Somewhere in the mansion she heard the distant footfalls of wardens stomping in her direction. If she was honest she was damn grateful for the backup.

  “Captain Gaunt. I know you have suffered and lost. I want to clean this city up as much as you do. But this is my job. Without rule of law in a city this big, with this many races and this much sorcery, we have nothing. It’s chaos.”

  The Vigilante flicked his eyes to the doors as he heard the approaching wardens.

  “It’s already chaos. And all your fussing constables can’t help it.”

  Maeve pulled back the hammer of her revolver.

  “It’s not perfect. Nothing ever is. But we’re doing the best we can with what we have. I sympathize with your cause, I do. But you need to hand that Fallen over into my care.”

  They stood there in stalemate as the rain battered down and the boots stomped closer. Maeve thought she caught something else in the Vigilante’s eyes, an expression that was akin to a smile. A shared moment of respect.

  He spoke quietly to her and his voice sounded more like the man she imagined he once was.

  “They lit the first spark, Insp
ector. They just didn’t realize where the fuse led.”

  Then the Vigilante placed his cigar stub onto the fuse trailing from the Fallen’s mouth. It sparked up and the creature started hissing in panic through its blood filled throat. The Vigilante cocked his head at Maeve.

  “You either better take that shot or get behind some cover. This one’s gonna be messy.”

  Maeve took careful aim along the foresight of her pistol. She beaded up on the Vigilante’s chest and tried to steady her breathing. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

  She shook her head and looked up into his blue eyes. With a sigh through gritted teeth she hissed at him.

  “Go! Get the fuck out of here before they come.”

  Maeve de-cocked her weapon and ran for cover behind a green marble pillar.

  She heard the choking cries of the Fallen before the expanding air fundament took his head clean off. Bone and chunks of brain spattered off the walls all around her. Her ears rang and her thoughts rattled about her skull.

  When she regained her senses, Maeve was staring up at a wall of uniformed wardens, their weapons drawn. They stood at the door looking in with expressions of confusion. Constable Vark ran in and helped her to her feet.

  “I couldn’t let you face it alone, Inspector, so I followed you. I’m sorry.” Maeve brushed him off.

  “Thank you. I’m fine.”

  Then she looked up at him.

  “Thank you Vark.”

  The rosy faced young officer stared around the room at the carnage.

  “Did you get him ma’am? The Vigilante was he here?”

  Maeve put one hand on the pillar to support her and looked around the room. The walls and floor were coated with gore.

  “No. He was gone before I arrived.”

  Vark looked at her and Maeve was unsure if he believed her. Then he nodded and smiled.

  “Still finding it artistic Constable Vark?”

  Vark covered his nose against the stench.

  “Not really my cup of tea Inspector.”

  Maeve looked to the balcony and wondered if the Vigilante had survived the fall into the icy water of the lake. She remembered how it felt for her only a few hours before.