The leap was incredible. It jumped forward more than fifteen feet in a single bound. Tessa had no time to be amazed. It was on her in an instant. It landed and sank low in one fluid motion, then lashed out with one leg, pulling her off balance as it slashed at her with its knife.
It shifted backwards a step and then leapt away again, covering another ten feet. The maneuver placed it out of reach of both of them, but still close enough for it to be an immediate threat.
Tessa gasped and clamped a hand to her thigh as she fell sprawling to the grass. Her face was twisted with pain and shock. Gavin moved to help, just a simple shifting of his weight, but even as he started to move, he saw the thing tense to spring and he skittered backwards, falling onto the grass in his haste.
The creature laughed again, its pose casual as it watched Tessa pull herself to her feet. Blood was soaking through the cloth covering her leg, seeping past her hand, which she still pressed awkwardly over the slash.
“Run, Gavin,” she said, in a voice tight with pain and fear.
“I can't just leave you!” he protested, though he wanted nothing more than to run.
“Just go!” she screamed, as the creature moved in again, its feet gliding smoothly over the ground.
Gavin stared at her in indecision for a long moment, his eyes watching the dark stain as it spread on her leg. She was losing a massive amount of blood at a rate which could mean only one thing. Whispering silent thanks, he turned and fled. As he sprinted across the grass towards the bridge, the sound of metal on bone was soon followed by a long and terrible scream, and then a longer, more terrible silence.
***
Instinct told Gavin he was being chased. It spoke to him on a primal level and whispered jagged words of terror into his ear. He couldn't spare the time to look back over his shoulder. With the speed he was running, he needed to put all of his concentration into putting one leg in front of another. He ran in a way that he hadn't since he was a small child, giving no thought to the fear of falling or the need to retain control. He fairly flew over the low stone bridge, barreling into the streets and darting into the first alleyway he came to, then twisting through as many turns as possible in as short a space of time as he could.
Finally, he stopped beside a rain barrel in a back alley. He slumped against the wall, his breath ragged and his throat burning from the effort of breathing hard in the cold morning air. The rough stones of the building scratched at his back through the thin greys as he sank to the ground but he didn't even feel it. His head was spinning as wildly as any blow could have made it.
Tessa was gone, just like that, and the thing hadn't even really been trying. He glanced around the barrel warily but saw no sign of the creature that had chased him. Perhaps it had never even been following him.
He pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off, sheathing the knife he hadn't even been aware he was holding in a hand that ached from gripping it so tightly. He looked around the alleyway quickly and glanced up at the sky. It was still dark, but he vaguely remembered hearing the fourth bell some time ago.
Dawn was fast approaching and he couldn't be seen on the streets in his greys. Gavin went to the end of the alleyway and tried to get his bearings. His flight had been so frantic, he had taken little note of where he was going. Twin ruts in the cobbles caught his eye and his heart sank. He was in the Barrowways.
Hesk was divided into sections that were unknown to most of the population. Six major gangs operated in the city, running everything from the brothels to the pickpockets on the streets. There were smaller gangs and thieving crews, of course, but the six were the main powers in Hesk's underworld. Each had its own territory, which it protected fiercely. The Barrowways were named after the barrow routes built to service the old market. They hadn't been used in decades and the market had long since relocated to the main square, closer to the centre of the city. The area was now the territory of the Barrows, one of the two oldest gangs in the city and possibly the most brutal.
He moved unconsciously into the shadows, glancing around furtively. To be caught in their territory would be bad enough, but to be caught wearing greys would probably get him killed. He needed to get out fast or, failing that, to get rid of these clothes as quickly as possible. He made his way through the winding streets, peering into back alleys criss-crossed with washing lines, but they were all bare. It was still too early and damp for anyone to have hung clothes out to dry and none had been left out from the night before.
He moved as fast as he could while staying quiet, clenching his teeth with the effort, as he made his way through Old Market Street and past Blind Sisters, all the way to Fisher’s Bells. Sweat soaked his clothes, both from the exertion of keeping watch and moving with the shadows, and also from honest fear. The night was quiet and the persistent mist still worked to dampen any noise. The silence allowed him to relax and he shifted from his low, creeping stance into a cautious walk. He had almost convinced himself he was going to make it out.
Gavin peered into another dark alley, then scurried past it and along the side of a dark inn. He stopped. The square before him was not particularly large, but there were few or no place where he could avoid being seen. He would be clearly visible as he made his way across it and skirting the edges would make little difference. He scratched at his hair under his hood as he considered his options.
A light scuff behind him told him he had waited too long and finally run out of luck. He turned, with an air of resignation, to see a small group of men, some little more than boys, emerging from the alleyway behind him. They were armed with clubs fashioned from the wood of discarded crates, and more than one of these weapons had rusty nails rammed through them. The leader carried a rust-splotched knife, and his improbably fat belly protruded from an ill-fitting shirt smeared with filth and the remnants of his meals. He thrust his stomach out even further as he eyed Gavin.
“These is Barra lands,” he said, in what was clearly supposed to be a menacing tone, but was made almost comical by his streets' accent.
Gavin edged away from the wall. “I'm not working here, just passing through. I don't want any trouble.”
“Passin' though?” the boy said with an incredulous leer on his pockmarked face. “On your way to the shops, are ya? Pickin' up some fish for the missus?” He looked back over his shoulder to encourage the chorus of grunts and snickers from the rest of his crew.
“Nah, I don't think so, mate.” The smirk was gone as he turned back. “Not in greys.”
Gavin knew they would attack soon. It might take them a few more minutes of posturing first to work themselves up to it, but it was almost a certainty. He was outnumbered. He'd have to take his advantages where he could. Without a word, he threw himself past the pot-bellied thug and into the middle of the group. He twisted and spun, lashing out with his knife, seeking not to kill but simply to injure and slow. The boys cried out in shock and pain, rearing back from his onslaught, and then the fight began in earnest.
Gavin whirled through the group, using their numbers against them. While they had to shift around him in the narrow street to try to land a blow on him, he always had a target in front of him and he slashed at anything that came within range. He dodged to the right to avoid a spiked plank and threw himself into a roll, kicking out savagely at the side of a knee as he rose to his feet. The clubs were everywhere, but he was catching only glancing blows. His knife sliced deeply into a shoulder before he shifted again. The moment he stayed in one place for more than a heartbeat was the moment they would have him. He spun tightly, a tight turn with his blade extended which somehow managed to catch a throat, and then the blood was everywhere.
He ducked and rolled again, always headed for where the gang was bunched most tightly together, slashing wildly for the inside of a thigh, but there were fewer opponents now. Three had already moved to the side of the street, clutching at wounds. The remaining gang members simply stepped backwards out of his reach when he attacked, hissing curses a
t him.
Gavin rose to his feet and backed away, holding his knife low and trying to ignore the throbbing aches born of half a dozen blows. Three of the thugs and the fat-bellied knife wielder still faced him. He knew they would come in a rush and running would not help him. He doubted he could outrun anything in this state anyway. He stayed low, in a fighting stance, and waited for them to move, to leave an opening, to do anything.
They came in a screaming mob of spiked clubs, sweat and murder. He shouldered his way past the first club, and the man fell screaming as he clutched at the wreckage of his eye. A club caught Gavin solidly in the side, smashing him into the alleyway and against the wall. He landed badly and then they were on him, clubs rising and falling, as they played a symphony of pain upon his muscles and bones. He felt something crack, followed by a new pressure as a rib pressed inwards, and he huddled into a ball. Then it stopped. He lay panting, fighting the urge to draw a deeper breath for fear of the pain his rib would cause him.
He felt the vibrations of the footsteps more than heard them, and forced himself to look up at the fat man as he drew closer. His face was a mask of rage and an angry wound, created by a slash that Gavin barely remembered dealing, painted a broad streak of blood across one side of his face. He grabbed Gavin, twisting and bunching the greys at his throat to provide purchase. A low moan of pain escaped Gavin's lips as Belly pulled him up, arching him over backwards and pressing the rusty blade to his lips.
“That was my brother you slashed open,” he hissed into Gavin's face, his breath fetid with the stench of old ale and the food that was trapped between his teeth. Gavin barely heard the words. His eyes were focused beyond the man, on the figure that dropped lightly from the rooftops and approached silently, its strange knife held ready as it viewed the scene through its amber eyes.
The first one died without having time to scream, as the knife snaked past almost casually and parted his throat. He dropped to the ground, clutching at his throat as the bright blood flew. Belly turned at the sound, and his eyes widened in shock as he dropped Gavin and turned to face the creature. Gavin watched the fight unfold for the length of a slow breath, then pulled himself up from his hands and knees. He staggered along the alleyway, the screams chasing after him. The blood would move more slowly.
He passed almost blindly through the streets, half-bent with one hand pressed to his side. He moved like a drunk, crashing from wall to wall, as his feet strained to find the ground fast enough to prevent him from falling. A fresh pain seared through his side with every breath and he forced himself into a shallow pant. He needed to keep going. The screaming would have attracted attention and he needed to be gone.
He was three streets away before he realised it had fallen silent behind him. Fighting the impulse to look back over his shoulder, he gritted his teeth and managed a staggering run. He didn't really need to look anyway. He could almost feel the presence of the thing as it stalked him through the streets.
Chapter Three
Ylsriss pulled the sleeping baby from her breast, clambered out of the bed and padded across the room. She moved slowly, stepping lightly to avoid any movement which might wake him. He'd been up four times this night already and she would have given much to get some real sleep. She lay him in the cradle and stepped back, watching as he rolled slightly and drifted deeper into sleep.
Dawn's first blush was threatening to edge over the horizon and she knew she should probably close the shutters. It would need to be dark if she was to have any chance of getting any more sleep. She also knew Rhaven would be up soon though, and she felt guilty at the prospect of lying in bed while he was struggling to get the cart ready for the shop.
Fatigue won the battle against guilt and she crawled back into the warm bed, weariness wrapping itself around her like another thick blanket. The bang came suddenly and jolted her from the edges of sleep. She sat up in the bed and looked across to the baby, but he was sleeping soundly. Another crash pulled her from the bed and down the stairs towards the door. It felt as if it was still too early for Rhaven to be up, but the noise would wake the baby at this rate. She reached for the door as the fist pounded on it again, and then wrenched it open. “Rhaven, what are you...?” She stopped herself as the man slumped down the length of the door frame and fell at her feet, his odd grey clothes dark with blood. She knelt quickly and eased him onto his back, and the deeply cowled hood fell back.
“Gavin!” she gasped, as he smiled weakly up at her.
“Thought I'd come for a visit, Ylsriss,” he breathed, through bruised lips.
“What are you...? No, never mind.” She helped him up into a seated position. “Let’s get you inside.”
It took her three attempts to get him back onto his feet, with his arm draped around her neck. She staggered with him as they lurched into the kitchen, and he all but fell into a chair. She ran back and looked out at the yard, searching the shadowy corners with her eyes, before closing the door. Nothing out there seemed amiss, but he clearly hadn't done this damage to himself.
She returned to find Gavin had pulled himself to his feet and was leaning awkwardly against the chair, one hand pressed to his side.
“Greys, Gavin?” she said, dismay mingling with the scorn in her voice. “Really?”
“It's not what it looks like, Ylsriss,” he managed. “I was helping Tessa.”
She held a hand up. “Don't worry about explaining anything for now. Let's get a look at you.” She stripped him to his waist with a brutal efficiency, ignoring his protests. He gasped with pain as she peeled the greys from his chest, and she glanced up at his eyes with concern. He was a battered mess of red welts, cuts and scratches. His side, however, was another matter. She probed gently, tracing the line of his ribs with her fingers, and watched his face carefully.
“Can you take a deep breath?” she asked.
“Not without it hurting, but there's no blood in my breath, if that's what you're asking.”
“You need to be thanking the Lords of Blood, Sea and Sky that there isn't, Gavin,” she replied, shaking her head. “I've not seen a beating like this in a long time.” She shot a look at the door again. “What happened to Tessa? Is she safe?”
He closed his eyes tightly before responding. “She's dead,” he managed. When his eyes opened again, she saw the anguish she felt at the news mirrored in his own.
“Tell me about it later,” she said, in a low voice. “We'll get you patched up and then you need to rest.”
She filled a bowl with water and set about cleaning his wounds. She pounded goose fat, garlic and sage leaves together with a pestle and mortar, then smeared the foul-smelling concoction over his ribs before binding his chest tightly with strips of material. He stood in silence through it all, staring at the door as if he was waiting for it to burst open. She settled him into a spare bedroom and went to check on the baby who woke crying, as if on cue. She scooped him up and walked through the doorway, bouncing him in her arms and “shushing” absent-mindedly. Rhaven was waiting for her in the hallway, questions clear on his face. “An old friend,” she said, in a weary voice, “from another life.”
“We'll talk about it later. You know I don’t want that life in my house, though.”
She nodded, eyes downcast, and his voice softened. “You ought to get yourself back into bed, girl, once you get your guest settled. You look all done in.” She smiled as she nodded again but could tell he wasn't done.
“I just don't want any trouble, Ylsriss”, he said, more quietly. “He can stay until he's on his feet but then I want him gone.”
“I understand,” she said. She thought briefly about her bed but knew that sleep wouldn't come, so she followed him down into the kitchen. She was still sitting at the long wooden table, sipping tea that had gone cold, long after he had left the house.
It was early evening by the time that Gavin emerged from the bedroom, but it was still far sooner than she would have thought. The state he'd been in, she'd expected him to sleep right
through. She was sitting in a low rocking chair that was well-padded with cushions, cradling the baby in her arms. The shadow from the door caused her to look up and she frowned at him as he stood in the doorway, wrapped in the blanket from the bed. “You shouldn't be up and about yet.”
He nodded. “I know, but I can't afford to stay here. I need to get back.”
“Back to where?” she asked, her tone sharp but her voice low enough to avoid waking the baby.
“The cellar. The orphanage didn't work for me, Ylsriss. Some people just aren’t built that way. Over the years, I've kept the door open for any others in case they needed it.”
“So you've become me?”
The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. “I suppose I have in a way.”
“What happened to you, Gavin? I think you owe me an explanation, if nothing else. As for leaving, you’re in no condition to go anywhere for a day or two.”
He grabbed a chair and started to sink into it, before wincing and easing himself down slowly. “Yours?” He nodded at the baby.
“My son,” she affirmed with a smile. “Almost a month old now.”
“What did you call him?”
“He's not yet a month,” she reminded him.
“You hold to that? I wouldn't have thought it of you.”
“Why not?”
“You never seemed the type to be held by old traditions or superstitions.”
“Sometimes the old ways have more sense in them than you'd think.” She shushed the baby as he stirred slightly. “It's not just that, though. I don't want to name him before Klöss returns, unless I have to.”
She shook herself visibly, risking waking the child. “Don't change the subject, anyway. What happened?”
He grimaced and then sighed. “Tessa snuck into the cellar one night and stole my grapnel. She wasn’t quiet enough and I managed to catch up with her before she broke into the cathedral.”
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