Night Fall

by Simon R. Green

  Everywhere Eddie looked, he saw broken hearts and thousand-yard stares. These weren’t just people who’d lost everything; these were people who’d had it torn away, then crushed. My family did this, Eddie thought. How could we have lost our way so quickly? Or were we always like this, and I just wouldn’t let myself see it? He looked around sharply as the Lord of Thorns came over to join them.

  “Everyone here is under my protection,” he said, in his voice like old stones rasping together. “No one will threaten them again, without going through me first.”

  Eddie went to introduce his parents, but the Lord of Thorns stopped him with an upraised hand.

  “I know who everyone is,” he said. “Comes with the job. Just as I know that the Droods are almost upon us. What I don’t know . . . is whether I have the power to stop them. I have fallen a long way from what I was meant to be.”

  “How close are they?” said Molly.

  “I can hear them,” said the Lord of Thorns.

  Eddie hurried out of the church. Molly fell in beside him, and his parents brought up the rear. They didn’t say anything. There was nothing that needed saying.

  * * *

  • • •

  Out in the night, the street was empty, but Eddie could hear the heavy tramp of armoured feet, drawing steadily closer. Eddie started toward the sound, and the others went with him. They’d only made it half-way down the street when a large company of Droods in their armour came into view at the far end. Dozens of golden figures, as implacable and unstoppable as an on-coming storm. The leader saw who was waiting for them and stopped her people where they were. She came forward alone and armoured down, revealing the Matriarch. She looked at Eddie and Molly, then at Charles and Emily, before fixing her gaze on Eddie.

  “What are you doing here, Eddie? You weren’t supposed to be here.”

  “What are you doing here?” said Eddie. “St Jude’s was never supposed to be one of our targets. This church is older, and arguably more important, than our entire family. It was a force for good before we even existed; and you want to destroy it?”

  “Of course I don’t want to destroy St Jude’s!” said the Matriarch. “I’m just here to take control of an important location, to make it clear to the Nightside who’s really in charge.”

  “What about the people sheltering inside the church?” said Molly.

  “They’ll find somewhere else to go,” said the Matriarch, keeping her gazed fixed on Eddie. “We’ll just occupy the church, to make our point, then leave a few Droods on guard while we move on. Access to the church will be allowed, for truly deserving people, after the war is over. No one needs to get hurt. All they have to do is stand aside and let us do our job.”

  “Listen to yourself,” said Eddie. “Who are we, to decide who should be allowed sanctuary in St Jude’s? Are you really ready to kill the people sheltering here if they won’t leave, just to make a point? There’s been too much killing, Matriarch.”

  “I make the decisions for this family!” the Matriarch said sharply. “You owe me a duty of obedience!”

  “Please,” said Eddie. “Remember who you’re talking to. I took control of the family once before, to save it from itself. I can do it again if I have to.”

  “Damn right,” said Charles.

  “For a family to lose its soul once is bad enough,” said Emily, “but twice . . .”

  The Matriarch glared at them. “We should never have allowed you to come back. Once a traitor, always a traitor!”

  “Oh . . . You really shouldn’t have said that,” murmured Molly.

  Eddie armoured up, and so did the Matriarch. The two of them stood face-to-face in the middle of the street. The Matriarch grew a long sword from her hand, and so did Eddie. Their blades slammed together, and just like that the fight was on.

  The rest of the Droods came surging forward. Charles suddenly had a glowing quarterstaff in his hands. He ran forward into the midst of them, striking about him with a speed and skill they couldn’t match. He couldn’t hurt the Droods in their armour, so he knocked them this way and that, tripped them up, and ran them ragged trying to keep up with him. Emily produced an elven wand and pointed it sharply at this Drood and that. Their armour seized up, holding them in place like golden statues. The effect didn’t last long, but Emily just kept pointing the wand, and Droods kept crashing to a halt. Molly conjured up a raging storm wind that howled down the street, picking up Droods and sending them tumbling helplessly.

  And then the Matriarch stepped back from Eddie, made her sword disappear, and yelled at her people to stand down. She armoured down, and so did Eddie.

  “This is just a distraction,” she said flatly. “I don’t have time to waste on this; I have a war to win.”

  Eddie just nodded. He was ready to let the Matriarch save face in front of her people as long as she left St Jude’s alone. Emily unfroze the few Droods still held in place by her wand, and Charles strolled back through the Droods, leaning just a little heavily on his quarterstaff. Molly stood ready to go again. The Matriarch looked at Eddie.

  “The Sarjeant is on his way, with the main body of Droods,” she said. “I’ll have to tell him about this, and you know how he’ll react.”

  “Let him come,” said Eddie. “Even better, I’ll go and meet him. Where is he?”

  “Just walk down the street,” said the Matriarch. “He’s closer than you think.”

  “Isn’t he always,” said Eddie. “Okay, we’ll go this way, you choose another. But, Maggie . . . this isn’t over. If you don’t change your tactics, if you don’t stop killing people just because they’re in your way . . . I will stop you.”

  “You’d turn on your own family?” said the Matriarch. “Again?”

  “Maybe if I’d hung around long enough to fix it properly, this wouldn’t have happened,” said Eddie.

  “You were lucky, last time,” said the Matriarch. “And you’re in the place where luck runs out.”

  She led her people away. Eddie took his people off to have a word with the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

  * * *

  • • •

  Meanwhile, St Jude’s had another visitor: the Soulhunter known as Demonbane. He refused to go inside the church, just stood at the doorway and yelled for the Lord of Thorns to come out and play. Demonbane looked very out of place in his lavender jacket, with his relentless smile and haunted eyes, but then, he always did. The Lord of Thorns came to the doorway and nodded to him.

  “Demonbane . . . You told me you’d never come back to the Nightside after what happened last time.”

  “That was then, this is somewhen not then,” Demonbane said cheerfully. “I’m here to help!”

  The Lord of Thorns looked at him. “You?”

  “I’m a Soulhunter. Saving souls is what we do. Normally that involves me sending my mind into the Up and Out to find them after they’ve been taken, then fighting Dragons and Wolves and Hags to get them back, so I can take them home again. But hey, I’m flexible.”

  “You’re used to fighting demons,” said the Lord of Thorns. “These are Droods. They’re different.”

  “So am I!” said Demonbane. “The Droods called me here to help them, but having seen how badly they’re messing things up . . . I don’t think so. I’ve never seen so many souls ripped loose and running around screaming. That’s the kind of thing that attracts attention from the Outer Reaches. No, it’s obvious which side I should be on.”

  “The Nightside?” said the Lord of Thorns.

  “No, silly! Yours. I can’t defend the Nightside, I’m not even sure I’d want to; but St Jude’s . . . I can do that.”

  “Then stand your ground here,” said the Lord of Thorns. “The Sarjeant-at-Arms and his people will be arriving soon. It’s up to you to hold them off.”

  “Got it!” said Demonbane. “They shall not pass! Oh, this is g
oing to be fun!”

  “You have a strange definition of fun,” said the Lord of Thorns. “But, then, you always did.”

  He went back inside. Demonbane put his back to the open doorway and faced the street. He rubbed his hands together eagerly and hummed a merry tune, looking forward to something as simple as human enemies. For someone who spent most of his time throwing his mind out to the dark places between the stars to fight eaters of souls, taking on a few Droods seemed like a nice change of pace. His ears pricked up as he heard the sound of armoured feet approaching, and he smiled a truly unpleasant smile. He leaned on the door-frame, adopting a deliberately and even offensively louche pose, and waited for the Droods to come to him. Dozens of armoured figures came marching down the street. Demonbane looked at them and raised a single eyebrow. The Drood leader brought his people crashing to a halt. The Sarjeant lowered his armour, walked forward, and frowned at Demonbane.

  “How did you get here before us?”

  “Partly because I haven’t been running around the Nightside cutting people down and stamping on their heads,” said Demonbane. “But mostly because I’m a Soulhunter, and you’re not. Now, I have drawn a line in the sand, and you’re on the other side of it. In fact, you’re so far on the other side you probably can’t even see the line from where you are. So it’s just as well I’m here to point it out for you. I have sworn to defend St Jude’s against all comers. And most especially from the likes of you. None shall pass!”

  “Have you lost your sanity?” said the Sarjeant.

  “What, that old thing? I threw it away years ago. It just got in the way,” said Demonbane.

  “I don’t have time for this,” said the Sarjeant. “St Jude’s is a designated target. Move, or we’ll move you.”

  “Not on the best day you ever had,” said Demonbane. And he reached out and tweaked the Sarjeant’s nose.

  The Sarjeant stumbled backwards, pulled on his armour, and yelled for his people to attack. They came storming forward, and Demonbane straightened up in the doorway. His smile disappeared. Demonbane opened his mind and threw it at the Droods like a weapon. And the mind that walked among the stars, in the farthest reaches of the longest night of all, to fight far worse things than Droods . . . slammed into their minds like a wrecking ball.

  The Droods cried out and stumbled this way and that, holding their armoured heads with their armoured hands, as Demonbane went rampaging through their thoughts and trampling over their souls. He could see into all of them, as though they were made of glass. He confronted the Droods with memories of their past sins and raised up the faces of all those they’d killed, to condemn their killers. Demonbane stirred his barbed mental fingers in Drood psyches and hit them where they lived. Droods fell to their knees, helpless in the grip of despair and self-loathing. Even the Sarjeant-at-Arms; or perhaps especially him.

  And then Sir Bors arrived. The last surviving London Knight in the Nightside came marching steadily down the street. He’d lost his marvellous war-horse, along with all the good companions who’d followed him into the long night. One by one they had fallen to the forces of the long night, and now only he remained to fight the good fight.

  His armour was cracked and dented, but he still carried his battered sword in his hand, dripping with blood. He’d come to St Jude’s for comfort and reassurance, and the first thing he saw was Droods under attack by one smiling figure. Sir Bors didn’t understand the nature of the attack, but then, he didn’t need to. He strode through the ranks of stricken Droods and felt nothing, nothing at all. Because he was a young Knight, pure in thought and word and deed. He walked right up to Demonbane and thrust his sword through the man’s heart. The Soulhunter looked at his killer with quiet surprise, as though to say Where did you come from? And then Sir Bors drew back his sword, and Demonbane fell dead inside the church. Still blocking the way with his body.

  The Droods slowly regained control of themselves, forcing the memories of what they’d just experienced out of their minds. The Lord of Thorns appeared in the church, to face Sir Bors. The London Knight bowed to him.

  “What have you done, Bors?” said the Lord of Thorns.

  “You have nothing to fear,” said the Knight. “I have saved you from the danger.”

  “The man you killed was defending this church,” said the Lord of Thorns.

  Sir Bors looked at the Droods, then at the Lord of Thorns. “I don’t understand. I did my duty.”

  “You killed a good man,” said the Lord of Thorns. “How is this possible, sir Knight?”

  Sir Bors put away his sword and took off his steel helmet, so he could look the Lord of Thorns in the eyes.

  “I have become . . . confused, by much I have encountered here. This has not been the great adventure I expected. I came here to stamp out evil, not men and women fighting to protect their homes. I have seen horrors, on both sides. I fear . . . that I have lost my way.” He looked past the Lord of Thorns, at the man he had just killed, and then back again. “But in you, and in this place, I still have faith. So instruct me, I beg you; what must I do to put this right?”

  “Take his place,” said the Lord of Thorns. “Defend this church from those who would destroy everything it stands for.”

  Sir Bors nodded, put his helmet back on, drew his sword again, and turned to face the Droods. The Lord of Thorns went back into the church. The Sarjeant-at-Arms strode back and forth among his people, encouraging those who needed it and shouting at those who needed that, until he had them back in shape again. He turned to Sir Bors, armoured down, and approached him to give his thanks. Only to stop as the young Knight raised his sword threateningly.

  “Sir Bors? What’s wrong?”

  “It seems I have made a terrible mistake,” said Sir Bors. “Take your people away, Sarjeant. None shall pass, as long as I draw breath.”

  The Sarjeant started to shout at him, then controlled himself with an effort. He couldn’t afford to make an enemy of the London Knights by attacking one of the few people they’d sent to help. Not without good reason. He adopted his most reasonable tone and tried again.

  “Kae sent you to support us.”

  “The Grand Master sent me here to do right,” said Sir Bors. “And for the first time since I got here, I am sure of what that means.”

  “I order you stand aside, in Kae’s name!” said the Sarjeant.

  “You do not speak in his name,” said Sir Bors. “No Drood does, or ever could. I will defend this church, as Kae would want me to. For that is the legacy of Camelot: the strong defending those who cannot defend themselves.”

  “Have you forgotten why we’re here?” said the Sarjeant. “We came to this awful place to save the world!”

  “You can’t save the world by killing people just because they don’t agree with you,” said Sir Bors. “I forgot that, for a while. In my determination to have an adventure. Thank you, Sarjeant, for helping me see the error of my ways.”

  The Sarjeant turned to the waiting Droods. “Drag him out of there. Try not to damage him more than necessary.”

  “Stand away from the only real Knight in the Nightside!” said Eddie Drood.

  The Sarjeant looked around sharply, then fell back to stand with his people as Eddie and Molly came running down the street. Eddie had got a little turned around, looking for the Sarjeant. Charles and Emily had decided to stay with the Matriarch and keep talking to her, in the hope they could change her mind. Because somebody had to. The Sarjeant looked steadily at Eddie as he approached.

  “Have you forgotten whose side you’re on, Eddie?”

  “We’re here to defend St Jude’s, from anyone who threatens it,” said Eddie. “And if you were in your right mind, you’d be doing the same thing.”

  The Sarjeant shook his head, too angry for a moment even to speak.

  “What is it about this place that drives everybody crazy? Why can’t
everyone just do what they’re told, so we can save the world?”

  “Because you’re doing more harm than good,” said Molly.

  The Sarjeant ignored her to stab an accusing finger at Eddie. “I always knew you’d betray your family again!”

  “From where I’m standing, you’re the one betraying everything our family is supposed to stand for,” said Eddie. “I told Maggie, and now I’m telling you; I will not allow the family to become the very thing we have always existed to fight.”

  “Kill him!” shouted the Sarjeant, almost spitting out the words in his fury. “Kill all three of them! And then kill all the vermin infesting this church!”

  Eddie armoured up. Molly wrapped herself in bark from the trees of her wild woods, to make armour of her own. And then both of them moved to stand on either side of Sir Bors, to defend St Jude’s. The Knight nodded approvingly.

  “I have heard many stories of both of you. It pleases me to learn that most of them are probably true. You do realise the odds are stacked against us?”

  “Given that there’s only three of us, and over a hundred of them, yes, I had worked that out,” said Molly.

  “Then allow me to do something to change the odds in our favour,” said Sir Bors.

  He ran forward, his sword held high, yelling his battle-cry. He headed straight for the Sarjeant-at-Arms, trusting one strike from his enchanted blade to leave the Droods leaderless and confused. The Sarjeant summoned a gun and shot Sir Bors through the eye-slit of his helmet. Sir Bors crashed to the ground and lay still. And the Sarjeant’s only regret was that he wasn’t sure how he was going to explain that to Kae. But no doubt he would find someone to blame it on. This was the Nightside, after all. He looked at Eddie and Molly, standing shocked and silent in the church doorway.