by Tom Lloyd
He paused at the stairs, light flickering in his eyes as his mage sight searched for traces of his hunters. He sensed nothing, nothing out of place and the air still on his skin. From outside there came a faint rumble of thunder and wind shuddered against a window pane. He looked out at the night beyond and saw sleet falling, heard the faint drum of sleet on the building’s roof.
Through the slashed air he made out a slanted roof, bowed with age and layered with broken snow. Beside it a grander building – a covered terrace looking out over the roof between them. He opened the window to clear a path for himself and looked out, down at the ground. All seemed clear, the streets emptying as the slushy downpour grew.
Why was I warned? What game’s being played here?
Enchei let the questions hang unanswered at the back of his mind, focusing on the jump ahead of him. A short run-up and he was through the window, landing heavily on the roof below. He punched down as he struck, driving an armoured fist through the slates to anchor himself on the slippery slope. A gust of wind whipped across his face, soaking his grey-seamed hair to the darker shade of decades past.
Four steps to the neighbouring building, one short hop to grab the ornate iron rail and haul himself up. Enchei barely broke stride as he crossed the terrace and put his shoulder to the narrow door on the far side. Bolts burst under the impact and he barely made out the shape of the room before he was through it and down a stairway to the room beyond. A woman’s cut-off cry accompanied him across the room to the long drape-covered balcony door.
He hauled it open, ignoring the panicked movements from the bed behind him, and dropped over the rail into an alley beyond. It was fenced ahead of him, seven feet high, but Enchei never slowed – planting one boot hard on the neighbouring wall as he scrambled over. Then he was in the street, the red-tinted glow of the triumvirate tors shining in the distance. There were no gas lamps on the streets of Ghost District and only a handful of bronze door lanterns illuminated a street crisscrossed with arches.
Up above there was the stutter of lightning sheeting across the sky, one great flash followed by two others. In its light he saw a figure clearly defined against the sky, crouched on an archway and watching him. A long coat flapped madly in the lesser flashes that followed; grey like an Investigator’s, grey like a Ghost noble caste. Just as he was about to turn and flee, more howls cut through the dulled rumble of thunder – this time behind him.
Enchei bolted left, away from both dangers and sprinting down the street. A sense of the district unfolded in his mind, the narrow maze of streets that might lead him to safety. There were sanctuaries he could cross, tangled streets through which they would struggle to track him. Whatever scent they had, temples or waterways would interfere with it – places sacred to other beings whose power eclipsed Enchei’s own and would mask him.
He jinked down a short set of steps and into a narrow side-street. The rain continued to fall as he skidded around one corner, vaulting a wall and crossing a deserted garden to get on to a tree-lined avenue. Empty branches in the gusty wind waved him madly on, but Enchei sprinted only a short way down it before cutting through once more. The river lay ahead, a natural destination but a choke point too. An old shrine to Lord Monk, Ghost’s favourite son, might provide a hidden place to turn and, if not, he would find good ground to fight on – anything that might provide him with an advantage.
‘You have him, sister?’
‘I do.’
‘And the others?’
‘Following close.’
‘Show me.’
An image appeared, a frozen glimpse – a man, fire-lit and fleeing down a street – accompanied by a sense of movement, a vertiginous lurch compelling travel south-east.
‘I have it.’
‘Be ready for when I strike.’
The howls came unexpected and louder – closing in as Enchei reached the shrine. Six pillars supported a dome open to the elements on all sides – but every direct approach to the kneeling stone statue in the centre was blocked by an array of short, slanted walls inside and outside the shrine. The entire array was thirty yards across, but would involve double that to wind a path through. Enchei ran within and headed south, skirting round the outside rather than head straight. He emerged a quarter-way round the circular shrine, darting between carved monuments to the God-Empress and into a cramped side passage between houses.
Out the other side he sensed movement and instinctively slew away. Something flew forward at him from the other direction, a figure edged in boiling shadow and flame, and he turned his weapons towards it before it crashed home. Silvery darts were swallowed by the darkness and barely slowed it. A lance of distorted air slashed across it and cut the flame. Still it came and Enchei was forced to kick out. The figure slammed into his boot and Enchei felt ribs crunch under the impact.
Possessed by a hellhound? Oh screaming fuck.
The impact drove them apart, Enchei fighting to keep his balance as he turned his baton towards the first movement. Before he could fire, another figure of shadow and flame pounced with a monstrous snarl, slamming Enchei back against a wall. For a moment they were face to face – the contorted features of a Wyvern warrior caste with huge canine teeth straining to reach Enchei. He brought his knee up into its ribs with all the strength he could muster and again felt bone break under the impact, but the twisted parody of a man barely shuddered.
Blood-red threads of light exploded from the Wyvern’s eyes and for one long moment Enchei stared straight into the glowing eyes of a hellhound as it prepared to strike. The pressure on his arms was immense – at the back of his mind Enchei realised the possessed man’s muscles must be tearing apart – but he had other concerns. Mantras sang at the back of his mind in a crazed cacophony – magics buried there by the mage-priests of Ghost. A bitter-tasting fluid filled his mouth and Enchei wasted no time in spitting it into the Wyvern’s eyes. The light twisted and writhed as the acid struck and now the possessed man screamed, the hellhound’s control wavering as his eyes began to burn.
It was all Enchei needed to break the grip holding him and he raked forward with his left hand – steel-clad fingers ripping through the Wyvern’s exposed throat while darts erupted into his open mouth. As blood poured from the man’s wounds the aura of fire seemed to intensify, the darkness surrounding them deepening to chilling howls from all directions.
He twisted the man around and threw him back in the direction of the other, the body of the possessed man collapsing backwards while his aura of shadow remained – grew even. Enchei looked for the other and felt a spark of panic as he couldn’t find it. Before he could do anything the street suddenly exploded into blinding white light – a pure burst that seemed to cut through the smoky mess coalescing ahead of him.
Under the assault the hellhound was ripped asunder and cast back into whatever realm it came from, leaving Enchei panting and blinking alone in the street. He moved on instinct, keeping himself from becoming a stationary target even as he tried to wipe the after-glow from his mage-sight and fathom what had happened.
The sleet continued to fall, but beyond that curtain there was sudden stillness in the street. No voices or howls, no threads of light or shadowy trails. He was alone and where the second possessed man had gone, Enchei couldn’t fathom.
‘But who cares?’ The aging warrior growled. ‘Ain’t staying to find out.’
He broke into a sprint down the street, ready to defend himself but covering the ground as fast as he could. The street remained empty long after he was gone and only the brutalised figure of a Wyvern nobleman remained.
A crackling collar of light seared the second warrior’s throat as she silently writhed and snapped at the leash holding her. Blackened blisters appeared on her dark skin, her red caste collar already torn and ruined, but she paid them no heed. Her contorted, deformed jaw worked furiously, but to no avail, as the leash held her securely out of reach of her captors.
Both wore long grey sleeved cloaks again
st the rain, sheltering their faces from the Wyvern at their feet. After a moment of consideration, the shorter of the two crouched and reached out a hand towards the Wyvern.
‘You’re going to banish it?’
‘You’ve another suggestion?’
‘Not yet.’ The taller figure cocked its head a moment, considering. ‘Send it back with a message?’
‘What message will they listen to?’
‘Perhaps none, but you cannot tell for certain.’
‘What it can report isn’t worth the slim chance they’ll listen.’
‘I suppose so. Kill her then.’
The deed done, the shorter figure straightened and looked its companion straight in the eye. ‘And the old man? What do we do there?’
‘There’s nothing to do there – yet. We continue to watch.’
‘Caution,’ the shorter sniffed scornfully. ‘Always bloody caution.’
‘Always,’ the other confirmed. ‘That is our life. Don’t worry, when the time for reckless abandon comes, the lead is yours – that I promise.’
Kesh idled in the doorway, watching the Wyvern knight, Myken, do press-ups on the empty bedroom floor. Along with her long dreadlocks, Myken had shed her tight-fitting tunic and trousers. Despite the chill in the air, she wore only her small-things as she exercised and a thread of sweat beaded the line of her spine.
‘What do you want?’ Myken said at last, not breaking off from her efforts.
‘Just trying to work out what you’re doing,’ Kesh replied. ‘Is this how the warrior caste relax? Kill time?’
‘A true warrior maintains their every weapon, of which the body is one.’ Myken paused. ‘But in truth – I’m bored. This inaction does not suit me.’
Kesh snorted. ‘Was life so exciting as bodyguard to a noblewoman?’
‘No, but there was purpose. My role wasn’t to merely stand beside her. The best bodyguards anticipate danger – root out threats before they reach the principal.’
‘Did you ever find any?’
Myken slowly stood and Kesh became very aware of the woman’s height and muscles. That her guns were on the floor to one side, out of reach, was little reassurance. ‘You have a point to make, servant caste?’
Kesh touched the white scarf around her neck, such a ubiquitous item of dress for all people in the Empire she’d put it on that morning without even thinking – unnecessary as it was unless she left the house. ‘Oh, don’t take the warrior caste with me, woman,’ she sighed. ‘Right now we’re equals and you’re relying on me. You want to risk going outside later, be my guest.’
‘Insolence towards a high caste remains punishable, even within the Imperial House.’
‘Not in this house,’ Kesh said. ‘You could shoot me in the head if you like, but you wouldn’t live long to enjoy it. Narin you might be able to take, but once Irato or Enchei got home you’d be as good as dead.’
The two women stood facing each other for a moment before Kesh shook her head. ‘Come on, let’s make some tea. You’re not in the barracks any more, no place for pissing contests here.’
She turned and headed down the stairs towards the kitchen, not leaving Myken time to reply, but before she had set the kettle on their small stove, Kesh sensed the woman at the door.
‘The strictures of our society are not a pissing contest,’ Myken said at last. ‘These strange circumstances are no reason to give them up.’
‘As good a reason as any,’ Kesh countered. ‘Come on, take a seat and just talk to me like a woman, not a warrior.’
The suggestion seemed to startle Myken into silence, but eventually she did just that and sat straight-backed in one of the chairs. Kesh fetched a battered porcelain pot and spooned grey flakes of tea into it before taking a seat herself.
‘How did you stand it?’ she asked quietly, looking up at the taller woman.
‘What?’
‘The boredom. The years of nothing but watching a woman live in a gilded cage.’
‘It is – was – my lot in life, the Lady Kine’s too.’
‘But Lord Vanden’s hardly a powerful man or a threat to the other noble families in the city. She can’t have ever been in much danger.’
Myken’s lip twitched. ‘She is a beautiful, passionate woman. There were other dangers.’
‘Ones you failed to stop,’ Kesh pointed out. ‘Or didn’t it look like Narin would count?’
‘Lawbringer Narin,’ Myken began hesitantly, ‘was a man entranced by her. He was not the first and will not be the last. I can identify an assassin in a crowd, but my training failed to include identifying my principal falling in love too. Their friendship was good for her and it is not my place to interfere – and then it was too late to interfere. She was in love and her heart was set. The choice was hers, and I am her servant.’
‘So now what? Where do you go from here?’
‘Wherever she wishes,’ said a voice from around the door jamb.
Kesh and Myken both jumped up, but in the next moment Kine’s drawn face appeared in the doorway.
‘Wherever you wish, Siresse Myken,’ Kine repeated, walking gingerly in. ‘I owe you that much at least. I hope the jewellery you had the presence of mind to rescue with me will be put to good use there.’
‘My Lady,’ said Myken, reaching for Kine’s arm, ‘you should sit and rest.’
‘I will stand. I have been abed long enough that a few minutes on my feet will be a blessing.’
‘And Dov?’
‘Is well and asleep upstairs.’ With her hands firmly gripping the back of the chair Kine smiled weakly at the pair of them. ‘She’s fine, we will hear her when she wakes.’
‘Want any food? Tea?’
‘Tea would be welcome, thank you. I can feel my appetite returning at last.’
Kine looked down and patted her belly. ‘Strange, I had thought I would not look quite so … well, pregnant, once I had had the baby. I could be months-gone by the look of me now. Even after all this I can hear the voices of my aunts, telling me I must become presentable soon. That I must be desirable for my husband by Order’s turn – I think that’s what they always said.
‘It was never clear if they cared how far into the month we were, Order’s turn was always the line drawn. When I draw up a list of things to be glad of, never hearing those bitter voices will be close to the top.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Kesh said as she fetched the hot water, ‘there are shrill bitches everywhere you look in these parts too. We’ll soon get you feeling right at home.’
Kine lowered her eyes, a narrow set to her lips. ‘I do not consider this a holiday,’ she said quietly, ‘or an amusing step away from the strictures of my birth.’
‘Aye, well – might be that came out nastier than I intended. Just all this talk of assassins and hellhounds making me a mite snappish.’ Kesh opened her mouth to say more but then closed it with a snap. The Wyvern noblewoman raised an eyebrow but Kesh shook her head. ‘Never mind, none o’ this is my place to ask.’
‘Ask all the same,’ Kine said gently. ‘You’ve done me a great service as a favour to a friend. Such a service I could have only asked Myken to perform, or Narin. To do it for someone you’ve never met – I owe you whatever answers you wish for your kindness.’
‘Do you really know what you’re doing?’ Kesh blurted out, before blushing faintly at her own abruptness. ‘I don’t mean to pick a fight there, but you want to live as Narin’s wife? Take a servant caste tattoo? Cook and clean the rest of your life? With a face like yours, there’s a lot o’ men going to notice you. You slap a warrior caste’s face now and a punch is the best you can hope for. Do you really know how you’re going to live?’
‘No,’ Kine replied, unabashed. ‘I’ve tried to imagine it, I really have, but you see how helpless I feel as a mother without servants. You’re right – I do not know, I cannot know how I will live, but I chose to live. Perhaps there were other ways I might have saved my life, but there is one thing this pregnancy h
as taught me: I wish to be a mother.
‘Not a woman who watches her children be raised from afar. Not a jewelled pet on her husband’s arm, not a tool to be used for manipulating others or the secret power inside my husband’s palazzo. A mother who is the full order of stars to her child; who feeds and clothes her, who is the one she runs to and the one she laughs with. I had time enough to think about what I would lose and what I might gain. The choice may be made in necessity, ignorance even, but I am glad to make it.’
From upstairs there came a stuttered cry. Before Kine could move, however, Myken headed towards the door.
‘It may be you’re not alone there,’ Myken said, pausing. ‘Gentleness does not come easily to one brought up as a warrior. It’s time I also learned something new.’
CHAPTER 19
Deep into the night, while fitful bursts of rain clattered on the roof, Narin and the others sat around the small kitchen table and debated the day’s events over a supper so many hours late it could hardly be called such. It was a fractured conversation where one person’s sentence was regularly finished by another, steaming bowls of rice and beans proving a greater draw for those chasing the chill from their bones, and took a long time before it was done.
To add to the distraction, Dov fussed in her mother’s arms and every other sentence Narin spoke went unfinished until prompted by one of his companions. As strong as his need to shovel food into his mouth was, he found himself unable to resist the small, angry sounds and it took until he was most of the way down his bowl before his news was out. The reports of fresh murders and Enchei’s confirmed suspicions had cast a pall over the table, but the meagre thread from the shamans of Iron District proved a hope they gladly grasped.