Undeterred by her injuries Dońa Jarrow came forward again with a snarl. Munroe swayed to one side and sliced her opponent across one cheek, then ducked under her arm and darted behind her back. As expected, the shallow cut on her face made Dońa Jarrow even angrier. Pride in her appearance was her greatest weakness and until now her face had remained free of blemishes and scars.
She muttered something, a final insult perhaps, then came forward, silent and relentless. Munroe grabbed her right wrist, stopping the attack cold while Dońa Jarrow found her left. They started to wrestle for control, trying to stab one another while keeping their adversary’s blade at bay. Kicking and twisting, they slammed into a wall then skidded across the street and fell against the other. Dońa Jarrow’s head cracked off the stone, stunning her for a second, and that was all it took.
Munroe dropped her blade, seized Dońa Jarrow’s wrist again with both hands and, twisting her hips, threw her. Dońa Jarrow had a second to cry out before the world tilted and she flew over Munroe’s back, then struck the ground. The impact drove the air from her lungs and she dropped her dagger. As she struggled for breath Munroe swept up her dagger and buried it in Dońa Jarrow’s stomach, pinning her to the ground.
Dońa Jarrow’s face paled and she started to gag, struggling to breathe as dark rich blood welled up from around the hilt. Munroe twisted the blade then wrenched it free. A streamer of gore followed her hand up into the air. Dońa Jarrow screeched, throwing her head back and bashing it off the ground before passing out.
Munroe lay beside her for a minute, gathering her breath, then struggled back to her feet. Her clothes were torn, bloody and covered in filth, but she was alive. Part of her had thought to extend the fight, to take Dońa Jarrow apart piece by piece, but the less savage voice inside had won. Dońa Jarrow was still alive, but she wouldn’t be for much longer.
Munroe stared down at Dońa Jarrow and expected to feel something. Triumph. Satisfaction perhaps. But all she felt was empty, tired and cold. It wasn’t over, though. Something far worse remained and she’d left Fray to fight it alone. Stumbling away down the alley Munroe raced towards the source of the pain inside her chest.
Fray was outnumbered thirteen to one. Every instinct in his body told him to run but he didn’t. Something stopped him. Perhaps he’d just given up and knew that running would be futile. Perhaps he was just too stubborn. Or maybe some insane part of his mind thought he could still win despite the overwhelming odds.
Faced with certain death Fray’s biggest regrets came to the surface. If only he’d joined the Guardians earlier. If only he hadn’t been so determined to prove his father wrong they could have spent years together. By now he would’ve learned how to wield his magic properly. If they’d worked together five years ago his father might still be alive today. If only, if only.
The cold hard truth settled into Fray’s bones. Everyone dies alone.
With nothing else to do, he drew his sword, tried to stop his arm from shaking and remember his training. The armed thugs stalked towards him, taking the long way around the circles of blood. The Flesh Mage ignored them all and resumed his ritual. The assault on Fray’s senses continued and he felt something wet trickle out of his ears. He touched a finger to the side of his head and it came away red. Doing his best to ignore the mounting pain, he focused on not dropping his sword.
A husky voice behind Fray drew everyone’s attention. “Catch you fuckers at a bad time?”
Munroe stalked into the square, a grim expression on her face. As she came alongside him Fray noticed her clothes were torn and blood-spattered. She had a few nasty-looking cuts, but none of them appeared life-threatening.
“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered. “I had to take care of something.”
Munroe raised an eyebrow at the dozen jackals, who had stopped in their approach. Their surprised expressions began to change into one of abject terror. “I guess my reputation is worse than I thought.”
Someone cleared their throat behind Fray and turning again he saw Choss walk into the square. Behind him came the big Vorga and at least half a dozen armed jackals, led by a grizzled Morrin.
Munroe’s grin stretched from ear to ear but it quickly faded when she saw the portal stretch even wider. Fray felt a stab of pain in his stomach. The Flesh Mage’s voice rose in pitch and the blood in the three circles began to bubble and churn.
The time for threats and bravado was over. Screaming at the top of their lungs, Choss and the others charged at the thugs. The world changed colours as Fray stretched out with his magic towards the portal, desperate to unravel it.
At his side Fray heard something huge unfurl, like a sail flapping in the wind. Wave after wave of pure white energy flowed out of Munroe’s outstretched hands towards the portal. A sea of blue sparks erupted where the two forces met, so bright it made his eyes hurt, like staring at the sun. Fray wanted to turn away but needed to see the knot in order to peel it apart, one strand at a time.
Munroe’s magic made the impossible a reality. Whether it was good fortune for him or bad for the Flesh Mage he didn’t know, but every time Fray seized a thread it immediately came apart. He turned the knot over and over, invisible hands feeling for the slightest lump to grab onto. Again and again he ripped it apart, peeling back layer by layer like an onion. Their combined magic seemed to be working, as the knot seemed smaller now and the portal flickered in the air, winking in and out of existence.
Above the noise of ringing steel and the howling phantom wind, Fray heard the Flesh Mage scream. He could feel the sound as well, deep down in his bones, a pain so intense that it threatened to knock him down. He could see that Munroe’s mouth was moving but he couldn’t hear the words. The defiance on her face told him enough. She would never surrender.
Bodies whirled around the square, blood sprayed into the air and the chaos only fed the ritual. Across the city rabid gangs of drug-fuelled jackals tore into each other, filling the streets with rivers of blood. A torrent of power flowed out of the sky, channelled through the Flesh Mage then poured into the rift. It came back into focus and then widened again.
Something stirred in the heart of the rift. Like ripples on a pond the black space in between moved and flexed. The surface began to stretch outwards, as if something from the other side was pushing hard, trying to claw its way into the world. He saw the outline of something massive, a huge hand with many fingers.
The rift was still not fully dilated and something from the other side was trying to cross over into their world. If they didn’t stop it before it was too late, thousands would die.
Reaching out with his magic Fray cast about for anything that would help. Something flickering at his right eye corner and, turning his head, Fray saw a faint red wire hanging in the air. It sparkled as if it were made of a chain of tiny rubies, running at waist height into one of the surrounding buildings.
Just to the left of that he saw another, and now that he was focusing his eyes on the threads he saw dozens, maybe hundreds. The whole area was saturated with a network of threads that no one else could see. Across the square a blue vein rose from the ground and then it crystallised, turned red and hung motionless in the air. At the other end of the wire Fray could see the spirit of one of the Flesh Mage’s most recent sacrifices.
Reaching out with both hands Fray pulled all of the threads towards him, channelling his magic into a request. Almost instantly the shades started to respond. A phantasmal river of blood burst up from the earth. An echo of the many beasts that had been slaughtered in the meat district. Riding out of the ground on the torrent came a hundred restless spirits, howling and screaming for justice. More started to flow upwards, covering the sky above the square, whirling around his head like a tornado that only he could see and hear.
Now that he had started it the spirits rose faster than Fray could summon them. Whether it was the magic of the portal or something else, but soon hundreds of angry spirits were crowding for space in the sky.
�
�It was him,” whispered Fray into the storm of the dead. “The Flesh Mage.” As one, the spirits turned to stare at him, and under the scrutiny of so many Fray felt his heart miss a beat. A second later they refocused on the Flesh Mage and then surged towards him.
Instead of passing through him the first shade collided with the Flesh Mage and there was a spark of energy, like the glow of a firefly. By itself the spirit did little but as hundreds started to attack the Flesh Mage together he staggered under the tide. The spirits were expending their essence and were starting to come apart but they persisted, ripping into the Flesh Mage, tearing at his magic defences.
While the Flesh Mage was attacked by the spirits of the dead Fray redoubled his efforts, ripping the knot apart as fast as he could. It was easier than before. He could feel the tiniest imperfection, seize hold and rip it away from the whole with little effort. Yet as fast as he pulled it apart the Flesh Mage was able to rebuild it, maintaining the rift’s integrity. Or so it seemed at first, but Fray quickly noticed the Flesh Mage was starting to lag behind. The flow of power from the sky was not enough to combat him, the army of the dead and the efforts of Munroe. Fray could hear her breathing hard beside him, tired breath hissing from between her clenched teeth. None of them could go on for much longer.
Reaching out with both hands towards the rift Fray pushed himself as hard as he could, throwing everything he had at it. Fresh pain blossomed deep inside and a fire hotter than anything he had imagined started to well up.
The portal flexed outwards again, stretching further and further like the skin of some vast creature trying to give birth. Now he could see the arm of something inside the glossy sheath.
The shining black substance of the portal ripped apart. A massive blue-black hand, bigger than Fray’s torso, touched the ground and the screaming began. It rang in his ears. It filled his head and his heart skipped a beat. He was aware of people falling down all over the square, thrashing around on the ground and howling like beasts. The hand began to blur as if his eyes were watering, then it began to change shape and colour. It twisted and writhed, his perception of it constantly in flux as it sought purchase in a world where it was utterly alien. The hand stretched forth and then it became an arm and the start of something’s shoulder.
Fray didn’t remember falling to his knees but as mud and blood began to soak into his trousers he raised both hands and pushed himself again. The flow of power beside him from Munroe resumed, hammering into the portal, and the thing’s hand jerked as if in pain.
The Flesh Mage had stumbled to one knee but now he pushed himself upright. Reaching towards the sky he pulled down the energy and fed it into the portal. But the flow had started to recede and the flow of power was fading, now a trickle, now only a few drops. The phantom wind had started to fade as well and Fray’s hearing was returning to normal. The shades were continuing to harry the Flesh Mage but their energy was almost spent. Nevertheless they’d done their job, as his power was depleted.
Screaming in frustration Fray saw the Flesh Mage draw on his own energy reserves from the stolen lives he’d taken.
Something flickered at the edge of Fray’s vision on his left but he ignored it. The burning fire had spread from his stomach out to his legs and now he couldn’t feel his toes. The stretching ache inside became worse and he felt something tear, like muscle being ripped away from bone. His mouth stretched wide in a silent scream and he fell onto his side, but didn’t let go. His eyes never wavered from the knot and he continued his assault, shredding it as fast as he could.
Someone was running towards the portal, a blur of red and black. It was Byrne.
He threw himself at the creature, burying his sword into the flesh of its arm. It twitched and the fingers closed in response, forming a massive fist which pounded the earth. Roof tiles fell from the surrounding buildings into the square, adding to the chaos and noise. Byrne pulled his sword free and continued his assault, hacking at the arm as if it were a tree trunk.
The Flesh Mage raised one hand towards Byrne but then two arrows sprouted from his chest. Two more joined them shortly after but he didn’t fall down, only took a step backwards. The skin on his face twisted and flexed like dough before resettling. The arrows started to move, inch by inch, being pushed forward until they fell out of his body.
Fray heard a faint whooshing and an axe slammed into the Flesh Mage’s face, the blade buried alongside his nose. The flow of power from him into the portal wavered and then stopped. He took another step backwards and wobbled on his feet. Two more arrows hammered into his chest and then two more. Finally blood began to trickle from the wound in his face. More arrows and weapons found their mark on the Flesh Mage, distracting him from the portal, forcing him to try and regenerate his own body.
Byrne continued to cut into the thing’s arm but it seemed to be having little effect except making the creature irate. It swatted him aside but he quickly scrambled to his feet and resumed his attack.
Despite the loss of power, the rift continued to thrive. Fray didn’t know if the being on the other side was feeding it but even without the Flesh Mage it had not disappeared.
A scream of defiance echoed around the square. It took Fray a few seconds to realise it came from Munroe. Forcing herself forward, one step at a time, she grimly stalked towards the portal and the creature trying to force its way into their world. With one hand pointing at the rift she reached towards the sky with the other. A fat fork of lightning split the heavens, giving Fray a brief glimpse of the hidden stars, and a second later pure white fire slammed down from above into the rift. The sound was so loud it made his ears pop and his head ring, pain lancing behind his eyes.
Finally the knot holding the rift open began to come apart, faster and faster. It flickered once and then again, winking in and out of existence. The monstrous arm spasmed and out of the corner of his vision Fray saw the Flesh Mage fall backwards, his body a pin-cushion of arrows and weapons.
“Byrne!” he screamed, but Byrne couldn’t hear him. He hacked at the creature’s arm again and again, chunks of nightmare flesh flying into the air all around. As the portal flickered once more, the arm started to withdraw, slowly at first and then moving faster and faster. Byrne pursued it relentlessly, slicing at the retreating form.
At the last second before the monstrous hand disappeared it lashed out, seizing Byrne around the waist and lifting him off the ground as if he were a child. Fray thought it was going to smash Byrne into the ground but instead the arm vanished through the portal, taking Byrne with it.
Only a few strands held the portal open but Fray hesitated. The rift continued to hang there in the air and he waited for Byrne to emerge from the other side. He would come back. He had to come back. Fray had lost his father to a Flesh Mage. He couldn’t lose Byrne the same way.
“Close the portal,” screamed Munroe. “Close it!”
Fray was on his feet stumbling towards the rift, tripping over the totems and rings of blood, never once taking his eyes off it. He needed to give Byrne enough time to come through.
When he was finally in front of the portal Fray stared through the opening into the space in between. With magic heightening his senses Fray felt his mind start to unravel. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing but clarity of thought abandoned him. A scream welled up inside and he started to claw at his own face, trying to gouge out his own eyes to hide what he was seeing. Strong hands grabbed his before he could blind himself. Amid the screams inside and out he heard a voice whispering in his ear to close the portal.
Fray severed the last threads holding the portal open. It snapped shut like a slamming door and the aftershock sent him hurtling through the air. He hammered into something hard, cracking his head against stone, and tumbled to the ground in a boneless heap. All colour seemed to bleed from the world as the magic left him, until he was left with a drab and dreary version of reality. More colours began to drift away as an enveloping darkness crept in on all sides until it swallowed him
whole and then he felt nothing.
CHAPTER 45
Katja shuffled along the passage as fast as she could manage in the cramped and narrow space. She’d tried running, but as slender as she was, both shoulders noisily brushed along the walls. Alerting Teigan to her arrival before she had a chance to intervene would not help the Queen.
Forgoing speed for stealth she sidestepped and skipped along the path, holding the fizzing globe aloft in one hand. She followed the right passage until she reached the first junction, turned left and pressed on. Katja had expected cobwebs, dust, even rats, but the secret corridors of the palace were empty of all three, which suggested they saw a lot of use. Through the walls she heard muffled screams and the muted sound of running feet. Whatever panic the Kallans had started was still causing guests to flee in terror.
The corridor ended at a very narrow set of spiral stairs. Katja had to almost hug the central shaft and started to feel a little dizzy as she went up and up. Another long black and silent corridor stretched out ahead, but now she was struck by the silence. Surely if something had happened to Queen Talandra there would have been some noise? The clash of steel. A scream. She hoped that meant she still had time. A more terrifying thought pushed its way to the surface. What if she was already too late? What if the Queen and her guards were already dead and Teigan had fled?
Fear gripped her heart and she increased her speed. Holding up the pale green light she saw several openings on both sides. She turned down the third opening on the right and nearly walked headfirst into a huge black iron door. A complex lattice of thick scrollwork blocked her way with bars as thick as her leg. The hinges were set with heavy bolts and there wasn’t even space to put her arm through the gaps in the heavy metal. It looked like an impenetrable barrier until she spotted a small keyhole tucked away at knee height. Katja knelt down, whispered a brief prayer to the Maker, and tried the key Faith had given her in the lock. There was a faint click and the door moved slightly.
Bloodmage Page 40
