by Derek Landy
Skulduggery didn’t respond.
“There’s nothing wrong with it being a her,” China said. “Especially now. And maybe Valkyrie would even be proud to know that some part of her is still capable of fighting the good fight, even if she herself has fallen to the darker side of her nature.”
Her phone buzzed, and she answered.
“The Grand Mage and Elder Mist have just entered what would appear to be the new Hall of Remembrance,” said Tipstaff. “Syc and Portia have remained outside.”
“And the Black Cleaver?” China asked.
“We can’t see him,” said Tipstaff. “We can see you, however.”
There was a brief scuffle, and then Weeper came on with “Hi, China,” before Tipstaff regained control.
“Apologies,” he said. “As I was saying, we can see you. Continue down this corridor, take the second right, and then a left. The entrance to the Hall will be around the next corner.”
China hung up. “We’re close,” she said, leading the way. They followed Tipstaff’s directions, slowing as they approached the final corner. China pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and Skulduggery took off his hat, laid it carefully on the ground beside the carved stick.
They rounded the corner. At the far end of this corridor was a heavy door. Halfway between the door and the corner, Syc and Portia stood.
“What are you doing here?” Syc asked, a sneer on his lips. “The fighting is outside.”
Skulduggery didn’t answer, and neither did China. They just kept walking.
Portia’s eyes narrowed. “Syc, I think we are being betrayed. I think they mean to betray us.”
“Finally,” said Syc, his face lighting up. “I’ve been wanting to pull them apart for ages.”
Portia and Syc stood side by side. China walked right up to Portia and Skulduggery walked right up to Syc. Portia smiled, knees bending, getting ready to fight. At the last moment, Skulduggery darted across, smacked her in the jaw and took her off her feet. Syc appeared frozen for a moment, and the sigils on China’s knuckles flashed into his line of sight right before she broke his nose.
He went stumbling, howling in pain. China kept close. She couldn’t afford to let him regain his senses. Her fist crunched into his side, smashing ribs. Letting him regain his senses would mean letting him turn into a giant spider. Another punch, this one to the belly, forcing the air from his lungs. And letting him turn into a giant spider was not on the agenda. He tried to grab her and she batted his arm away and drove an elbow into his temple. Not today.
Syc went sideways, his face a bloody mess, his equilibrium shot to hell. She glanced back at Skulduggery, but he was already following Portia round the corner. Portia was not looking like her usual composed self. She looked positively dishevelled.
That’s what China liked about these kinds of people, and she’d seen plenty of them in her time. Young, strong, vibrant and cocky. Syc came at her and she smashed his face into the wall. It was so satisfying, making them hurt. She tapped the sigil on her palm and planted her hand over his face. She felt the power snap through him and his whole body jerked wildly and he collapsed.
She looked down. So, so satisfying. She allowed herself a moment to imagine how satisfying it was going to be, doing the same to Eliza Scorn.
She closed her eyes, relaxing. When she opened them, she walked to the corner and stopped.
Portia was on the ground, motionless, her eyes closed. Unconscious or dead, China didn’t know. Didn’t care. But walking up the corridor was the Black Cleaver, scythe ready. Skulduggery walked towards him, the carved stick lighting up in his hand.
The Cleaver moved in, straight for the kill. Skulduggery deflected the blade and the Cleaver whirled with a kick that Skulduggery avoided. The scythe flashed, sweeping in again and again, and Skulduggery blocked and moved and parried. The stick flashed whenever it struck the Cleaver’s reinforced uniform, its effects muted but noticeable. The more Skulduggery hit him, the warier the Cleaver became, until he focused his efforts on taking the stick out of the equation. The scythe’s handle smacked against Skulduggery’s hand and the stick dropped, went skittering across the floor. Immediately Skulduggery grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, and the Cleaver had to drop the scythe to free up his hands.
They pushed away from the wall and the tempo of the fight increased, both fighters getting the measure of the other. The Cleaver, much like Tanith Low, was agile enough to jump and spin and throw extravagant, unexpected kicks, whereas Skulduggery was the down-to-earth fighter he’d always been. Elbows and headbutts and grabs. He left the fancy stuff to other people. Always had.
The Black Cleaver caught a punch and drove his forearm into the back of Skulduggery’s elbow. There was a sound, somewhere between a crack and a pop, and Skulduggery stumbled, his sleeve flapping. The Black Cleaver looked, almost in surprise, at the half-an-arm it now held in its grip. Skulduggery fell to his knees, groaning in pain. The Cleaver dropped the arm and picked up his scythe, and China stepped round the corner, her sigils glowing.
But, as the scythe swung down, a wave of darkness burst from Skulduggery, hurling the Black Cleaver into the far wall with enough force to shatter every bone in his body.
China stepped back out of sight, but kept watch. The shadows hovered over Skulduggery’s hunched form, surrounding him like a shell, pulsing softly. A tendril wrapped round the broken piece of his arm and pulled it slowly across the floor, dropping it at his knee the way an eager dog might drop the day’s newspaper. Without looking up, Skulduggery threaded the arm through his sleeve and it reattached. His gloved fingers flexed, and he got to his feet, moving like a weary man. Even though he had no lungs, and no need for breath, he inhaled deeply, and as he did so the shadows were pulled into him, disappearing into his chest.
China ducked back, trying to process what she had just seen.
The sudden silence tugged her from her thoughts. She dragged Syc to the corner, and flung him as far as she could. His head smacked off the ground and she followed him, making a show of smoothing down her hair.
Skulduggery looked over and she gave him an easy smile. He nodded back, and picked up his hat.
“You’re not finished here,” said a voice behind her.
She turned. The Terror and the Scourge stood there, thick black liquid running from their eyes, nostrils and mouths, seeping over their skin, their clothes, through their hair. Their limbs jerked, lengthening, hands becoming talons. They reared back – giant spider-legs bursting from their torsos – and then dropped forward to land on all fours. Or all eights, really.
They chattered as they grew, a third eye opening on each of their heads, becoming giant black spiders with rapidly hardening armoured shells.
Skulduggery walked up to them, handing China the Black Cleaver’s scythe as he passed. He held Valkyrie’s stick in his hand.
Smiling, China accompanied him.
atching Fletcher Renn fight was an incredible experience.
The boy had no skills as such, he couldn’t throw a punch to save his life, but he had talent, and talent went a long way. Vex did his best to keep track of him, and it wasn’t easy. Appearing and disappearing in and around crowds of Wretchlings, turning up with all manner of weapons – baseball bats, sledgehammers, iron bars and tasers. Vex even saw a few axes in there. He got knocked around a fair bit, a few times he even got jumped on, but he would always vanish and then arrive back without his assailant. Moments later, those same assailants would drop from the clouds, screaming all the way down.
Fletcher teleported to the top of the wall to get his breath back, and Vex frowned. Up close, the boy looked remarkably pale.
“How are you feeling?” Vex asked.
Fletcher gave him the thumbs up as he panted, but Vex shook his head.
“You’re exhausted. You need to rest.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just gimme a … second …”
“Fletcher, look at me. You need to rest. Using magic is the sa
me as any other physical activity. It drains you. If you go back down there in this condition, you’ll make a mistake and you’ll wind up dead.”
Fletcher looked like he was about to argue, but he was too weak to start.
“There,” Saracen said, pointing through the magnifying window. “Charivari.”
Vex hurried over to him, scanning the ground outside the city walls. He saw him then, Charivari, in among all the Wretchlings and the Warlocks, but looming over them, a bald-headed mass of muscle and ferocity.
“Right,” said Vex. “Wow. OK. In the flesh he’s a bit bigger than I’d … expected. Gracious. You’re the strongest of us. Care to have a go?”
Gracious took a moment to peer through the window, then shook his head. “God, no, no way, see the size of him? He’d step on me.”
“But you’re really strong.”
“To be honest, he looks like he’s more Donegan’s type of opponent anyway. I’d hate to keep him all for myself.”
“I don’t mind,” said Donegan.
“No, no, I insist.”
“I really don’t mind, though.”
“Or we could tell one of our super-sorcerers to do it,” said Saracen.
Vex looked at Fletcher. “Sorry to do this to you, but do you think you can take us down there?”
“No problem,” Fletcher said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Everyone hold on to each other.”
They linked up and Fletcher teleported them into the streets, and suddenly they were surrounded by chaos and shouts, screams and roars.
“Hey!” Saracen called, running up behind three Roarhaven mages who were practically glowing with newly-boosted power. “Charivari’s out there! He’s the big one! Take him out and these guys won’t have a leader!”
The three mages turned, and Vex muttered a curse. Only two of them were from Roarhaven. The third was English, and the last time Vex had seen him, he was strangling Caius Caviler to death.
Grim’s eyes found him, and he smiled.
He barrelled past Saracen, shoved Fletcher out of the way and grabbed Vex, lifting him off his feet. “I was hoping no one would kill you,” he said. “Wanted the pleasure of that all to myself.”
Gracious jumped on Grim from behind, wrapped an arm round his throat, and there was a surge from the gate and then the Wretchlings were everywhere. Vex fell, saw Gracious and Grim go down, had to scramble up to avoid being trampled himself. He fired an energy stream into a Warlock’s face and smashed an elbow into a Wretchling’s jaw, and all the while he was being carried back on a wave of snarling movement.
And then, from that wave, a monstrous shark. Vex tried to twist away, but Grim had him. Up this close, he could see the madness in those eyes. Vex poured magic into his hand, but Grim took hold of his wrist, crushed it. Vex’s scream evolved into a string of curses as he staggered free, two Wretchlings now hacking into Grim with their blades. Vex didn’t expect them to last long, but Grim tore through them faster than even he’d anticipated.
Vex tried to run, but one of Grim’s friends caught him, turned him as Grim strode forward. He sneered and pulled back his fist for the killing blow, and then for his next trick he turned to dust.
Vex blinked. He what?
Black lightning hit the sorcerer behind him and Vex fell to his knees, eyes widening as Stephanie Edgley emerged from the fighting, Sceptre in hand.
She fired again. Two Wretchlings exploded into dust and the third super-sorcerer took to the skies, but lightning found him and fried him and reduced him to a grey swirling cloud that the breeze took deeper into the streets of Roarhaven.
Stephanie grabbed Vex’s arm, helped him stand. He held his injured wrist close to his chest, and managed a smile.
“I thought you’d gone home.”
“No one would lend me their car. Where’s Skulduggery?”
“Gone after Ravel.”
“Alone?”
“Apparently not,” Vex said, and looked around them. Fighting everywhere. “No way out,” he muttered.
Stephanie hefted the Sceptre in her grip. “Good,” she said.
ar is hell.
That’s what was going through Kenny’s mind as he followed Slattery through the chaos. War is hell and it’s scary and how on earth is anyone supposed to know what side they’re on? He saw magic people fighting other magic people and some of them threw fire and others had light coming out of them, and there were these things that looked like badly-stuffed monster-men running about snarling at everyone. Everywhere there were explosions and gunshots and screaming, and energy beams and swords and those people in grey with the scythes. It was a blur of confusion and panic and fear and exhilaration, but mostly fear.
Kenny saw someone he recognised, a girl in black.
“Valkyrie!” he shouted, and grabbed Slattery’s arm, pointed. Slattery nodded, his camera moving with him. Kenny was sweating and his eyes were wide and he knew he had a terrified expression on his face, whereas Slattery had never looked so calm. He envied him.
They moved along the outskirts of the fighting, keeping Valkyrie Cain in sight. The closer they got, the more faces Kenny recognised. Ravel had given him their names. Dexter Vex, Saracen Rue, Donegan Bane, Gracious O’Callahan. They looked bloody and battered, but they fought off those misshapen monster-men like it was just another day at the office.
Kenny found a place to crouch, out of the way of the chaos, and he pulled Slattery in beside him. They watched Valkyrie Cain fire black lightning from a golden stick, and a monster-man turned to dust as it ran for her. He heard Slattery say “Whoah” under his breath, and despite himself he started grinning. This was amazing stuff. This was beyond amazing. This was going to change the world.
Someone was fighting his way towards them, surging through the battle, tossing monster-men and sorcerers alike out of his way. He burst through and Kenny stared. He must have been ten-foot tall, bare-chested and bare-armed, veins standing out like cords against his skin, and all the more terrifying for it. He was a mountain of a man with a bald head and hands made for crushing.
“Charivari,” said Dexter Vex, and whatever he said next was lost amid the racket and the screams.
The big man, Charivari, walked into the middle of the group, seemingly unconcerned that he was surrounding himself with the enemy. More words were spoken, more words lost. Kenny only hoped the camera was picking them up. They’d do their best to isolate them in post-production later. He had a feeling whatever was being said was important.
Gracious O’Callahan suddenly jumped forward, the small man going up against the mountain, but when his fist connected, it shook Charivari, drove him back a few steps. Dexter Vex raised his left hand and a beam of energy crackled into Charivari’s shoulder, sending him spinning. Valkyrie missed with the black lightning, but Donegan Bane caught him in the back with another energy blast. And then O’Callahan again, jumping high, slamming a fist into the bigger man’s jaw, and Charivari fell.
Kenny realised he’d been holding his breath. He let it out. Was that it? That was it. The big man was beaten. Good guys win again.
Charivari reached out and grabbed O’Callahan’s ankle and flung him into Valkyrie. They went down and she lost the golden stick. Bane fired off another blast, but Charivari rolled out of the way, came up on one knee. The veins that covered his body suddenly pulsed, and a ball of energy shot from his hand into Bane’s chest, taking him off his feet. Rue jumped in, swinging a sword that Charivari dodged, and Vex joined him, his right hand cradled across his chest, his left hand crackling. Kenny saw Slattery moving up behind them and his eyes widened. How the hell had he got all the way over there?
Vex fired and the energy stream hit Charivari, rocked him but didn’t drop him. Rue’s sword opened a gash on Charivari’s leg.
Kenny waved frantically at Slattery. He was too close. He was going to get spotted. Slattery saw him but ignored him, moving around for a better angle.
Cameramen. They believed the lens was a shield, prot
ecting them from harm. He was going to get himself killed.
Muttering curses, Kenny moved forward. He stayed low, keeping his eyes on the clearest route to Slattery, ignoring the fight going on right beside him. O’Callahan was back in the action and Bane was running in, but Kenny kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. He could marvel at it all in the editing room when it was all over. First he had to get there.
He went to grab Slattery’s arm and a stray beam of energy sizzled through the cameraman’s chest, killing him instantly. He fell backwards, dead with his eyes open, a look of surprise on his face.
Kenny stared down at him.
This was confusing. This was … He looked up, feeling the need to call a halt to everything, to point to Patrick Slattery, to tell them that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. But all around, people fought and died, and none of them felt the need to call a time out.
He didn’t quite know what to do. What was the protocol at a time like this? He was vaguely aware of the possibility that he was in shock.
Kenny picked up the camera, turned it and filled the lens with Slattery’s body. Then he stood up straight, turned the camera towards Charivari. As he watched the fight, something was building in his chest. It wasn’t fear any more. Not really. It was just … an urge. An urge to get away. To just run.
He looked into the viewfinder. He saw O’Callahan hit Charivari and Charivari blast Rue. Charivari’s veins pulsed again and another ball of energy barely missed Vex, exploding against the wall behind him. And there was Valkyrie, searching for the golden stick, and Charivari saw her and fired another ball of energy and it exploded and Valkyrie Cain was … gone.
Kenny took his eye away from the viewfinder. She was gone. Vaporised. Dead. Valkyrie Cain. His subject. The girl who risked her life to save the world. The girl who gave her life.
Kenny turned, and he ran, and he kept on running.
tephanie fell to the ground and Fletcher released her, went tumbling, vanishing and reappearing as the residual energy crackled through him. She looked up to see a forest of legs. Someone crashed into her, a sorcerer fighting a Wretchling. They were all around. She was outside the wall and they were all around. Fletcher called her name and she reached for him, but he teleported, and didn’t come back.