At the stairs, Brothers Leone and Nico crept upwards. Disregarded, the monks reached a position directly above the fiend and Brother Nico drew his sword. He held it in both hands, turning the polished blade against the glow of the candles until it shone in William’s eyes.
William shielded his eyes momentarily and waved his sword to them.
At the signal, Leone’s hand reached swiftly into his coat to draw a shining knife between his fingers. He held it above his shoulder and swung down, the blade leaving the monk’s hand just as swiftly. Its accuracy was deadly and struck the daemon at the blackened, fleshy collar. It caused a faint squirt of blue iridescence and black smoke curled from the wound, sending the daemon into long choking howls as it wrestled with the steel behind its head.
With some measure of satisfaction, Brother Leone brought out another knife. He aimed it and . . .
. . . A sound like a thousand insects buzzing at once came tearing through the air around Leone and Nico. Nico was sprayed with blood, blinded by the arterial spray from Brother Leone’s throat. The monk threw his hands about the air, appearing to brush away invisible flies as blood poured down his front. He stumbled and fell past Nico, His body tumbling down the steps.
Bewildered, Brother Nico stared after him as the wrenching whine of insects or something else filled the air again. The monk saw metal flashing in the darkness, crisscrossing in front of him, and only felt the pain seconds later as his ear slid down his cheek, his lips split vertically, and his jacket fell away in strips of grey cloth, followed by a torrent of blood as his stomach poured out of the hole gouged from under his ribcage.
William saw Nico collapse on his face to slide a few steps down before halting. Above him, where the balcony hung by only a few planks of wood, was a bald vampyre, His weapon singing as he twirled it around and around.
A half-moon flail.
‘Good God,’ he murmured and turned to Peruzo. ‘Get out of here, Lieutenant!’
Peruzo saw William waving and shouting but the beast’s tortured shrieks drowned any sound. He couldn’t tell if the captain was signalling to attack or was warning him of danger.
Peruzo chose to advance, ignorant of Leone’s and Nico’s deaths. With the surviving patrons and whores picking themselves up from the ruins of Babel’s, he had to push past a couple of reeling customers to get within striking distance of the beast, which was grappling uselessly at the throwing knife with its elongated claws, as if trying to pluck a minute splinter wearing nothing but gauntlets.
‘You’re mine,’ said Peruzo to himself, raising his sword.
William despaired as Peruzo stepped out from the cover of the balcony. He could see the vampyre standing above him, only now aware that the lieutenant was closing on the daemon. With a shrill, effeminate hoot, the vampyre twirled his half-moon flail about, the bloody blades blurring in the air.
Cursing, William reached over to an oil lamp miraculously preserve d at the end of the bar. He took it in his hand and whirled it around his head, replicating the vampyre and his weapon of choice.
‘I shall not fail!’ he urged himself and loosened his grip on the instant, launching the lamp towards the stairs. It arched over the banister to shatter against the wall mere yards from where Peruzo stood poised. The lieutenant froze as flame shot straight along the wall and across the stairs, igniting the tinder-dry wood at once. The steps burst into flames, a flood of fire that consumed and destroyed, voracious and unstoppable as it ran upwards and outwards.
Peruzo was stunned, terrified even, before he recovered his wits and ran for cover, disengaging from the daemon as its shrieks intensified.
The bald vampyre cried out as fire danced around him. Con-fused by the smoke and flames that leapt up the stairs, he had to halt the twirling of the weapon and the blades sank into brick and wood as the first wave of flame singed his boots. With a swift turn, he fled the balcony, dragging the flail with him and part of the wall it was still attached to.
Peruzo saw the vampyre flee, His view blocked by falling masonry and more fire and smoke. He stumbled back towards the bar and almost into William, who had backed away from the daemon now surrounded by a sheet of flame fed by spilt spirits.
‘Was that you?’ Peruzo gasped, horrified that the flames had got so close to him.
‘The brothers are both dead,’ William told him. ‘And there are vampyres. I had to get your attention somehow.’
Peruzo stared at his commander in disbelief.
‘I didn’t think it would spread so quickly,’ William confessed, looking on with awe at the growing inferno.
Above them, the landings spiralling up several floors around the atrium began to burn and collapse, showering the space below with blazing timbers and a torrent of embers.
A section of stairs collapsed not far from where William had been gesticulating moments before, and they stumbled, numbed and beaten, towards the exit. Falling over discarded tables, Peruzo pulled William back to his feet as the central ceiling fell upon the daemon below.
The weight of the fiery timbers drove the creature to its knees. Its armour split like a crushed beetle, a wooden post rammed like a stake through the fleshy sack beneath its jaw. Blue light burned within the orange flames of the wound, until both seemed to merge into one; a pyre of incredible ferocity, belching upwards, blasting away what remained of the balconies, before ripping open a huge hole in the ceiling. The column of flame gushed outwards, flooding the bar, which exploded in a blizzard of broken glass. There was a muffled scream as it engulfed Khayyam.
William and Peruzo flung themselves out of the entrance, away from the cloud of flame that flew their way. The fire licked the soles of their boots as they dived; it scorched the hairs on their necks, and ignited Peruzo’s sleeve.
William pulled Peruzo’s coat from him, stamping on the sleeve to put out the fire, while the lieutenant crawled away and panted for breath. With the coat now a smouldering rag, William gave up and staggered upright. Around them, the survivors watched as the flames belched from windows and from the entrance to the brothel.
But between the palls of thick black smoke William noticed a figure appear on a balcony near the roof. It was a tall figure, nearly shrouded in smoke and shadow, yet the face was unmistakable. As was the crown of red hair.
The vampyre stared down at William with pleasure.
‘You . . .’ William murmured. He felt his hand tense around the handle of his sword. And then more figures emerged on to the balcony, followed by several on the roof.
These were vampyres, more vampyres than William had ever faced, eight at least, maybe more.
‘Peruzo, get up!’ he said quickly.
Peruzo staggered to his feet, still dazed.
‘We have to go,’ William said urgently as the shadows on the roof began to leap into the air. ‘Blast! We have to go now!’
Baron Horia saw the two men stumble away down the street, uncoordinated, running like terrified dogs.
It pleased him to see the enemy so desperate. His sport had been curtailed too quickly by this foe of Count Ordrane, this man who had pursued him from Vienna to Prague, who had almost killed him on two occasions.
Baron Horia grinned viciously. ‘A hundred pieces of gold to the one who takes Captain Saxon alive!’ he called out to his followers, the eight black shapes dividing to swoop over the street and after their prey.
IV
‘It was him!’ William insisted as they fled down the narrow road.
They were clumsy in their escape. Peruzo’s head was still ringing, half-stunned by the explosion at Babel’s. Every few steps they would stumble, sliding in the dust, liable to collapse in full view of their enemy As they turned the corner, a crash and further screams rang out behind them, and Babel’s brothel caved in with a ball of fire that mushroomed into the black night sky.
Neither man turned to look.
Into the following street they ran. Peruzo’s leg buckled and both men fell, rolling head over heels in the dust beside
a dwelling. With his mouth full of dirt, William saw Peruzo on his back and breathing desperately, yet it was the lieutenant who rose first, shaking his head to clear it.
‘Madness . . .’ he slurred as he rolled onto his knees, coughing harshly, and put his palm against the brickwork of the building nearby He swayed from his knees to his feet, then reached down and hauled William to his, just as a sudden whining noise tore through the air. William instinctively ducked, and fragments of wall exploded near his cheek. He cried out and Peruzo pulled him away, as the weapon flew at them again, ripping more chunks out of the wall. They staggered into the open, retreating again, their hearts in their throats, pounding blood into their heads so hard it felt as if it might spurt from their ears and noses.
Peruzo glanced over his shoulder to see several figures skipping impossibly across the roofs of buildings flanking the street. ‘They’re following us!’
William slid to a halt and pressed himself against the wall of one building where a narrow alley led to another street. ‘There!’ he shouted and broke into a run, hoping to God that Peruzo was on his heels.
Over their heads came the thrum of the half-moon flail, the wielder shrieking as it hurtled towards them, shredding the air only a few feet behind them as both men threw themselves down the alley, falling over discarded crates and pots of rubbish and filth.
At the end of the lane, William turned right and ran blindly down a street that was wider than the last. He had no idea where it would lead to, only that it lay in the direction of Greynell’s inn, and beyond that their own inn and a measure of safety, if there was such a thing.
‘Horses!’ William pointed to where several mounts were tethered under the canopy of a deserted building.
‘We can’t just steal them,’ Peruzo protested, but the vampyres had appeared at the end of the street and were sliding down the walls like spiders out of a web. ‘Can we?’
William turned, half tripped, and saw there were six vampyres in the street behind them, their long cloaks billowing and unravelling at their feet. Above, the bald vampyre leapt, shrieking with laughter that all but drowned the lethal whine of metal blades slicing the air.
William drew a throwing knife and hurled it into shifting darkness. It struck the vampyre at his waist, causing the creature to lose control of his descent and his weapon. The half-moon flail skittered off target and struck a nearby building. Racinet uttered a screech, no longer in rapture, before he plummeted into an adjacent lane and out of sight.
‘The horses . . . No choice,’ William insisted.
As the vampyres quartered the distance between them and the horses, a figure fell from the sky to land before William and Peruzo, one foot forward, one back, in a perfect crouching position. It was a woman with long black hair which had fallen over her eyes and cheek. She flicked the locks back and straightened majestically, a broad smile on her smooth white face.
‘You are the one they call Saxon,’ She said.
William was stunned momentarily by his own fame.
Peruzo was not and dashed forward, drawing his shortsword. The female vampyre regarded him with utter disdain and leapt into the air, turning full circle to kick him across the jaw . William winced as his lieutenant flew a few yards, rolled across the road and lay still.
William spat on the ground and drew his sword nervously from under his coat.
The vampyre licked her lips. ‘I will enjoy this . . .’
He threw himself at her, twisting the sword about, missing her by inches. The vampyre hissed, leapt and drew two long knives about the length of William’s forearm from two sheaths at her back. She then dipped and began swinging them back and forth, a crazed blur of metal that swirled merely feet, and then inches, from William, who parried one blow with his sword and then another. After dodging again, she struck out with both blades, clashing with William’s sword. The blow jarred up his shoulder and numbed his arm.
Any normal blade would have shattered under the impact, but this was Engrin’s sword, and William thanked his old friend for the gift.
Still, he was shaken and driven to one knee as the woman attacked again. He parried one blade, locked the sword against the hilt and tugged her arm groundwards, pulling her off balance. William used the respite to rise to his feet, but she recovered almost instantly and rained blow after blow upon his weakening arm.
Behind him, he could hear the six vampyres approaching.
The woman was teasing him now, striking William’s sword playfully as she sought to tire him. In turn, he grew frustrated, before seizing an opportunity as she rounded to slap his sword away again. Instead of being goaded into the attack, he feinted and struck through, cutting one knife from her fingers. She cried out, a strangely sad human cry of pain, and whimpered as she regarded her severed digits, meeting his eye with reproach. He should have followed through, but her demeanour had disarmed him: she looked so helpless.
And he hesitated.
The vampyre noticed this, and her eyes flashed through the smoke rising from her fingers. She leapt into the air, kicking past his sword and into his groin. William fell to his knees and gasped, the wind rushing out of him in strangled breaths, his hands splayed on the floor, His sword spilling from his fingers.
Ileana landed a yard in front of William and began taunting him again. ‘You don’t even have the courage to kill me!’ she teased as she toyed with her knife. ‘Your fame is all wind. What is the matter, little man? Have you never killed a woman before?’
‘I have,’ said a voice to her side, and a blade ran her through. This time there was no pause for pity, just screams of bestial pain as Ileana was impaled. The blade withdrew and she staggered away, clutching at her stomach. Behind her, Peruzo was leaning slightly and shaking his head while his bloodied shortsword trembled in his hand.
William pulled himself to his feet, groaning from the nauseating pain between his legs. His fingers groped blindly along the floor for Engrin’s weapon.
‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he grunted as both men used their failing strength to lurch towards the horses. They each clambered onto a horse as the six remaining vampyres rushed forward, shrieking in anger.
As William and Peruzo kicked their heels in, the sound of the hoofs drowned out a single command behind them. A command that only the vampyres heard.
‘I said “Enough!”’ the red-haired vampyre shouted again. By his side stood Racinet, William’s throwing knife in his hand.
Ileana came over, sobbing from the wound through her stomach. ‘Look what they did! Look what they did to me!’
Baron Horia looked down at the wretched creature. ‘You were careless, Ileana,’ he said. ‘You cannot be so careless when we face the Rassis.’
Ileana’s whimpers turned to sullen growls and she snarled at Horia petulantly. Racinet came over and shook his head. ‘Do not worry, my dear Ileana,’ he said, and pressed his hand against the wound. ‘It will heal.’
Ileana pushed him away. ‘I want blood!’ she cried.
‘No,’ Baron Horia replied, and grasped her arm. ‘Not now.’
‘But you wanted Saxon alive,’ one of the six complained.
‘I wanted sport,’ Horia retorted and broke into laughter, ‘and I have had that. But Saxon is only a whim.’
The vampyre with the long red hair sauntered down the street for a few yards, gazing into the dust that was settling in the wake of the fleeing horses.
‘We cannot waste more time pursuing these men,’ Horia began and turned to the eight vampyres gathered around him. ‘I am quite certain these followers of the Church have no clues to the whereabouts of the Scarimadaen. We have achieved our purpose in this town, so now we must move on.’
Ileana was delighted, and despite her grievous wound she clapped her hands like a child.
Only Racinet seemed displeased. ‘What of Saxon? What should happen if he discovers the path to the Hoard?’ the bald vampyre asked.
Baron Horia smiled and dramatically put his ear to the wind.
‘Do you hear that?’
They listened.
‘Those are the sounds of crying and fury in the streets of Rashid, my friends. The witnesses will speak of four strangers who entered Babel’s this night.’ The baron’s smile broadened, almost splitting his face in two. ‘The people of this town will be looking for murderers; foreign men in grey clothes, who destroyed a brothel and killed many. These men of the Church will be fugitives; I will make sure of it . . .’
Racinet nodded slowly, imagining what the local militia would do to them once caught. Militia justice was notoriously barbaric.
‘. . . Leaving us to follow the directions that Charles Greynell gave to us,’ Baron Horia added, to the delirium of the coven. ‘Within days, we will have the Hoard of Mhorrer for ourselves.’
CHAPTER TEN
The Flight Eastward
I
As much by luck as judgement, they found their way through a web of dusty streets and narrow alleys back to their own inn. The flight from Babel’s had been nothing less than a rout, a headlong dash for some margin of safety. It was undignified, but William and Peruzo had learnt to survive; in such a fight, they could do nothing more.
When eventually they came to their street, already familiar in its own way amongst the multitude of other streets, there was relief, short-lived under the circumstances but enough to allow William a rueful smile as he saw the four guards rush out to meet them.
William dismounted and tethered the horse to a post at the corner of the inn, Peruzo beside him. The lieutenant touched his aching jaw It felt stiff and swollen, and the pain was nauseating when he tried to move it too far. He pressed his lips painfully together, as if his mouth was full of broken glass.
William knew that the monks were waiting to learn the fate of their missing comrades, but they would not press, such was their discipline. He paused at the entrance to the inn, resting his hand on the doorway. ‘Nico and Leone are dead,’ he said solemnly, just so you know what we face. Don’t make the slightest mistake tonight if our enemy comes looking for us. There are vampyres in Rashid. Many vampyres.’
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