Mourningbird

by Brock Deskins

  The Necrophage vaulted over the girl’s club, parried the young warrior’s blade, and kicked him in the chest. He spun about, stabbing out with a century of skill and instinct to guide his blind thrust. Bertram recovered with nearly matching skill and agility and blocked the seeking spear out wide, and tore into Dorian with a flurry of blows.

  Dorian found himself momentarily on the defensive, something to which he was not accustomed except when battling his sister. The thought of a human even coming close to being an equal in combat fueled his rage.

  “Duck!” Kiera shouted.

  Bertram glanced over his shoulder and bent at the knees as a large vase went sailing over his head. Dorian struck the vase with his lance, shattering it. Bertram tried to seize the momentary advantage, but the Necrophage stepped in and lashed out at his sword hand with his foot, striking Bertram’s wrist.

  The inquisitor fought to maintain his grip and bring his sword back in line before the Necrophage could capitalize on the opening he had created. Bertram knew in that moment that he was too slow. Dorian drew his lance back, his arm muscles bunching up in preparation for plunging it deep into the human’s chest.

  Dorian looked up at Kiera’s shrill cry as she rushed forward, a small table held before her like a shield, its four legs jutting out toward him. The Necrophage shifted his aim and took a step away from his impending victim. His void spear sundered the table with ease, its tip stabbing through Kiera’s hair as it whisked over her shoulder.

  Kiera collided with Dorian, shoving him back until they struck the wall of the adjoining hallway. The table legs collapsed and the surface split in half. She tried to headbutt the gruesome face staring down at her, but Dorian simply lifted his chin, and her head bounced off his chest.

  Dorian shoved her away with enough force to send her tumbling across the floor. Bertram was up and running to her side. Kiera snatched up the two nearest table legs and made to throw herself back into the fray. Bertram put himself between her and the Necrophage.

  “Go get help!” Bertram ordered.

  Kiera tried to push past him. “Stop trying to be the hero!”

  Dorian punched out with his free hand and struck the inquisitor in the chest with a black ray. Bertram grunted and was thrown back by the force of the impact. He collided with Kiera, and they both went tumbling to the floor.

  Kiera leapt to her feet, but Bertram was stunned and slow to recover. Dorian whipped his hand forward again. A shadowy tendril snaked around Kiera’s ankle, and he pulled her back onto the floor and began reeling her in like a fish ready to be gaffed. Bertram rolled onto his side and hacked at the tether. The arcanstone set in the sword’s pommel glowed, wreathing the entire blade in a nimbus of pale blue light. It severed the lash, causing Dorian to stumble back against the wall.

  Kiera stood and helped Bertram to his feet. “Maybe we should both go get help.”

  Bertram nodded his agreement. “I think you’re right.”

  The two backed away from the Necrophage, who glared at them, seething with barely controlled fury. Dorian decided it was past time to vacate the palace. He could not waste any more time with these two. All it would take was for the palace guard to get organized and trap him where their damnable muskets could overwhelm his defenses.

  He lashed out with his spectral whip wildly, forcing his two opponents to retreat. They leapt away and ducked beneath the whirling lash, heading for the stairs behind them. Dorian rushed forward and vaulted over their heads. His feet churned the moment they touched the floor, propelling him through the hall and down the steps in a headlong rush.

  Bertram’s face paled. “Dear gods, the ballroom!”

  The inquisitor sprinted after the creature with Kiera close on his heels as she cursed her tattered gown.

  CHAPTER 24

  Top Hat touched a button on his goggles. Small pieces of mage glass lit up, and the ground before him brightened and brought some of the smaller details into view. A well-worn track led toward the port side of the airship, but a smaller, less-traveled path wound around the side of the mound.

  He followed this second trail, which the wind-blown sand was quickly obliterating, to the base of the debris pile where it disappeared. Top Hat stared at the wall before him, searching for the hidden door he expected was nearby. He spied a small cavity in the rubble, just large enough for a small hand to fit inside, noting the thinner layer of dust around its aperture.

  Reaching inside, he felt around with his fingers and found the latch. He tripped it, and a section of rubble swung inward. Top Hat took a moment to look at the iron door with its clever veneer of broken bricks, rock, and sand before gliding into the opening and making himself part of the deep shadows looming within.

  The brutal killer stalked toward the sound of talking and perhaps a small hammer beating on metal. Top Hat was impressed by what he found hidden beneath the airship. What appeared to be nothing but a collapsed building contained a remarkable workshop full of tools and devices. One chamber had an alchemic setup, and another held a homemade stitching machine and small tanning station. The excessive heat and smell of metal hinted at the presence of a forge somewhere within the labyrinth. If this Russel kid did all of his own work, he was a valuable acquisition indeed.

  Top Hat returned his focus to the matter at hand, narrowly missing a pressure plate in the floor that would have triggered an alarm or any manner of deadly trap. Even as he disabled it, he managed to spot another not far away.

  He found three more such devices before he neared the chamber from which the tapping issued. Top Hat pulled the sonic pistol Fred had given him for the task, checking the dials to ensure that the sound waves it created were shot in a narrow beam and not so powerful as to bring the entire structure down on top of him.

  Holding the gun with both hands, Top Hat darted around the corner. He whipped his head from side to side, his eyes flicking about in search of his quarry. He looked back to the workbench where a crude mechanical arm gripped a hammer and banged on a piece of metal. This accounted for the sound he had followed, but what about the voices?

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He threw himself to the side without further thought just as Russel’s pistol shot split the air where his head had been. Top Hat crashed to the rough floor and rolled onto his back, bringing the sonic gun up.

  The boy rotated the next barrel of his repeater in line with the breech and took aim. Top Hat rolled to his left. The shot tore a hole through his right sleeve and scored the flesh beneath. He tumbled through a doorway into another chamber fitted with a workbench and tools to cut and polish mage glass. He raised himself to one knee and trained his weapon on the doorway.

  Russel touched a button on the device strapped onto his left forearm. The tiny mage glass chips set in a tight square lit up with varying degrees of luminosity. It created a monochromatic image of a small room where a blocky caricature of a man wearing a top hat crouched next to a table, aiming what Russel could only guess was a gun at the doorway.

  A pair of insect-like eyes glowed above and behind Top Hat as he lay in wait. He could not afford to sit idle, or he risked the boy escaping into the storm. But he dared not stick his head out or he would likely get a lead ball put through it.

  Top Hat widened the beam on the sonic pistol and crept toward the doorway. Sweeping the beam blindly across the room was risky as the structure he was in did not appear to be incredibly stable, but it was a chance he had to take. Fred was not going to take kindly to failure a second time.

  Just as he was about to stick the flared barrel around the doorjamb, something a little bigger than a skitter lizard, and much heavier, dropped onto his shoulder. Top Hat reflexively flung his hand over his shoulder to protect his vulnerable neck. A small stiletto attached to the mechanical scorpion’s tail stabbed through the palm of his hand.

  Top Hat cursed, closed his hand around the stinger, and flung the automaton through the doorway. He unleashed his sonic gun on it as it flipped over and made to
charge. The construct stopped and shook as if suffering from palsy before the mage glass eyes and power stones shattered. With his finger still on the trigger, he swept the invisible beam across the room.

  Russel’s pistol discharged again, but he flinched under the audible assault, and his shot knocked the hat off Top Hat’s head. The pistol fell to the floor as Russel clapped his hands over his ears. Dust and tiny bits of stone and sand drifted down from the ceiling as parts of the structure began vibrating.

  Top Hat ceased his assault, stepped up to Russel, who knelt on the floor while rocking back and forth, and stuffed the repeater pistol into his waistband.

  “I’m starting to see why my men failed, and why Fred is so interested in capturing you.”

  “Leave him alone!” Ashlea shouted, her voice followed by a pair of shocks delivered through bits of mage glass set in the walls.

  Top Hat spun, thinking that Kiera had shown up. He raised the sonic gun but stopped and stared at the spectral form of a young girl.

  “Russel, run!”

  Top Hat twisted back around. Russel raised the small device he called his dazzler and triggered it in Top Hat’s face. Top Hat reeled back, stumbling and disoriented. His goggles had saved him from the device’s hypnotic trance, but it still put him off balance. Russel jumped to his feet and ran. Top Hat lifted his other arm and sent a daggerwing blade plunging into the back of the boy’s leg.

  Russel collapsed to the ground with a strangled cry, slapping his hand over the painful, bloody wound.

  “Russel!” Ashlea cried, and zapped Top Hat with another jolt of electricity.

  Top Hat aimed the sonic gun at the nearest piece of mage glass and held the trigger until the stone exploded. Ashlea vanished but reappeared an instant later, her image projected from another stone in the room. He pointed the arm with the attached knife thrower at Russel.

  “Recognize this? I’m sure you do. No more of that, or I’ll put a blade in his other leg!” he snapped. “I only need his brain and his hands.”

  Ghostly tears ran down Ashlea’s face, imitating the briny droplets streaming down Russel’s. Top Hat touched a finger to his goggles and was able to see the streamer of energy attached to the girl’s image like an umbilical cord. With a warning to Russel not to move, he followed the smoky blue light to a recess in the wall. Inside, he found the void box containing Ashlea’s arcanstone. Gold wire created a circuit allowing connection between Ashlea, the box, and numerous stones adorning his lair and the airship above.

  Top Hat opened the box and smiled at the precious arcanstone gripped in gold prongs holding it in place. “Well, well, what do we have here?” he crooned as he gazed upon the magnificent stone. “You get more interesting by the minute. Fred is going to be very pleased.”

  He closed the lid with a sharp snap and wrenched the box from its alcove. With her connection to the outside world severed and her arcanstone sealed inside the void box, Ashlea winked out of existence.

  The killer stood over Russel, and held up the knife thrower. “As long as you cooperate and do as you’re told, you will be fine. A man with a good right hand can always use an equally fantastic left. Be Fred’s left hand, and you will never want for anything again.” He tucked away the sonic pistol opposite of Russel’s repeater. “Be a good lad and we won’t have any more need of violence.”

  Russel’s eyes glared hatred at the man, but he nodded his acquiescence. Top Hat smiled, leaned down, and tossed the boy over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The killer knew without a doubt that their newest acquisition just made them the most powerful gang in the city. Powerful enough to unseat Nimat as underlord. Maybe powerful enough to rule it all.

  ***

  Dorian hurtled down the stairs, vaulted the balcony railing, and landed on the ballroom floor in a flourish of black fabric. While most of the guests had run outside, not everyone had fled at the sound of the explosion. A score or more of people spoke in tight groups, theorizing what had happened just minutes ago. Conner stood next to one of several palace guards now watching over the remaining guests.

  Women screamed and men shouted their surprise and fear when the Necrophage dropped into their midst. Guards shouted for their charges to stay back as they raised their muskets. Dorian ran toward the nearest egress, which happened to be near where Conner was.

  Conner drew the sword from his cane and set to meet the creature’s charge. The room filled with smoke as rifles discharged. A woman, caught in the crossfire, shrieked in pain from an errant shot. The soldier next to Conner stepped forward, swinging the butt of his musket at Dorian’s head. Dorian ducked the strike and ran him through with his void lance, making the young man pay for his courage with his life.

  Conner’s blade hissed through the air, parting the Necrophage’s black robe and the white flesh beneath. Dorian snarled and stabbed at the man, his lance striking and retracting with machine-like speed and precision. Conner retreated under the furious counter assault, his slender blade working feverishly to parry the onslaught.

  He fought to force his crippled leg to move, his stiff gait hampering his defense. Soldiers charged with swords held in their hands or gripped muskets like clubs. With no time for a duel, Dorian lashed out with his dark power and struck Conner in the chest with a shadow bolt. Conner, his bad leg already failing in its task to keep him upright, fell onto his back and fought to regain his breath.

  “No!” Kiera shouted from the stairs as the Necrophage raised his lance to finish the job.

  Something hard bounced off the side of Dorian’s head and clattered to the floor with a metallic clink. He looked down and saw a silver spoon spin to a stop a short distance away. Dorian spotted the flash of metal out of the corner of his eye and ducked the fork that followed. He turned his head and spied a young man with several placement settings worth of flatware gripped in one hand, a butter knife held ready to hurl in the other.

  With a quick glance at the approaching soldiers, Dorian leveled his lance at Wesley and charged. Wesley’s pilfered flatware sounded like wind chimes as they clattered to the floor.

  He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender while running backward crying, “No, no, no!”

  Dorian thrust his lance out and felt it sink home. Wesley’s eyes went wide and he grabbed the weapon out of reflex. His toes skipped across the floor as he felt himself being lifted up before the creature threw him off, stepped on his prone body, and crashed through the large bay window behind him.

  Kiera raced to Conner’s side, but he waved her off as he struggled to sit up and catch his breath. “I’m fine, go see to your friend.”

  She was already moving toward Wesley before Conner finished his sentence. “Wesley, please be OK!” she pleaded as she dropped to her knees next to him.

  Wesley’s eyes fluttered open and he took a deep breath. “I think I’m OK—” he rapped against something metal hidden beneath his coat “—but this serving tray is only good for melting down now.”

  Kiera touched the hole in his jacket and felt the sharp metal edges. “You’re bleeding!”

  Wesley felt under his jacket. “Yeah, he got a piece of me, but only a small piece. Hurts like a bastard though. So, are you going to sit here and mother me, or you going to go help the inquisitor kick his ass?”

  Kiera watched Bertram hurl himself through the shattered window and, with one last look at her friend, chased after him. The dust storm engulfed her the instant she leapt through the window out onto a portico. She spied a swift-moving silhouette she was certain was Bertram just before she lost him to the storm.

  She veered toward the parked carriages instead of following in Bertram’s vanishing tracks. Cleary had his knife half-drawn from the sheath before he realized it was Kiera bursting into the carriage where he had taken shelter from the storm.

  “What’s going on?” Cleary asked, sensing the girl’s distress.

  Kiera pushed past him and dug under the seat for her batons and grapnel gun. “Go see to Conner and Wesley! There
was an explosion, and that…thing attacked us. Bertram’s chasing him, and I’m going after them.”

  “Is that what that was? I thought it was thunder. What happened to Conner? Is he OK?”

  “He took a hit from that thing’s magic, but I think he’ll be fine…I hope…I don’t know, just go to him!” Kiera grabbed the hilt of Cleary’s knife and slashed at her already ruined gown in frustration, cutting herself free of the shimmersilk trappings and revealing knee-length leather leggings beneath.

  She belted on her grapnel gun and bracer and slid the batons into their loops. Cleary grabbed her by the arm as she tried to rush back out into the storm.

  Lifting the seat cushion of the other bench, he pulled out a mask and handed it to her. “Take my mask. It won’t fit right, but it will still help with the dust.”

  Kiera looked at the inside and saw that the nose and mouth both had screens to filter out particulates. Polished crystal lenses covered the eyeholes, and several pieces of mage glass were set amongst the detailed techno-scribings adorning the interior.

  Cleary helped fit the mask in place and touched a spot on the side. The coach’s dark interior brightened, and Kiera was able to see as if she were using her mage glass torch, maybe even a little better as it seemed to even penetrate some of the blowing dust.

  Kiera leapt from the carriage and set off in the direction she had last seen Bertram. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Cleary jogging toward the palace entrance. She hated to leave, but Conner and Wesley would be fine…hopefully. The true danger was running away, and she was determined not to let him escape a second time.

  Her mask helped her identify recent footsteps in the freshly blown sand now covering the streets and walkways. They were wide-set, indicating a running stride. She heard musket fire in the distance and the sound of a gendarme whistle. Using her grapnel gun, Kiera took to the rooftops, sprinting across the buildings and soaring between the gulf separating them.

  Kiera raced to the edge of the roof and saw two gendarmes lying dead in the street below, or at least not moving. Bertram was on his back with one arm covering his nose and mouth, the other reaching for his sword lying just beyond his grasp. She acted without thought, leaping over the edge, her baton poised to crack the creature’s skull.