Thief of the Ancients

by Mike Wild

  But Kali knew what was happening, and she couldn’t believe it.

  Horse was dying right in front of her.

  “Let me go to him,” Kali said. “Please.”

  Munch laughed. “The interfering adventurer shows her softer side. A compassion for all living things, all... creatures great and small. What a wonderfully pious attitude.” He chuckled and, leaning in, whispered, “Perhaps you should consider joining our church?”

  “Damn you!”

  “The Lord of All knows my cause is righteous.”

  Behind her, the others were bundled out of the Flagons. Munch signalled his men on the rooftops to train their weapons on them.

  Red and Aldrededor and Dolorosa stared grimly out at the scene before them, the woman raising her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no, no, no... oh, all the gods,” Dolorosa said.

  “’Ere, wosh goin’ on out here?” another voice enquired, and the Sarge, his head looking as though it had been dunked in a bucket of water, strode from a stable, his men following behind. Munch scowled, and with a flick of his head ordered his men to lower their weapons. Idiots these men might be, but they still represented what passed for officialdom in these parts and, obviously, it was Munch’s intention – perhaps his orders – to keep the situation as unofficial as he possibly could.

  Unfortunately for him, it seemed to have already gone too far. The sergeant squinted at the dying Horse, then the restrained Kali, his brow furrowing. “’Ere...” he said again.

  “There is nothing here to concern you,” Munch said. “A tragic accident, that’s all.”

  The sergeant pulled down his tunic, hiccupped and stared at him. “Looksh a bit more than that to me,” he said. He gestured to his own men, who laid their hands on their weapons. “I’m afraid, sir, I’m going to have to ashk you for your provincial papers.”

  Munch scowled, considering the situation, and then actually smiled. But he made no move for papers of any kind. The poor fool confronting him had no idea how far he had just stepped out of his depth.

  “Sarge, don’t,” Kali called to him. “Stay away.”

  But it was too late. Munch signalled his men and a rain of bolts took the sergeant’s men down. Only the sergeant himself was left unscathed. For him, Munch had reserved something special.

  It was over in seconds. Munch grunted as he forcefully levered his gutting knife from the chest of the sergeant fallen before him, and Kali could see him fighting the dull tugs on his bones as the roughened edge of his vicious blade grated and snagged between the dead man’s ribs. Pulling it free of the corpse, he took a breath – a very satisfied breath – and then slowly turned and plunged the still-dripping blade into one of the gasping, weeping men who had survived his men’s bolts. He did not go for a quick kill, instead impaling the man’s guts and then twisting the hilt with both hands so that the end of the wide blade began to gouge a hole the size of an infant’s head in the stomach of his screaming and helpless victim. The bucking man tried to grab the blade with his own hands, as if this would somehow ease his agony, but Munch pressed the sole of his boot onto them, slicing the grasping palms down the blade and, fingerless stumps now, into the gaping wound itself. As the man spasmed and uttered a final, guttural sob, Munch swiftly withdrew the blade, spewing a rain of intestinal matter onto his face and ending him.

  Munch turned away from the corpses, wiping his knife on a patch of grass, but not replacing it in its sheath. It was clear to Kali that he hadn’t murdered those men the way that he had just for fun. He had been performing for her – showing her how good he was.

  How much of a challenge she was about to face.

  Across the courtyard, Aldrededor knelt by the fallen Horse and trembled in helpless fury. Kali could see in his eyes how much he wanted to help her, to launch himself at Munch and his men for what they had done, and to kill them. But after his years of travelling the world Aldrededor was no fool – he knew the realities of life, of greater numbers, and of age. Instead, the old man stroked the neck of Kali’s quickly fading companion, doing what he could to make the last minutes of Horse’s life comfortable amidst the carnage. For his part, Horse’s eyes were trained on Kali, perhaps wondering why it was she did not come. Wanting her badly to come.

  “Arrrrgh!” Kali screamed, straining against the grips of her captors.

  “She’s mine,” Munch shouted to his men. “Let her go.”

  Her captors released her, and Munch beckoned her to him, the courtyard having become his arena. Kali’s first instinct was to charge at the bastard, to rip him limb from limb, empowered by the rage that had built – was still building – inside her like a volcano. But that would be foolish, she knew. She was no fighter, she just threw the punches she had to and, unless she was careful, Munch would likely skewer her before she could land a blow. Instead, she went halfway, starting to circle Munch in a half-crouch, ready, when her opening came, to spring. The trouble was, Munch was far too good a fighter to give her an opening, and as he too circled, expertly swinging his knife in a criss-cross defensive pattern, she knew that any such opening would likely be a feint, designed to draw her in. She had to play him at his own game, let him come to her.

  “Something the matter, girl? Don’t you hunger for my blood?”

  “I’d prefer to just watch it leak away.”

  “Well, here’s your chance,” Munch said.

  He raced at her, roaring loudly, swinging his knife diagonally right and left. The blackjack in her pocket useless to counter him, Kali knew she would have to rely on agility and speed to survive, and allowed herself to fall backwards to the ground. As his knife sliced above her, she rolled neatly out of his way and let his momentum crash him into a stack of barrels behind. Munch righted himself with another roar, and she quickly flipped back to her feet, beckoning to him, their positions reversed.

  Munch came again, this time slicing his knife out in a wide arc before him, a manoeuvre that caused the air through which it passed to thrum.

  Kali jumped back, jack-knifing herself at the waist so the tip of Munch’s blade swept by her abdomen a few inches away and then, as it completed its arc, somersaulted forwards beneath Munch’s plane of attack, slamming her soles into his gut. Munch buckled, winded, and, as he staggered back, Kali came upright again, grabbed him by the arm and, by sheer momentum alone, managed to spin him around. Once again Munch careered into barrels and, dizzied, collapsed to one knee. It was obvious he needed a second to recover but Kali had no intention of giving him the chance, and booted him in the face, knocking him onto his back.

  Munch struggled to get back up. If his roar had been loud before, then now it was deafening, and purposefully not pressing her advantage – knowing Munch would use every dirty trick in the book and try impaling her from his prone position – Kali smiled. This was exactly what she wanted – to get the bastard angry, because if he was angry then he would start to make mistakes. Panting, she bounced on the balls of her feet like a pugilist, her fists clenched, waiting for him to come again.

  Munch did, but quickly and with surprising agility, and Kali felt a surge of panic. She had known this was never going to be easy, but it was only at this moment she realised how hard her survival was going to be. Caught off guard, she flung herself desperately to the left as Munch’s knife pierced the air in the spot she had stood a half-second earlier. That she had avoided, but unexpectedly Munch also rammed his elbow into the side of her head as he moved. Stunned, her head ringing, Kali felt herself weaving away and supporting herself on one of the beams holding up the stables, without a clue as to where her assailant would come from next.

  The knife slammed into the beam hard, sending a chunk of wood and splinters flying into the air, and Kali felt the whole structure vibrate. Had the wood not been in the way, she would have been missing half her skull. With a gasp, she stumbled back into the stable proper, Munch wrenching his blade from the timber and following.

  “Where’s the key, girl? Tell me before I slice you in two!�
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  “Go to hells, you bastard!”

  A distraction, she thought. She needed a distraction. Then, on the stable floor, she spotted the patch of straw into which Horse had first bled and, swallowing at its warmth, plunged her hand into it, flinging it in Munch’s direction. Under normal circumstances it might have bought her a second before it was batted away, but with Horse’s blood causing the straw to stick to Munch’s face, it bought her two. Kali used the time to reorientate herself and ran back towards the yard.

  “Come here, girl,” Munch called from behind. No longer playing by his own rules, he signalled to two of his men to block her path. She spun to face two more, blocking the way she had come. And Munch came relentlessly on between them.

  Kali spun where she stood, double-taking on any possible escape route, anywhere she could run to buy more time, but there was none. But then something clicked in her head. Whether it was her rage or the booze coursing inside her, she couldn’t say, but she was seized suddenly by a rush of... well, she didn’t know what it was, only what it made her do.

  Surprising herself as she had at the Spiral, Kali ran straight for the nearest of Munch’s men, and as he raised a sword to stop her she leapt upwards, using his sword arm as a platform to leap onto his shoulder, and from there onto the stable roof, the recoil from her heel sending the man staggering forwards onto his face. One of the men on the roof came at her and Kali spun, bringing her leg up and around, impacting with the side of his head and sending him flying from the roof, crashing into another of Munch’s men on the ground. Another came and she ran straight at him, clutching his chest and flipping herself over and above him, maintaining her grip so that as a result he himself was flipped as she landed, slammed down, dazed. Working her way around the roof – kicking, throwing and punching any man who stood in her way, despatching them into the air until none were left above – she manoeuvred herself until Munch was directly below, staring up at her in some amazement amidst the chaos she’d caused. Kali panted and stared back, and she hoped her message was clear. Get ready, you little bastard. Because I’m coming.

  She only wished she knew how, because she was making this up as she went along.

  But so too now was Munch. Snarling, he flicked an arm at those men still standing, ordering them towards a stack of barrels that reached to the lip of the roof, and they began to clamber up towards her. Kali didn’t give them a chance, booting the highest barrel down at them, scattering them aside. She booted another, and then another, and as they arced through the air, leapt out between them, landing and rolling in the midst of those who meant to do her harm. The first of the barrels had already crushed a man to the ground, and the second, come to a stop on its side, she booted again, rolling it into the legs of her nearest assailant, buckling the man over it, onto his back, where she leapt and knocked him cold. As another came at her, she dropped to her haunches, curled her fingers under the rim of the third, upright barrel and, with strength she hadn’t known she possessed, spun it end over end, sending it smashing into his chest where he instinctively caught it, dropped it, and screamed. Kali didn’t let it go to waste. Seeing another of the men coming straight at her from behind his broken-footed comrade, she ran forwards, heaved the barrel up and then kept going, using it as a battering ram to crush him up against the stable wall. The barrel shattered and, with a groan, the man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

  Kali spun, panting and sweating, ready for the next.

  But that was it – other than the men guarding Aldrededor and the others, she’d done it.

  Now it was just her and Munch.

  He stood there, his knife held in readiness by his side, smiling, waiting. Why the bastard hadn’t attacked alongside his men, she didn’t know. Maybe he wanted to use them to tire her out. Maybe he just wanted to see what she’d suddenly become capable of. It didn’t matter, because all she could see, behind him, was a weeping Aldrededor and her now dead Horse.

  Kali roared, and disregarding the caution she had felt when the fight had begun – knowing somehow that whatever move he made now she’d cope with – ran straight for Munch.

  He raised his knife. But she didn’t give him the chance to use it.

  Kali used her speed to leap upwards, pirouetting in the air and sweeping her leg around to catch Munch with a sickening kick to his jaw that knocked him sideways. She landed, rolled and rose, spinning up from a crouch to bring her other leg around and deliver an equally numbing blow to his opposite side. Turn the other cheek, you bastard, she thought – they teach you that in church? Munch spat and grunted, as much with surprise as with pain, and, double-whammied, staggered about like the drunks he had slaughtered. Kali gave him no time to get his bearings, racing in at him and grabbing his knife hand by the wrist, at the same time bringing up her knee so that it impacted with his underarm, numbing his nerves and forcing him to release his grip. The gutting knife clattered to the ground and Munch stared at her, mumbling something incoherent. Kali didn’t care what it was, using her leverage on his arm to twist him towards her and then ramming her elbow, hard and again and again and again, into his face. Munch grunted with each blow, blood spouting from his nose, and weaved backwards, totally stunned. As he did, Kali booted him first in the crotch and then the chest, and finally under his chin, sending him crashing backwards to the ground. She bent over him, panting, hot with rage, and pulled back her fist.

  She was about to deliver the first of what she intended to be a volley of blows when it happened again. A vision. Only one much more painful than before. She suddenly couldn’t punch anything, and all she could do was slam her hands to the sides of her head.

  The last thing she saw of her home and her friends was Munch rising, snarling, and reaching for his knife.

  And then agonising pain plunged her into blackness again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BOOTS, AGAIN. THUDDING this time not into her side but hard onto the ground. Many, many boots, thudding down one after the other, in militaristic rhythm.

  The sound of marching.

  But Kali saw nothing, saw no one. Only a sea the colour of blood. No, not just the colour of blood, for blood it seemed to be. Viscous and slow, it spread languidly across a flat and desolate landscape beneath a sky the colour of fog. A sea of blood that flowed ever outwards, seemingly without shore, until it covered all there was to see.

  There was screaming, too. A distant and tortured screaming of many mouths that, though it seemed far away, was nevertheless all around her. But again, she saw no one – in the midst of the blood and the screaming, she stood all alone.

  Kali stared down at the sea and wondered – was this the hells? Had she, despite everything she believed, been taken by Kerberos? Was she there? Would she see Horse?

  There was movement on the horizon and she looked slowly up. Something was coming towards her. No, not something – many things whose bootfalls were in time with the marching she heard. Huge, looming figures that were somehow familiar in shape and somehow not, a dozen at first, and then a dozen behind, and then a dozen more still, marching towards her, advancing in rank after rank after rank.

  Marching through the blood.

  The ground trembled, and the blood flowed away in sluggish banks, revealing layer upon layer of bones – human bones – whose flesh had rotted where they lay. And the skulls and ribcages and femurs were crushed beneath the boots of the advancing horde as it came ever on. Kali could see now that the figures had looked familiar because they were human-shaped, but human they most definitely were not. There were no boots on those heavy, crunching feet. And it was not armour that clanked. And the sky of fog made their metal skins shine.

  She turned slowly, struggled to run from the things, but her legs moved as if mired in sludge. The marching came closer and closer until it was right behind her, and her heart thudded. And then a great shadow loomed over her.

  She turned again, looked up. Red and evil eyes stared at her and then a vast hammer came down hard.

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nbsp; “AARRGH!” KALI SAID, awakening bolt upright. That she awoke in such a position came as a bit of a surprise, but then awakening in any position would have been a surprise, considering she hadn’t expected to wake at all.

  Where? she thought. What? And then she remembered. She wasn’t dead, then – she hadn’t been finished by Munch. What she had seen had been another vision. But why the hells couldn’t she move?

  Ah. Kali realised she was restrained on a solid chair made of wood that could once have been butchers’ blocks, on a raised platform in the middle of a cold, stone room. Thick iron collars integral to the chair circled her ankles, wrists and neck, holding her almost immovably in place. Her first instinct was to jerk against them, which she duly did, regretting the move when she found the insides of the collars had been inlaid with small sharp pins that stabbed immediately into her skin. Kali yelped, winced and stayed still. This chair had been designed by someone who liked inflicting pain, and she had a horrible suspicion who that might be.

  All kinds of things went through her mind, not the least of them that she had been stripped of her working gear and was clothed only in her vest and pants. The goose pimples on her arms and legs were, however, the least of her discomforts, the greatest being the bloody great thumping headache she was not sure whether was the result of the second vision she had suffered or what must have been a knockout blow from Munch. Obviously the bastard had never intended to kill her – only make her think so – after all, he’d never find the key if she were dead.

  The key. What was so important – and so disturbing to Merrit Moon – about that key that had driven Munch and his cronies first to the Spiral and then to the Flagons in its pursuit? Bloody images from the tavern that she did not want flashed into her mind, and she pushed them away.