by Patty Jansen
He reached out for icefire. The strands sizzled and crackled. He could feel them on his hands bound behind his back. His body drank in the power he had denied for so long.
“You go, boy. Show them,” the man with the educated voice growled.
They want me to do this? Isandor felt the rush of icefire swirl around him. A satisfying rush.
Next moment, the rag flew from his eyes with a gust of ice-cold wind. The rope that held his wrists fell to the ground.
Isandor stopped, panting, still holding the strands of icefire.
The Knights had taken him to one of the darker alleys behind the markets. There were many other people here, but strangely no one took any notice of him. The Knights were shouting and swearing, their weapons drawn, their backs to him.
Isandor couldn’t restrain a chuckle. They hadn’t realised that he made the icefire whip up the wind? Amusing. He grabbed another strand. It crackled and sizzled when he whipped it over their backs. The men shielded their faces with arms and hands.
Isandor ran as fast as he his wooden leg allowed.
Behind him, a man yelled, “The prisoner! Stop the prisoner!”
Isandor skidded into a side alley only to find many people were already hiding there, all dressed in black.
A man at the front yelled, “Here he comes. Step aside, step aside everyone!”
People shuffled aside.
“This way!” a man shouted and opened a door for him at the back of the alley.
Isandor didn’t think, didn’t question; he ran through the open door, down a narrow passageway that zig-zagged between limpets, their side doors, their outroom collection buckets, composting trays and broken furniture.
He ran and ran, charged by the power of icefire. His leg worked better than it ever had before. He felt like he was flying, running like a normal man.
All the time, he saw the images of snow sliding under his belly, of partygoers in the streets running away and screaming their incomprehensible words. Where to go? Where was the ice plain with his females? Where was the ocean? This maze had trapped him. It was dizzying . . .
Breathe.
Isandor stopped, gasping.
He had to find that Legless Lion whose heart beat in his pocket. At times, he became the Lion, and Legless Lions could stay under water without breath for much longer than he could. If this went on, those images would kill him.
He made his way through the alleys, pulling his cloak tight around his neck so his red shirt wouldn’t show. Shouts and cries rang in the night, sounds of fighting. The sky glowed orange ahead, and there were the telltale billowing clouds of a fire. Some of the limpets belonging to poorer families were made from light, foamy material that burned like fire bricks, and gave off thick smoke that made people who breathed it sick for days.
A group of youths tromped through the street, their faces hidden behind scarves, carrying sticks and shovels. He slipped in with the group, shaking his hair loose from the ponytail. No one protested the presence of one extra person.
“. . . yeah, and they took Indo, too,” one boy was saying.
“What? He wouldn’t harm a puppy.”
“Everyone who was there, they said. Did you see what happened to the Queen’s bears?”
“Didn’t see, but heard. And they think we did it?” This boy sounded angry.
The other boy shrugged. “We’re Outer City folk. Can’t be trusted.”
“Always the same. We got to stop the Knights, you know. Stop them right here. We can’t be ruled like this.”
A few others grumbled consent.
The street opened out into the market square. Two lines of Knights stood on both sides of the meltery doors. Isandor recognised their uniforms: these were Jevaithi’s personal guards.
Jevaithi.
What was she still doing here?
The group of youths marched on, but Isandor stopped, barely aware of their receding footsteps. Jevaithi, the only other Imperfect he knew who lived in the city. Jevaithi, whose eyes pleaded him for help. And help he would.
Isandor stumbled across the square, deliberately unsteady, his eyes unfocused and his gaze directed at the ground.
“Hey, you!” one of the Knights said.
Isandor took the last few steps in a stumbling rush and leaned against the meltery’s outer wall. His heart thudded in his throat. The Knights fell silent.
He swallowed a mouthful of air, and another one, and let it out in a mighty belch that made acid rise into the back of his throat.
“Hey, you. Move along,” the Knight repeated.
“Be a moment,” he said, slurring his words.
He dug under his cloak and undid the fastening of his trousers. He’d seen drunks often enough to know they always pissed everywhere. Cold bit into delicate skin, and all of a sudden, he needed to piss. A yellow hole melted into the ice of the meltery’s outer wall. The Knights laughed and continued talking. He was no longer a danger to them, just another drunk.
Finished.
He re-fastened his trousers and leaned against the icy wall.
The door clanged and two Knights came out of the meltery. Their voices carried over the square.
“. . . should have been here long ago.”
“. . . is so embarrassing . . . what do you think she . . .”
“And all this on the whim of a spoilt brat.”
Then he ran through the streets, his flippers slapping on the hard ground. Someone threw a stick at him, but it missed. He barked at the man; he tore the cloak off his shoulders. The fur of my fellows.
A deep gasp of breath. His face pressed against the ice wall. By the skylights, he had almost passed out. The Legless Lion heart beat against his leg, in unison with his heart.
One of the Knights called out, “Thank the skylights, there he is.”
Isandor glanced over his shoulder, still panting. Another Knight was crossing the square at a trot.
“Got the sled,” he shouted to his comrades.
“Good. Let’s get out of here.” One of the Knights went back inside the meltery.
“Hey, move along, you drunkard!” This shout was directed at Isandor.
“Just . . . just a moment . . .” Isandor deliberately slurred his voice, stumbled a few steps, fell back against the meltery wall, swallowed air, and let out another burp.
“Disgusting,” the Knight mumbled and went inside.
Isandor took as long as he dared to push himself off the wall, aware of the Knight guards’ gazes on him. He moved away slowly, swaying on his feet. A faint breeze brought the sound of shouts and yells from elsewhere in the Outer City. The orange glow of fire had intensified. Once the surrounding ice had melted, those ancient building materials burned well. Isandor hoped the blaze was away from limpets of people he knew. He hoped someone was controlling the fire. He hoped his mother was all right.
The meltery doors opened, flooding the ice-covered ground with yellow light. A couple of Knights came out, long shadows over the empty square.
“We’ll take you to the sled as quickly as we can, Your Highness.”
Isandor couldn’t believe his luck. She was going to walk right past him . . .
His vision faded. He ran on clumsy flippers. I’m much faster in the water. He shot out into the market square. Skidded to a halt. On the other side of the square was a building which glowed yellow light such as humans had. There were a bunch of people gathered around it. What they couldn’t see was that a blue man hid around the corner.
Isandor gasped. He recognised the blue form of the man, taller than him, broader and with expressionless black eyes. He carried a dagger in his blue-marbled hand, blood dripping from the blad
e.
This was a true servitor. Tandor’s.
Chapter 23
* * *
THE SKY HAD TURNED deep blue, and the meltery’s owner had grown restless when the door opened, letting in a blast of cold air that made the fire in the stove flare up.
A group of Knights marched in and came to a halt before Rider Cornatan’s chair. Saluted.
One stepped forward and bowed. “The sled has arrived.”
“What took you so long?” Rider Cornatan’s voice sounded annoyed. He broke his glare at Jevaithi, which he had managed to maintain for much of the time he’d sat opposite her. Undressing her with his eyes.
“There’s a few houses on fire near the festival grounds, and the eagles had some trouble with the smoke, and when we got back, we had to come the long way. There are also too many people out to take the sled through the streets.”
Rider Cornatan raised an annoyed eyebrow. “I hope you left an adequate guard with it.”
“We did.”
Rider Cornatan gave him a sharp look, but let the unspoken truth hung between them. No normal person could have inflicted the injuries that had killed the driver of the other sled. No normal human could have slaughtered those bears, and so there was no guarantee that this not-normal apparition wouldn’t attack the new sled with guards.
He rose from his seat. “Let’s go then. Are you ready, Your Highness?”
Jevaithi scrambled for her cloak, which a Knight held up for her. She met the meltery’s owner’s eyes across the bar, where he was putting away glasses.
“Rider Cornatan, can you make sure he is compensated for the earnings he didn’t take while we were in here?”
Rider Cornatan grumbled something to a younger Knight, who went to the bar. A few of the men gave her strange glances, but the owner took the money and bent his head to her.
“Your Highness, you are always welcome here.”
“Thank you.”
She met the man’s eyes and held his gaze while walking to the door, in a daze. Please help me, if you can. The citizens were her saviours, if she could still be saved after tonight.
The man didn’t give any sign that he had understood what was going on. As citizen of the Outer City, there was probably nothing he could do.
Jevaithi followed Rider Cornatan outside, every step bringing her closer to the palace, to her bedroom.
A thin mist hung over the marketplace, a damper over the voices of groups of revellers walking across. A powder-like drizzle of snow drifted from the sky. The air smelled of smoke.
The Knights started off across the marketplace, with at least six close to Jevaithi. They were all taller and broader than her, and she didn’t see much beyond cloaks and hands on swords.
She shivered. Something pricked at her senses. Icefire was thicker in the air than ever. It buzzed and shimmered, lining roofs and gutters. It danced on top of a lamp post. It didn’t touch the Knights; it bent around them.
Maybe—she was getting ideas—maybe she could use it to defend herself, later, when she and Rider Cornatan were alone in her room.
A voice rang out from beyond her circle of guards, “Watch out, Your Highness!”
She turned around, and saw nothing but Knights’ backs.
“Keep moving, Your Highness,” the Knight behind her said. “There’s nothing—”
“By the skylights!” another yelled.
There was a sickening snap. All around her, Knights were yelling and pulling swords.
Jevaithi shouted, “What’s happening?”
Someone shouted, “Move, move!”
A man at the back of the group screamed, his voice descending into a beastly wail, which was followed by a hard snap, and silence. There was the sound of a sword being drawn, and another. Footsteps scuffling in the snow. Knights closed in around Jevaithi.
Silence, except for the Knights’ breaths, which made puffs of mist in the air.
“Where is he?” a Knight asked.
“Uhm—just what exactly are we looking for?” another whispered. “Did you see what killed him?”
In the silence, Jevaithi shivered. She couldn’t see anything with all these men in her way, but she felt it well enough: icefire burst from something a couple of steps in front.
The thing that killed the driver and the bears.
Another scream, short, loud and sharp. It broke off abruptly.
“By the skylights,” one of the Knights whispered. There was horror in his voice.
Bodies pressed closer to Jevaithi. The shorthair cloaks smelled of oil and beast. Slowly, the Knights shuffled back towards the meltery. They nodded signals to each other, and Jevaithi found herself being lifted off the ground by a couple of strong arms. The Knights went faster, first at a trot, then a full run.
Men screamed behind them. A few Knights stumbled. A waft of cold air descended on Jevaithi. Through the gap between two of the Knights, she saw what they were fleeing.
A blue shadow, like the Legless Lion had been. This one was a man, taller than any of the Knights. His face was hard and white with a blue tinge. His eyes were dark holes without expression.
The protecting group around her fell apart as Knights drew swords.
“Go away, you spawn of sorcery!” someone yelled.
Jevaithi stumbled back, and would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Rider Cornatan behind her.
“Careful, Your Highness.” He put her back on her feet, and peered into the semidarkness.
He couldn’t see the blue giant, nor could any of the Knights, some of whom were fighting a band of brawling youths who had come out of a street behind them. The Knights weren’t even looking in the right direction. The blue giant grabbed one man by the collar of his cloak and smashed him into a lamp post. He didn’t even scream, but sank in a boneless heap into the snow.
Jevaithi cried, “There!” and pointed at the fallen man. The blue giant was now coming towards her.
The Knights, including Rider Cornatan, jumped in front of her, even though she was sure they still couldn’t see what they were fighting.
“There, there!” She pointed.
“Stay out of the way, Your Highness,” Rider Cornatan snapped. “Or, you’ll get in the way of our—”
The first of her guards fell.
Another group of youths burst into the square. One was running so fast he crashed into a Knight. The young man screamed garbled words. Following him was the blue Legless Lion, snarling, jumping around. The youth, who could obviously see the creature, was backing away, flailing his arms and shouting.
The Knights, who could not see the creature, mistook the young man for an attacker. One belted the young man on the head. His fellows attacked the Knight. Within moments, everyone was fighting each other, while the blue giant tossed bodies aside and smashed his way through the chaos.
He was coming for her, and the Knights couldn’t see him.
“Stand aside!” a clear voice shouted.
A shadow sprang forward, putting itself between the blue man and the crowd. Yellow threads sparked from the cloaked silhouette, fanning out over the street. People yelled and ran in different directions. Some of them also couldn’t see the golden strands. Icefire whipped up cloaks and crackled over the street in sizzling bolts like lightning that encased the blue giant in a shimmering net of icefire.
The Legless Lion jumped and snapped at the blue giant who was trying to push himself free of the golden threads.
“Come.” The mysterious newcomer took hold of Jevaithi’s hand. His voice sounded like that of a young man and grip was warm. “Before he kills everyone. I don’t know how long this will hold him back. I’ll take you to safety.”
<
br /> Jevaithi didn’t question the order. She ran. The young man dragged her along. He turned sharply into a narrow alley where they had to squeeze past overflowing rubbish bins, out into another alley, around a corner into a narrower alley, past another group of brawling revellers, into another alley. He knows the way. Her companion was tall and lanky. He wore a Knight’s cloak, but if there was an insignia of rank on his collar, she didn’t see it.
He stopped at the door to some sort of warehouse, in a dead-end passageway. Their panting breaths sounded loud in the sudden silence. Puffs of steam floated in the blue air. He fumbled with something in his pocket.
“Just need to find the key.” He gestured at the door. “We’ll be safe in here.”
His voice sounded so familiar that she reached out and pushed the hood of his cloak back.
The soft light showed the face of her rescuer. It was the flying champion, Isandor.
A strand of icefire snaked through the darkness, over her head. Jevaithi whirled just in time to see the ice wall behind her shimmering. A section of it went blue. Hardened, grey ice formed into a booted foot, a knee, a leg . . . Jevaithi stood as frozen. A blue-hued hand emerged from the wall.
“It’s him,” she whispered to Isandor, gripping his arm. “It’s that blue monster.”
* * *
Isandor retreated, pushing Jevaithi behind him. They couldn’t run any more.
The alley ended here, in the door to the warehouse that belonged to Carro’s father, and the blue giant blocked the only way out. Isandor reached for icefire, but he found only weak strands. He looked frantically for a weapon and found a snow shovel propped up against the wall.
The servitor detached from the wall, his face a mask of blue marble, expressionless, with black holes for eyes. He lunged.
Isandor hit out at the man. The shovel struck his arm with a bone-juddering clang like he had hit stone. The giant’s aching cold shuddered through his bones.