Another scream sounded, this time closer, and Tol felt a renewed sense of urgency. Nobody should have to face those monsters alone, he thought as he clambered to his feet. He’d collected another injury leaping across the gap and was sure that if he survived he could expect a vivid bruise across his chest where he had slammed into the roof’s edge. I’ll be lucky if that’s the worst injury.
Another scream sounded, and another after that, each with a different voice. Each shadow that fell remained where it lay and Tol knew the demon killed each time it struck. He drew Illis’Andiev and tried to make his legs move faster but the best he could manage was a shambling stumble.
The shadows were more distinct now, and their numbers were thinning with every stride. Tol could hear the demon’s hoarse laughter, the hairs on his neck standing tall as a chill ran down his spine. Two more shadows fell as he drew near, leaving only two. The human shape ran, but Tol knew he was doomed. Seconds later the demon fell atop him and a high-pitched wail struck Tol’s heart. Enough!
He ran at the demon, and even above the roar of nearby battle it heard him, turning as Tol approached. This one was grey like the other he had killed tonight, not the charcoal black of those he had faced previously. Shorter, too, but it still stood as tall as Tol. It cocked its head to one side as he approached, blood-red eyes peering in curiosity. Tol shuddered as the demon’s gaze fixed on him; it showed the same level of interest as a man might show a juicy steak and Tol knew it saw him as nothing more than a moment’s diversion.
He felt the wind brush his face as an arrow fizzed past. It clunked against the demon’s slate body, and fell harmlessly to the rooftop. The demon frowned, picking up the missile and tossing it like a dart back towards Tol. He threw his body to the right, tattered flesh moving too slowly, but he realised the arrow wasn’t intended for him as a yelp sounded behind him across the rooftops. The demon grinned, yellow fangs spattered with gore.
Tol forced himself to take a step towards it, trying to push himself onwards despite the fear coursing through him. The demon, short of patience, walked towards him, twirling its sword like an old man’s cane. Tol found himself wondering why its hide was lighter than the demons he had faced in Norve and Meracia. A different caste? he wondered. The angels, Kalashadria had told him, each belonged to a caste, a subsect of their species with a specific purpose. Maybe it’s the same for demons, he thought. The demon was only yards away, it’s toothy grin widening as a sliver of saliva dripped from its jaw. Stop it, Tol chided himself. Focus on the task at hand. Father Michael would be ashamed of him for such poor concentration. If he wasn’t dead.
It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment the demon was eight feet away, and the next it was within striking distance, a single bound bringing it into killing range just as Tol brought his rambling mind under control. It struck out lazily, like swatting a fly, and Tol felt his teeth jar under the impact. Another casual swipe came his way, and another and another. Tol was forced back as the demon fought one-handed, not even exerting itself. I’m no easy meat! Anger welled up within him, and the myriad aches, pains and injuries faded into the background as Tol launched his own attack. He slashed at the demon, struck again and again, but knew his movements were sluggish. Poor technique, he heard the abbot’s voice in his head. Sloppy work, boy.
The demon emitted a slight grunt of surprise, its face contorting in some horrific impression of a man shocked at the temerity of his enemy. It came at him again, still fighting left-handed but increasing the pace of its attacks.
Tol tried to recapture that moment where he had been one with the sword at the gates of Siadendre, but it took all his concentration to keep his arms moving, each strike draining him a little more, wearing him down even further. He was almost too tired to think, and knew his body was too exhausted for any kind of synergy with Illis’Andiev. It’s just me this time, he thought as the demon’s dark blade nicked his right shoulder. The demon pressed its attack, and Tol knew it still wasn’t fully exerting itself, treating the duel with a puny human as a practice-ground exercise.
It swung again, a scything one-handed sweep from left to right designed to lop off Tol’s head. He brought up Illis’Andiev, gritting his teeth and setting his feet. The sword struck his own and Tol felt the demon try and push his blade aside and bring the black blade through his body inch by inch. He held it off a moment, one foot skidding slightly as the demon brought more power to bear. It leaned in towards him and he felt its fetid breath as the demon grinned. It’s eyes darted downward, and Tol saw its plan even as its free right hand curved round to punch him in his wounded side. With a grunt of effort, Tol used the last of his strength to shove the blade away from him, stumbling backwards just as the punch connected. He screamed in pain, red spots flashing in front of his eyes. The demon cackled and something struck Illis’Andiev hard, sending the blade flying from Tol’s hand.
He shuffled backwards as the demon roared with laughter. Illis’Andiev was lying in the dirt to Tol’s right, between him and the demon. Their eyes met, and Tol knew the demon was waiting for him to make his move. That’s when he’ll take me, Tol realised. Maybe let me reach the sword, then cut me down. Tol gave one last look at his only hope of victory then edged the other way, moving slowly to his left and circling around so that the demon lay between him and Illis’Andiev. He turned his head slightly, eyes darting over his shoulder for a brief moment – just long enough to see the roof’s edge less than ten paces away.
The demon smiled, and took a step towards him. ‘Do it,’ the thing growled. ‘The ground won’t save you, mortal.’
Tol swallowed as the idea hardened in his mind, a last desperate play that would almost certainly fail.
The demon took another step towards him, casually leaning forward and scything its blade in an arc at Tol’s midriff. He shuffled back, the black sword missing by a hair’s breadth – maybe less. The demon’s grin widened in a motion no human could replicate. Tol felt his stomach turn as he saw gobbets of human flesh jammed between its teeth. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he thought.
The demon thrust its sword towards him, and Tol was again forced back a pace, the roof’s edge growing ever nearer.
The demon whirled its sword in front of him in looping figures of eight, and Tol tried to keep his eyes on the creature’s hardened hide. Don’t watch the sword, Father Michael had taught the boys at Icepeak, swords lie in so many ways. Watch the man, and in his movements you’ll find the truth.
The pattern clicked in Tol’s mind, something hauntingly familiar like a training drill. The demon’s sword reached the apex of its loop, reversing direction and starting in a fresh figure-of-eight. One clawed foot shifted slightly as the loop finished back where it began and Tol sucked in a final breath. Now!
He moved as the demon lunged towards him, swordpoint extended and perfectly aligned with Tol’s heart. Tol glided past the dark steel, stepping inside the blow. He felt the sword’s keen edge brush his arm as he reached up and fastened one hand on the demon’s abrasive arm. He turned, spinning on his heel as he pulled the demon’s arm further along the same trajectory while his right arm – bereft of weapon – slipped under the demon’s armpit. Tol heaved, feeling the demon’s hot breath on his back as he followed the motion to its end, the demon sliding over his back as momentum forced it over Tol’s shoulder, onward and upward. He felt rough, stony muscles scrape his back as the demon left the ground, hurled over Tol’s shoulder towards the roof’s edge. Tol looked up just in time to see the dark shape hit the edge, chunks of stone flying as it crumbled under the impact. The demon bounced off the edge and tumbled head over feet to the street below with a squawk of surprised rage.
It worked. Tol couldn’t quite believe it as he stood up straight. It actually worked! The abbot had drilled them on such close-quarter techniques many times, but this was the first time Tol had ever tried it for real. He blinked, surprised at how light the demon was; they were so bulky, so tough and hardened to weapons that h
e had felt sure the creature would weigh more than a cow. Light as an angel, Tol thought as he staggered over to retrieve Illis’Andiev. He picked the sword up, absently noting the trickle of blood flowing down his left arm – not quite perfect technique, the sword had nicked him – and the stone-scraped patch of pain on his back. Any moment now, he thought as he stumbled towards the roof’s edge. He closed within a few paces, edging closer with hard-learned caution. The demon wasn’t waiting to leap at him though, and Tol heard the faint ring of steel come from below.
Some other poor bastard’s stumbled into it, he thought. The blows sounded high and fast, and among them Tol heard something else, something like the ring of steel against stone. He counted them off as he finally reached the edge. Three, he thought as he looked down. A master bladesman. It couldn’t last though, and as Tol saw the shadow strike again, the demon swatted it aside. The figure slammed into the alley’s far wall, and Tol saw the demon advance on another much smaller figure. It’s forgotten about me, he realised, or at least is temporarily distracted.
He looked down, and knew with certainty he could run, could get away and slip into a dark street before the demon killed the figure below. It doesn’t consider me a threat, Tol thought. I’ll teach that bastard.
He jumped down from the roof, knowing as he did so it was probably the worst decision he had ever made. Still the right thing to do though, he thought as he slammed into the dust, tucking into a roll.
*
Kalashadria looked up through the elora tree’s foliage. Beyond the clear roof of the geodesic dome she could make out the small planet as it rotated lazily, a wave of shadow inching its way across the surface as the sun’s light was lost to view. Somewhere down there, right on the cusp of light and dark, her knight stood balanced on the edge between life and death.
So much hangs in the balance, she thought. So much rests on his shoulders. She closed her eyes a moment, but at this distance she could sense little more than a dim spark of life; no sense of Tol’s emotions or thoughts. It was almost as though her mind was her own again. Almost.
She opened her eyes, staring up at the planet. I should be there with him. If the battle was lost, she knew the demhoun-el’teri and their human slaves would spread across the planet like an unstoppable tide – like the darkness bringing night in a ceaseless cycle. I should be there. Alimarcus had argued against it, of course, but she had expected no less from the worldholme’s stellar mind. I should be there. She shifted her head slightly, getting a better view through the tree’s canopy.
‘Alimarcus? What news?’
The disembodied voice didn’t answer straight away, drawing out the moment and leaving Kalashadria to stew, to wonder how events were progressing. Alimarcus, she was sure, did it on purpose just to irritate her.
‘Battle has commenced,’ the worldholme rumbled, its voice a bass growl rumbling across the habitat.
‘And?’
Now the worldholme’s intelligence was just being cruel, making her wait while – for all she knew – her friend could be dying down on the planet. And I should be there to save him.
‘The human has killed one of the demhoun-el’teri,’ Alimarcus said after an eternity, analysing the data from the few sensors that still functioned. ‘It appears to have survived intact,’ Alimarcus added after a moment.
Kalashadria sighed, relieved. ‘I should be there with him.’
‘That would be foolish, as I have already told you,’ Alimarcus said with a heavy inflection of parental scorn. ‘Your enemies are almost certainly lying in wait until you arrive, at which point they will attack in force.’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘but still…’
‘Pittvankor’s environmental facilities remain largely undamaged,’ Alimarcus continued, ‘which means that they can field a much larger force on the human’s world. If you should fall, the humans will have no hope of winning this little war of theirs and the demhoun-el’teri puppets will surely take over the world, damning your kin and the humans alongside them.’
Kalashadria bit back a sharp retort. She leaned back against the elora tree, head craned towards the dome’s roof, and pursed her lips. ‘What if you’re wrong?’
‘It is extremely unlikely.’
Which, Kalashadria reflected, is about as close to a certainty as I can ever expect. But still…
Alimarcus spoke as she opened her mouth. ‘The battle will be lost, regardless of your presence,’ the worldholme told her flatly. ‘The humans will retreat north and regroup with other units yet to arrive on the field. The northernmost settlement’ – Kalashadria noted Alimarcus couldn’t bring himself to call it a city – ‘is where the war will be decided. That is where your arrival could turn the tide of battle; there, and only there.’
Kalashadria nodded, knowing Alimarcus was right but still not liking the worldholme’s answer. ‘And Tol?’ she asked.
‘If the human is as remarkable as you seem to believe, he will survive.’
A machine’s cold logic, she thought. Implacable and with no room for vague possibilities; a black and white view. ‘And right now? He lives?’
A slight pause. ‘Yes.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘Another of the demhoun-el’teri has shown itself. The human is engaging it in combat.’
Kalashadria rose to her feet. ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘We ask too much of him.’
She just stepped beyond the elora tree’s overhanging branches when Alimarcus’ voice stopped her. ‘It will make no difference,’ the worldholme told her. ‘By the time you arrive the fight will be over, one way or the other.’
Kalashadria stopped. Damn you. There was never a sliver of emotion from the worldholme, never a hint that it saw the humans – or even her own people – as anything other than numbers to be balanced in the equation of a millennia-old war. Damn you for being right. She walked slowly back to her resting spot and sank to the grass, leaning back against the elora tree’s trunk.
‘And has he called for my aid?’
‘No.’
‘No message at all?’
‘No.’
She sighed. That man is too independent and prideful for his own good. One day it’s going to get him into trouble he can’t escape. She closed her eyes, shutting out the world hanging tantalisingly close, seemingly just beyond the dome – almost touching distance. ‘You will let me know if he calls for my assistance.’
‘Of course.’ Alimarcus voice drifted down through the tree, leaves stirring at its passage.
‘You promise?’
‘Yes.’ This time the projected voice was louder, leaves shaking violently.
It all sounds so reasonable, so perfectly simple. It was all too easy to forget that Alimarcus was exponentially smarter than the intelligence of her entire race summed together. Alimarcus plays by his own rules, Kalashadria reminded herself, and in truth who could out-think or outmanoeuvre something so intelligent it can ponder every possible answer to my question in the blink of an eye?
She asked anyway, curious as to the worldholme’s response. ‘How do I know you will tell me if Tol calls for help?’
For once, Alimarcus was disappointingly predictable.
‘You don’t.’
33.
Katarina drew her dagger and held it out towards the demon. She wasn’t entirely surprised when the creature laughed, its rough voice making her skin crawl. She was already castigating herself for leaving the ship entirely unprepared when she realised that even a sword wouldn’t do her any good, not against this thing standing a few feet away.
The atonal laughter died down, and the demon’s eyes flicked up from the blade to meet her gaze. ‘Fight me with a pin?’ the demon said, its voice rough as freshly hewn stone. It shook its head in disbelief, and Katarina felt the anger rise within her, partly from her own woeful lack of preparation – though how could you prepare to fight something like that? – and partly because of the supreme arrogance of the demon. She transferred the dagger
to her left hand and held it front of her, an insubstantial barrier between her and the gargantuan nightmare.
‘You humans are so stupid,’ the demon crowed. ‘Nothing but cattle.’
It took a step towards her, and Katarina felt a sudden rush of fear, an adrenaline hammer pounding her heart. I will not run, she told herself. I am Sworn, in my heart of hearts, and the Sworn do not run. She forced herself to smile, and was relieved to see the demon hesitate. ‘I am Katarina val Sharvina,’ she forced herself to speak, her right arm moving painfully slowly at her side. ‘And you will remember me.’ The throwing dagger left her right hand with the last word, a flick of her wrist sending it across the intervening space.
The dagger struck true, tip burrowing into the demon’s left eye.
I am Sworn, she told herself as the creature’s ear-splitting howl hit her full-force. It seemed to go on forever, one terrible migraine-inducing scream of exquisite pain. When it stopped, she knew, her death would follow.
The scream stopped.
Katarina blinked, expecting it to be her last, but when her eyelids flicked up, the demon stood before her, an expression of disbelief on its face that made the inevitable tortuous death she would have worth it.
The demon stood there motionless for a second, as though caught up in some momentous thought. Its body juddered, and Katarina saw it: a foot of ichor-stained steel jutting from the demon’s chest. The steel jerked upwards and the demon’s body shuddered again. The steel slipped back inside the demon’s torso and the foul thing toppled forwards to the dust. Katarina’s mouth fell open as she saw the figure standing behind it, a man illuminated by the faint moonlight and holding a blade covered in thick black ichor.
‘About time you turned up,’ she said. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
‘Are you stupid?’ he yelled. ‘You could have been killed!’ His left arm flapped towards the demon. ‘You nearly died.’ He shook his head and Katarina could see the anger written on his face; it was not the reunion she had expected.
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