by Mike Morris
"Sit down. I'll tell you when I want you to talk," ordered Nial.
The Black Dog with the body dumped it on the table with a thud while the other went around to the windows and started drawing the curtains closed. All eyes went to the body. Nial could see them trying to work out what was beneath the cloth, scared of what horror Nial had brought them. Good. Let them taste some fear for themselves. The darkness in the room now the windows were covered added to their discomfort.
The chancellor wasn't there, but Nial wasn't in the mood to wait for him. Let him play catch-up later. Nial wasn't there to debate or ask for permission. He was the one issuing orders.
The two Black Dogs took up positions in the far corners of the room, looking as beat-up as Nial was. One of them had been with Pretty Boy; his tunic was in tatters on one side, cuts on his skin visible beneath. The other Nial didn't know, but he'd been about to go in the tunnel when it had been flooded. A lucky man still alive. Unlike Robert. Unlike Jack. Unlike the rest of the poor buggers. He hated to think how many names would be added to the memorial before this particular nightmare was over.
He looked around the councilors, giving them time to see his own wounds. It was so easy for them to sit in gold rooms, pontificating on what was best for everyone else. They weren't the ones who had to go out and deal with monsters. They weren't the ones who had to die.
"Brother Nial," said Lady Norton. "Please tell us what brings you here." Her eyes flicked to the corpse once more. "How can w-we help?"
"You can't," replied Nial. "I'm not here to ask for your help or your permission. I'm here to tell you what I'm going to do."
That got Westland back on his feet. "I must protest, sir. You are a servant of this government and—"
"Did I tell you to speak?" Nial didn't shout. He just used the tone of voice that got a thousand soldiers to jump at his command. The effect on Westland was immediate. He sank back into his seat with his bottom lip quivering. Nial continued. "I am not a servant of this government. I'm a servant of God with a holy mission to protect Abios. Need I remind you also that my authority supersedes all of you in times of war?"
No one spoke. No one dared. Good.
"And make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, we are at war."
He nodded at the bundle on the table. One of his men unwrapped it, revealing the head and body of the young girl.
"Is this a new victim?" asked Norton.
"In a way. She's been Turned by the Nostros," said Nial. Even in the dark room, he could see the councilors' faces go pale.
"How do you know?" whispered Westland.
The Black Dogs pulled back the curtain without waiting for Nial's signal. The sun streamed back into the room, making everyone squint. The moment the rays hit the girl's body, there was a pop and it burst into flames. The fire flared fast and furious, the body fully ablaze before anyone had a chance to scream. But scream they did. The councilors were on their feet and moving quickly away from the table as smoke filled the room.
Nial nodded at his men. The priests ripped the curtains from the window and threw them over the flames, extinguishing them immediately. While they saw to the fire, Nial walked over to the window to let in the cold morning air. He stared out over the city, covered in white, looking so pure, and tried not to think of the horrors to come. With a sigh, he turned back to the room.
"Let us not talk about what-ifs, or pretend we don't know what we face. I do. My men do. Last night," he pointed at the smoldering piles of curtains on the table, "that girl killed one of my men and nearly killed me. I had a dozen others dragged off into some tunnels beneath the city by only God knows what. I lost the thirty men I sent down after them when someone flooded the tunnels. I lost another squad at the hands of a second Turned."
The councilors stared at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed with fright. Reality was a hard thing to face.
"All of that happened in the space of a few hours," continued Nial. "I'm not taking any more chances."
The door opened and Willingham stormed into the room, looking as pissed off as Nial felt. A girl entered after him and she nodded as their eyes met, a brief flicker of a smile on her face. It took Nial a moment to place her. It was the girl who'd stowed away on their raid to Grosnar, the escaped slave. What was she doing there?
Willingham's eyes flicked to the bundle on the table and then to the cuts across Nial's face, and some of his temper faded. "I take it things didn't go well yesterday?"
"No."
"You didn't find the Nostros?"
"No."
The chancellor tilted his head toward the bundle. "So what's this?"
"A Turned."
"I see." Willingham didn't ask any more. He didn't have to.
"She wasn't the only one we encountered last night," said Nial. "And there'll only be more and more of them until we find and kill the demon that's creating them."
"What are you going to do?" Willingham asked.
"I want to evacuate Brixteth. Get everyone out of there as fast as we can. We need to cut off the demon's food supply and his reinforcements. Once the sun sets, we'll enforce a curfew. Anyone on the streets after dark will be considered a threat and will be shot."
Willingham looked down at the girl once more. "And there's no alternative to this?"
Nial shook his head.
"We can't allow this," said Westland. "There will be panic on the streets. Where will people go once you've kicked them out of their homes?"
"That's your problem. My job is to help keep them alive." It took everything Nial had not to hit the man.
Westland went to speak again but Willingham waved him to be silent. "Do what you have to do. We'll set up tents in the royal park for them. Anything else?"
"I want to mobilize the militia. I'm going to need more manpower than the Order can provide."
"The militia ... you can't be serious?" said Norton.
"I am," said Nial. "Believe me, I am."
"Make it happen," said Willingham.
"I appreciate the support," said Nial. If he was being honest, he was rather surprised at the chancellor's agreement. Surprised and disappointed. A part of him had wanted a fight against an opponent he could see, and a battle that he could win.
Willingham turned to leave, then stopped. He looked over his shoulder at the girl. "You two should talk. Tell Brother Nial about your journey here. I'll find you later and we can continue our conversation then."
The girl nodded.
"May God protect you, Brother Nial, and all your men. May He guide you in your efforts and help you kill this nefarious creature you hunt." Willingham gave Nial a curt bow and then left the room.
The other councilors had nothing to say, and for that Nial was happy. He watched them follow Willingham out the door. Westland slunk out, hidden amongst them all, not brave enough to meet Nial's eyes. He was a dreadful man and Nial was happy to see him gone.
As he left, the girl grabbed Nial's arm. "That man ... who is he?"
"The Duke of Westland. Why do you ask?" There was something in the girl's face, a flash of anger. It reminded Nial of his own.
"Did you see his walking stick?"
Nial peered down the corridor after the councilors. He could still see Westland, a black walking stick in his hand. There was a glint of silver at its head. "What of it?"
"Two men tried to kill me in an inn the other night. Hired by a man from Arbour. A lord, they said. Wearing good clothes, a fancy cloak, and a walking stick with a silver head engraved like a dragon. Just like your friend's."
The corridor was empty. Like rats scuttling away, Westland and the others had disappeared. "He's no friend of mine."
The girl went to go after Westland but Nial stopped her. "Leave him. He'll be easily found when the time comes."
"He'd better be."
Nial smiled. He'd forgotten about the fire in the girl. She'd done well for herself at Grosnar, better than some of his men. She'd survived it for a start. He liked her. "What's your name agai
n?"
She looked at him like he was a fool — which he probably was. "Lin."
"Ah, yes. How could I forget? I'm sorry. I'm getting old." He smiled. "Can we talk as we walk? I want to get back to my men as quickly as possible. We've got a long day ahead of us."
Lin scanned the faces of his men as they left the council chamber. "Is Jack with you? Brother Jack?"
Nial stopped. "I'd forgotten the two of you were close. I'm sorry, Lin. I've got some bad news for you. Jack's dead."
22
Jack
"Jack. Wake up. You need to wake up." A man's hushed voice. Urgent. Scared. So far away.
"Jack. Jack. Jack." Other voices echoed after it. Women's voices? Children's voices? Jack couldn't tell. A dream, perhaps.
"Come on, Jack. I need you." Something slapped him across the face. A hand. No dream.
"He needs you, Jack."
Jack opened his eyes and blinked as he stared straight into sunlight. He covered his eyes with his hand and realized that everything else was all so dark. He moved and his other hand splashed in ice-cold water. He looked down. Half of him was submerged. He could barely feel it, though, and even through the fog in his mind, he knew that wasn't good.
"Jack!" Robert's face loomed over him. He was alive. "Wake up. Wake up or we're dead."
"Dead. Dead. Dead."
"What's that?" Jack looked around. They were in a large circular chamber of some sort. They were huddled on a platform, no more than a few feet wide, surrounded by water. A beam of light streamed through a grate high above, cutting through the black to wash over them. He could see the dark shapes of tunnels coming from every direction, feeding the water in and out of the chamber. "Where are we?"
"We're in shit, son. You got a weapon?"
Jack fumbled at his wrist, found the knife strapped there. He rolled over onto his knees and drew the blade before reaching around his back for another. He'd been taught once that you could never have too many knives, and Jack was glad he'd listened. "What's going on?"
"There are three Turned in here," whispered Robert. He had a knife too, so small in his giant hand. "At least three."
"Where?" Jack felt fear as he scrambled out of the water. He looked around the chamber. The two of them with three knives against three Turned? They had no chance.
"I don't know. They're watching us. I keep seeing their fucking red eyes. They've not tried anything yet — I got us under the daylight as quick as I could, but that won't keep us safe forever."
"No. No. No," sang a voice. "Not safe."
"Not safe at all," joined in another.
"Is that them?" asked Jack.
"Little fuckers. God forgive my language."
"Shit." Jack looked up at the grate above them. The sun was no more than a glow through grey clouds. It wouldn't take much for them to lose what little protection it gave. With each hour, the light would shift, taking protection from the Dogs and adding to the darkness. Worse than that, all it needed was a dark cloud to pass over and that was that. He huddled closer to Robert, trying to keep as much of himself as he could in the light. "How long before the sun goes down?"
"Too soon, lad. Too bloody soon."
They crouched back to back, bathed in the cold light, weapons out, watching the darkness. Every now and then, Jack would catch a glimpse of red eyes watching back. They moved quickly in the darkness, darting from one side of the chamber to the other, climbing walls and slipping into the water to circle back around.
The creatures weren't in any hurry. They knew the night was coming. They knew the Black Dogs were tired, cold and fading fast. They knew it was only a matter of time.
"Here doggy, doggy, doggy." The words floated around the chamber, playful, child-like. They chilled Jack to the bone.
"You come here," said Robert, standing. "Try your luck with my little knife."
"Nasty man," hissed a voice to Jack's left. He jerked around, weapons ready, but no one was there.
"You got a plan?" he asked Robert.
"Yeah — don't let them kill us."
Jack shivered and sniffed. "We stay here, we'll be dead anyway. I'm frozen through."
"I know, lad. I bloody well know. But there are three of them out there. We'd have to get past them before we make it to one of the tunnels, and God only knows which one we'd need to take to get out of here."
"Getting cold, little doggy?" It was a man's voice that sang out this time, followed by a woman's chuckle.
"Fuck off," replied Robert.
Jack tried to peer into the gloom of the chamber but it was impossible. The light that shone from above — the light that was keeping them safe — was stopping their eyes from adjusting to the dark. He inched forward. His feet slipped back into the ice-cold water but he needed his head out of the light. He needed to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness if he was to stand a chance of finding the evil creatures.
At first, it made no difference. Jack stood there, shaking with the cold, gripping his knives, scanning the dark chamber. But slowly — too slowly — more details formed out of the shadows. A ledge ran around the circumference of the chamber just above the waterline, interrupted by the five tunnels that led in and out of the space. The ceiling was dome-shaped, half-covered in moss and mold, with no way to climb up and out. No way to—
A shape darted along the wall as it curved up, climbing higher — a woman with dirty blond hair. "Shit," said Jack. "One of them is on the ceiling."
"Where?" said Robert from behind him.
"Up—"
Something erupted from the water in front of Jack. Another Turned. The creature lunged at Jack. She flew toward him with outstretched hands, screaming for his blood. Jack brought a knife up but he was too slow, too damn slow. The woman crashed into him, knocking him off his feet and back into the water. He went under for a moment, banging his head against the bottom as her hands gripped his throat. She tried digging her claws into his flesh but his collar stopped her. By God, the woman was strong. He punched her once, twice, three times with the knife, hoping to do as much damage as possible, but all he earned was a moment's respite. Just enough to get his head back above the water. His attacker crouched half in the water and hissed at him, hands curled, ready to strike. She was young — perhaps no more than twenty years old, with dark hair hanging over her face. He could see where he'd stabbed her, a black stain against a filthy red dress. The wound would've killed a normal person but she seemed not to notice or care. There was no humanity left in her. No mercy.
He shifted his feet, trying to get a better footing, but the woman gave him no time to do more than that. She slashed her hand at him and her claws raked across his face, cutting deep.
He thrust out wildly with more hope than aim as he wiped the blood from his eyes. He could hear Robert behind him, fighting a foe of his own, and knew no help was coming from there.
The woman threw herself at Jack once more. Her teeth snapped at his face, just missing his nose. He got his arm up between them, tried pushing back. Her face was inches from his own as she screamed in sheer bloodlust, chilling Jack to the bone. She lunged again with her terrible jaws and Jack thrust his arm up to block her. She clamped down on his wrist and Jack felt the teeth pierce his leather glove. Jack screamed — the pressure was incredible. She'd crush the bones in his wrist before too long.
He yanked his arm toward him, dragging her face forward to meet with his forehead. Once, twice, three times. Only then did she release his arm. He kicked out, catching the creature square in the chest and sending her flying off into the water.
She jumped straight back up and attacked him once more. But Jack was ready for her this time, stabbing a blade into her as she closed in on him, catching her between the ribs on her left side. She howled in agony and Jack twisted the blade in the hope of doing more damage. He rammed the second knife into her back, seeking her heart, but the woman smashed the back of her fist across Jack's jaw.
Jack staggered back, leaving one knife i
n the woman's back and dropping the other. He'd hurt the woman, though, thank God. She clutched the wound in her side as she screamed at Jack, her voice full of hate and pain.
There was a shout from above and the blond woman jumped from the ceiling. She crashed into him, battering him back under the water. He punched and kicked but the force of his blows was absorbed by the water.
The blond woman sank her teeth into his forearm. He screamed and water rushed into his mouth. He kicked out again, but his other arm was snatched by the dark-haired woman. He bucked and kicked, trying to pull himself loose, but only managed to get his head above the surface for a second. He coughed out water but they dragged him down before he could suck in any air. His ears buzzed as the pressure built in his lungs. Panic set in. He was going to die down there in the dark.
The blond woman bit down harder on his arm. Pain shot through him. He jerked his other arm, got it free and grabbed at the blond woman's head. He tried to pull her off, and failed. Unable to free himself, he reached around, finding her eyes with two of his fingers and hooking them in as hard as he could. The woman screamed, releasing her grip on Jack's arm. She snatched at his hand but Jack dug deeper. The creature clawed at his hand but he refused to let go.
The dark-haired woman threw herself on his back. She wrapped her arms around his chest and tried to yank him off. Jack could feel his ribs creak under the pressure, feel the strain in his arms, the burn in his lungs. He ignored it all, concentrating on digging his fingers into the woman's brain. She howled and screamed for all her worth as she thrashed around in the water but Jack felt the sudden give as his fingers burst through. He let go then, leaving the blind creature to scream in agony.
The dark-haired woman hauled him off his feet and threw him across the water. He went down, hit the bottom. As he scrambled around, trying to find his feet, his fingers brushed something — a knife. He snatched it up as he got to his feet.
The woman lunged at Jack, pure hatred burning in her red eyes. Jack let her grab him and she dragged him in close, fangs ready to sink into his neck. Close enough for Jack to plunge his knife through her temple, twisting it as he did so. The woman fell from him, dead instantly.