by Mike Wild
She kept her head low as she and the prisoners passed beneath Freel’s gaze but, despite herself, couldn’t help but pause as they almost touched. Though she and Freel hadn’t known each other long, the experiences they’d shared had been intense, and such experiences tended to stamp the aura of a person indelibly in one’s mind. And the thing was, the aura felt wrong. Everything about the man beside her rang alarm bells – his stance, his attitude, even his body odour, and Kali felt a shiver run through her, as if someone had walked over her grave.
Or as if someone had crawled out of a grave.
Kali shook herself, and began to push the prisoners forward once more. But it took all the willpower she had not to freeze when a voice behind her spoke two words.
“Kali Hooper.”
Though Freel had apparently recognised her, there was still a chance he’d think himself mistaken – that her stance, attitude or perfume had triggered some erroneous mental connection. What she had to do was continue bluffing her way through by giving no sign of recognition at all.
It was a reasonable plan, spoiled only by the fact that two Swords of Dawn immediately blocked her path. As they did, she felt Freel move up close behind her, and then her hood was pulled quickly back.
Okay, Kali thought. It was a fair cop.
She turned. A face she had not seen in a year filled her vision, staring down at her. The sight was strangely disconcerting. The same rugged, unshaven features were there, the same intelligent, piercing and curious eyes, even the slight smile which, though rarely seen, had betrayed the humanity of the man she thought she had come to know. This was Prince Jakub Tremayne Freel of the Allantian Royal Family. And yet. And yet his humanity seemed missing, somehow, as if some unknown events since she had last seen him had erased that aspect of him. Now, despite the smile, a cold cruelty seemed to seep from every pore.
“Jakub Freel,” Kali said.
The strange, cold smile curled slightly at one side, and Freel bent almost melodramatically to whisper in Kali’s ear. He was making it clear that this was just between the two of them.
“Sorry. No.”
Kali’s heart missed a beat. Her gaze snapped back to Freel’s eyes and what she saw there made all of her confusion of the last year make sense. Though she had struggled to reconcile the actions of the man she had come to know in the Sardenne with those of the man who had returned with Makennon to Scholten Cathedral, changing the nature of the Church completely, it had simply never occurred to her that the two men were not necessarily one and the same. And if this wasn’t Freel she was confronting, there was only one other man – though, of course, man was not the word – who had the power to take his place. Someone who had considerable experience in the exchanging of souls…
“Redigor,” Kali said. “You farking piece of –”
Freel motioned to the Swords who’d blocked Kali’s path and they each grabbed her by an arm, holding her firmly. Then Freel cocked his head to one side, his smile broadening, and when he spoke once more, it was to all.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Listen to me!” Kali struggled in the grip of her captors. “This man is not who he seems to be!”
There was a murmuring from the ranks.
“This woman,” Freel countered, “is Kali Hooper, the outlaw.”
The murmuring intensified. Kali would have been flattered were this not all so wrong.
“I’m no outlaw!” Kali shouted, piecing together why it was that the Faith had such a price on her head. “This man, this imposter, made me so – the same as he has done with all these prisoners – so that I, they, couldn’t interfere with his plans!”
“My plans?” Freel roared. He regarded the massed ranks and then pointed up at the evening sky, where the strangely nebulous shape of the Hel’ss loomed on the opposite side of the horizon from Kerberos. “All of the Faithful here know my plans, and they are to do all we can to welcome the Herald of the Lord of All. The Herald of our Ascension!”
“The Hel’ss is no herald!” Kali argued. “And the man standing before you knows this! He knows because he is the Pale Lord. Your First Enemy!”
Kali’s revelation didn’t quite have the effect she desired. While some townspeople did draw in a breath and make the sign of the crossed circle of the Faith, the ranks of Swords and brethren began, disturbingly, to laugh.
“The Pale Lord is dead!” one shouted. “The Anointed Lord did smite him.”
“He wasn’t smited… smoted… pits, he wasn’t smitten!” Kali protested, cursing herself for her lack of religious vocabulary. “He’s here! Before you! Now!”
“No! His plans crumbled before the might of the Final Faith!”
“Heretic!”
“Outlaw!”
“I was there!” Kali shouted. “I was there, saw what happened. I understand your believing what you do but he still lives and –” Kali indicated the ship “ – this, this is his plan…”
The ranks roared. Jakub Freel raised his hands to quieten them.
“If this outlaw is correct,” he told them, “then perhaps she can explain this plan.” He turned to Kali questioningly, the smile still playing on his face.
Kali looked as though she was about to speak, but growled in frustration. “You know I can’t do that. I don’t know what the fark you’re up to.”
Redigor leaned in. Another little confidence. “Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that as you denied me the return of my race, I intend to deny you yours.”
“Bullshit. There’s something more to it than that. With you, there always is.”
“Do you hear?” Freel shouted to his people. “She doesn’t know!”
“But I’ll find out,” Kali added with determination. “I promise you that.”
Freel sighed and ordered all men, but those who held her, back to their duties. It was clear that Kali had lost any advantage, even if she had one to begin with. Their attention away from the pair, Freel leaned into her once more.
“I doubt it,” he said. “Only one of us can come back from the dead.”
Freel withdrew a glinting dagger from his tunic and raised it. Kali’s eyes widened and in that moment she knew that if there were any vestige of Jakub Freel left inside his own form, Redigor must have snuffed it like a candle flame.
“You’ll regret doing this to my friend, elf,” she said.
“No,” Freel answered. “But you will regret coming here.”
Kali stiffened as he ordered his men to hold her more firmly, and then grasped the back of her neck with one hand. She gasped in shock and pain as, slowly and deliberately, he carved two intersecting lines into the skin of her forehead, following these with a carefully drawn circle, enclosing them. Kali didn’t need to see the pattern being cut into her flesh to know that she had just been branded with the mark of the Final Faith.
Blood began to seep into her eyes.
“The best place on the human body to guarantee a healthy blood flow,” Freel said. “And one of the longest to heal. Even with your powers of recuperation these cuts will take time to recover… more than enough time for our purposes.”
Kali shook her head and blinked to try to rid her vision of blood, but it was flowing too freely and she stared at Freel through a veil of red.
“Lash her to the figurehead,” Freel ordered. “Once we pass beyond the Stormwall, the untershraks can have her…”
Kali struggled in the Swords’ grips as they attempted to turn her away from the gangplank, but their gauntlets were clasped tightly about her, impossible to shift. This coupled with the fact that she was all but blinded made it difficult to gain any advantage against them and she knew it was only a matter of moments before her plan – of which being lashed to the figurehead was not part – was ruined. The one thing she couldn’t have anticipated was that it wasn’t Freel she’d be dealing with but Redigor, and his method of despatching people was far too final for her liking.
Thankfully, though, a sud
den commotion from the gangplank provided her with just the distraction she needed.
At first, Kali wasn’t sure what was going on, but soon saw that one of the Faith’s press-ganged sailors had fully regained consciousness and wasn’t at all keen on what was happening or where he was being led. Kali saw it was the same man who had glowered at her earlier. Not emerging from unconsciousness, then, but merely choosing this moment to make a pain of himself. Whether he was doing it deliberately to help her, she didn’t know.
Unexpected ally or not, the sudden flurry of activity surrounding his protestations gave her the chance she needed, and she threw her weight forward, making her captors stagger onto the gangplank with her. She immediately felt a lessening of their grip as their minds were filled with more overriding concerns, namely that on either side of them was now a drop into the waters of the harbour, and heavily armoured as they were, this was a place they’d prefer not to be. Armour and water did not mix. Their potential fate was illustrated quite graphically as, in the midst of the chaos her lurch had caused, one of the Swords near to the base of the gangplank suddenly found himself colliding with the protesting prisoner and his centre of gravity was thrown. With a cry of alarm the Sword tipped over the rope that edged the gangplank and plunged into the dark waters of the harbourside, sinking instantly beneath the surface.
Kali reminded her captors of the precariousness of their situation by swinging herself around as much as she could, and as their own momentum threatened to tip them after their friend, both released their grips. Freel, caught in the middle of the turmoil, spotted Kali’s sudden freedom and his hand dropped to the chain whip at his belt, but by then it was too late. Kali blundered back up the gangplank and fled along the deck.
Freel ordered his men to follow, and they did so eagerly, welcoming the renewed solidity of the deck beneath their feet. Kali, meanwhile, ran, tearing away part of her bodysuit to wrap as a makeshift bandana around her forehead. The cloth did not stop all of the blood, but helped some.
As she heard the thudding of the Sword’s boots after her, she made her way to the rear of the deck, finding herself amidst the cigar-shaped cargo she’d seen earlier. This close to them, she realised just how big each canvas shrouded object was – much taller than herself, and broad, too – and she dodged between them, hiding. A second later the Swords arrived and Kali waited until they had passed her hiding place to burst forth and head down the other side of the ship’s superstructure. Between her and the bow, however, more Swords appeared, and Kali had no alternative but to go either into the superstructure, or up. She tried one door and another but all were locked, and so, with a grunt of exertion, grabbed onto a rail and heaving herself upwards and upwards again. She was standing now on the forward sloping, ridged carapace formed by the ship’s folded sails.
Kali looked down. The Swords climbed after her but she’d bought the time she needed.
“Just where is it that you expect to go, Miss Hooper?” a voice asked.
Kali span. Jakub Freel stood at the opposite side of the carapace. He held his chain whip coiled before him.
“I was looking for the bar,” Kali answered calmly. “The ship doesn’t do room service.”
“No. Only doom service.”
Kali paused. “Did you just say that? Did you just say ‘doom service’? Gods, man, did you really used to speak like that? No wonder the elves died out…”
Freel – Redigor – didn’t answer. Only moved towards her over the rise of the carapace, allowing his whip to uncoil and trail full length behind him.
Kali readied herself for what was to come, knowing full well how proficient Jakub Freel had been with his singular weapon. She saw no reason why Bastian Redigor wouldn’t have inherited this particular prowess, too. This was quickly confirmed as, with a flick of his forearm, Freel brought the whip to life and the single strand of chain separated into nine tails, each cracking down and sparking on the metal sail beneath them.
As sparks shot towards her face, Kali flipped backwards, increasing the distance between herself and Freel’s deadly lashing. Freel was just as fast, however, and even as Kali landed on her feet, the multiple strands were sweeping out, each trying to trip her before she fully regained her balance. Kali’s instincts were quick enough that she was able to dodge the majority of the sweeping chains, leaping above or cartwheeling over each as it passed beneath her, but a subtle flick of Freel’s wrist brought the last one in faster than it was appearing to come, and with a bone-cracking impact she felt her ankle struck and then give beneath her.
Kali rolled with the blow, turning a tumble into a shoulder roll, but the slight miscalculation had given Freel momentary advantage. Her ankle didn’t feel broken but it did throb like the hells and couldn’t take much weight, and as Freel’s whip came at her once more, Kali was forced to throw herself backwards rather than hobble out of the way.
She landed awkwardly on her behind, winded, near the edge of the sails, and cried in pain as a second dart of the metallic snake caught her on the forehead, tearing away her bandana, lashing the wound there and allowing the blood it was producing to flow freely once more.
Kali shook her dizzied head in an attempt to clear it, and stared down over the sails’ lip, towards the waters of the harbour. As she did, those Swords climbing after her pulled themselves over the lip. They didn’t approach her, but spread themselves around the periphery of the sails with crossbows aimed.
Deferring to their master. Kali rolled as Freel’s whip sliced the air, this time at a level which would have cleanly decapitated her had she remained where she was. He’d clearly given up on the idea of simply incapacitating her and lashing her to the figurehead, and that suited her just fine because, in truth, she wanted him to bring it on.
Kali allowed the roll to bring her back to her feet, wiped blood from her face, and then charged at Freel before he had chance to retract the chains for another lash.
She somersaulted again as she neared him, timing the roll so that she came out of it feet first, and with those feet slamming directly into his chest.
Freel staggered back with an involuntary exhalation as Kali impacted with him, and she took advantage of his imbalance to come upright and strike him with almost simultaneous left and right jabs to the jaw. Freel reeled before her and Kali immediately raised herself onto one leg, spinning as she did to bring the other about in a roundhouse kick that sent Freel’s already battered face snapping to the side, throwing an arc of spittle to the wind. As he staggered, attempting to recover from the assault, Kali circled him, her breathing slow and heavy, almost challenging. Freel wiped blood from his face, smiled coldly and reined in the chain whips, reducing their length so that they might function better at close range.
This was exactly what Kali wanted, and as Freel began to lash her anew, she backed away, dodging each of his strikes as they came. The manoeuvres kept her convincingly endangered but, in reality, safe from any injury that might lessen her chances of success. There were quite a few close calls – too many, in fact – but eventually she managed to lead Freel all the way to the rear of the sails, which was exactly where she wanted him to be.
It went against everything she believed to bring the fight to a close. Her deepest desire was to finish the bastard now. But that wasn’t the solution to the problem Freel had presented her.
Kali began to run, surprising Freel, angering herself, but knowing she was doing the right thing, the only thing she could.
She headed with grim determination down the carapace, jumping the small ridges that delineated the folded sails, following the curve in the direction of the ship’s prow. Behind her, having expected a confrontation, Freel was caught off guard, and by the time he had released the coils of his whip to take in the extra distance between them, Kali was already out of the deadly chains’ reach.
Freel smiled grimly, however, because this didn’t matter. It was clear to him that the girl was making for the water, but it was equally clear that she was not going
to make it.
The gauntlet presented by those Swords who had followed her from the deck was inescapable, their crossbows covering her from port and starboard. Freel watched as Kali began to run, but there were limits to what even Kali Hooper could do.
Before she had even made it half way to her destination a dozen quarrels had been unleashed, and while Kali did her best to dodge them, twisting and spinning gymnastically so that their deadly barbs whizzed by a hairsbreadth from her skin, at least a third of them found their target; two piercing her right thigh, one her shoulder, and another her side.
Kali staggered slightly and continued on, though the multiple impacts had slowed her, and the second wave of quarrels found their target more easily and with a greater degree of success. She cried out in pain as two quarrels slammed into her back just beneath her shoulderblades, and then another into the soft flesh at the back of the knee, bringing her down. Kali slammed down onto the carapace and began to crawl forwards, roaring with the effort and with her own frustration.
“Surrender, Miss Hooper,” Jakub Freel said as the Swords’ wound the tension on their crossbows for another assault. “There is no escape.”
Kali stiffened momentarily and then managed to get a grip on the ridge of the last of the sails and pulled herself forward. The lip of the carapace was just ahead, below that the ship’s prow and the sea. But then the sound of the crossbow’s quarrels being slipped into place and locked for firing made her freeze once more. Slowly she tried to pick herself up, and though the Swords were ready to fire, Freel raised a hand to them, momentarily staying the release of their deadly projectiles.
Kali Hooper drew herself up to her full height and turned to face him. Malignant eyes stared from beneath a brow thick with blood. She was slick with it and its loss made her waver slightly where she stood, but she had enough strength to bare her teeth.
Jakub Freel stared up at Kerberos and the ever looming presence of its new companion, then down to Kali.