by Mike Morris
Lin laughed. "Just not very good ones."
"You were supposed to be asleep."
"Sorry to disappoint you." She reached forward and yanked the knife out of the man's leg. He gave a yelp that brought a smile to Lin's face. She stood up, belted on her sword and slipped one knife in her belt behind her back. The other she kept in her hand as she slung her pack over her shoulder.
Thomas' forehead dripped with sweat and she could see him shaking. Maybe from fear or maybe from the blood running out from his leg. Lin didn't care either way. "You ... you ... you said you'd let us go."
"I said I'd let you walk out of here, actually, and I will. Someone'll be along at some point. They can untie the pair of you. It'll be up to them whether they report you to the local law. Maybe they will and you'll get hanged. Maybe they won't and I'll see you in Arbour."
Lin left the pair of them trussed up and went downstairs to Simon's room. He answered after the third knock, half-dressed and wiping sleep from his eyes. "What's the matter?" he asked on seeing the look on Lin's face. He stepped aside to let her into his room.
"Two men just tried to kill me."
"What? Are you hurt? Where are they now?" He grabbed his sword but Lin put a hand on his arm.
"I'm fine. I've left them tied up in my room."
"I'll get the law and have them strung up by dawn," snarled Simon.
"They're not worth it. I used to have breakfast with more dangerous men when I was a slave. I'd rather they scurried back to their master and report how easily I beat them." She ran her hand through her hair. "I've already questioned them, anyway. They were hired out of Arbour. They don't know if there are others."
"Shit," said Simon, going to the window. He pulled back the curtain and peered out into the darkness. "They say who hired them?"
"They didn't ask for a name. Just took the money."
"Scum." Simon turned back to Lin, letting the curtain fall behind him. "We'll have to go slower tomorrow — make sure we don't ride into any traps."
"I think we should leave now," said Lin. "If anyone is out there, they won't be expecting us until later in the day. Maybe we can catch them asleep or unprepared and slip past."
Simon sat down and rubbed his head. "Makes sense — more's the pity. If I'd known, I'd not have drank as much last night. I was looking forward to a plate of bacon and sausage to set me right."
"Perhaps a glass of water will help?" suggested Lin, not even trying to hide the amusement in her voice.
Simon looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah. Perfect." He stood up, filled a bowl with water and then dunked his face in it. When he pulled it out, his skin was bright red.
Lin pulled back a curtain and gazed down on the market square. There'd been no snow in the night but the cobbles had a shimmer of ice over them. A stray dog sniffed around the empty stalls but it wasn't going to find anything edible. She searched the edges of the square, looking for any movement or a shape out of place — anything that would give warning of more hidden assassins — but everything was as it should be. Hopefully the cold would work in their favor and keep even her enemies indoors.
Simon fixed his holsters across his chest and hip and picked up his sword. "Let's do this."
Lin nodded and followed Simon out the door.
They found the stable boy asleep next to Simon's horse with a threadbare blanket covering him. He'd snuggled up in a pile of hay for some extra warmth.
"Hey, kid," said Simon, another silver coin in his hand. "Wake up."
The boy jumped up at Simon's voice but recovered quickly, the coin in his hand before his feet had touched the ground. "Yes, sir."
"Get the horses ready. We're leaving," said Simon. "And there's another silver coin if you can find us some hot bacon and bread before we go."
The boy touched his forelock and then scampered inside. Simon looked at Lin and shrugged. "The water wasn't enough."
The boy reappeared a minute later and busied himself with the horses. Lin was grateful for her warm cloak wrapped tight around her. The night was more than cold and her breath misted the air. Her thoughts drifted back to her life as a Sweat. She would've been working on a night like this, with only a few rags to wear and, more often than not, nothing on her feet except some bandages to keep the worst of the cold away. She'd been twelve before she had her first pair of boots, and that was only because someone had gotten careless and let a rock crush their head in. Lin tried to remember her name or picture her face but it was all long forgotten. She could still see the body with the rock covering what was left of the girl's face, but nothing else. That bothered her for some reason. She didn't know why. Lin hadn't even been that friendly to the girl while she was alive. She'd only rushed over to the body when the accident happened because she wanted the girl's boots before anyone else nabbed them. Life didn't mean much when you were a Sweat. Clothes, boots, stuff to keep you working and alive — that had more value.
Of course, Lin wasn't sure who'd remember her now if she died. Jack would. Master Snow would — for what few years he had left. After that? People might be reading her stories in the pamphlets like Simon said, but it wouldn't be too long before she was old news and more important things had taken her place.
Just as the boy finished getting the last horse ready, the door to the inn swung open and a man stepped out carrying a plate with some bread rolls and bacon. Lin wasn't hungover like Simon, but the smell got her mouth watering straight away.
"You've saved my life," said Simon, arms spread wide as if he were about to hug the man.
"Sorry the bread's not fresh," said the man as they helped themselves to the food. "It's left over from yesterday."
Simon flipped a coin on to his now empty plate. "Don't worry about it." He broke the roll in half and placed the bacon into the center of it. He caught Lin watching. "It's a little trick I learned a while back. Tastes amazing."
Lin copied him and then took a bite. As much as she hated to admit it, Simon was right — it was just what she needed. Fat and grease ran down her fingers as she ate, the food warming her belly.
Once they were finished, they mounted their horses. "Right," said Simon. "Let's see who wants to kill us."
9
Jack
They arrived back at the monastery after nightfall. Robert drove a commandeered wagon with all the bodies from the house on Sigil Street. Twenty-four dead — men, women and children. Some had been deceased a lot longer than others, but all were in some state of decay. The only small consolation was that none had been Turned. Their souls had been saved that horror at least. Removing the bodies had been grim work even for men used to such duties. The dead were civilians, innocents who didn't deserve such a fate. They'd left the others still searching the buildings of Brixteth. There'd be no rest for anyone until the Nostros was found.
The Black Dogs dismounted in the main courtyard as stable hands came out to take their horses. The monastery at Grayston was similar to Whitehaven. In the center of the courtyard was a large stone cauldron, about four feet in height, with flames burning in the heart of it. 'Honor all those who have fallen in the land of the dead' was etched around the side and underneath were the names of the Black Dogs from the monastery who'd made the ultimate sacrifice to keep Abios safe. The list was long. As always, Nial and his men paid their respects there first, bowing their heads and muttering silent prayers for all those who had given their lives for the cause.
Jack always felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders when he prayed before the cauldron. The fight against the Nostros was never-ending and the reality was that very few Black Dogs would live to an old age. Most of the people he knew — most of the people standing beside him — would only be remembered as a name carved on a cauldron somewhere.
Nial called Robert and Jack over to him when everyone had finished. "Let's get the bodies down to Brother Silas. He needs to examine them."
"What's the point, boss?" asked Robert. "We know how they died. Better to burn them,
eh?"
"I need to know if one Nostros killed these people over a period of time or if there's more than one of the damned creatures."
"Shit," said Robert. "I'll get it done."
Jack stood with Nial while the men moved the bodies, fear gnawing at his gut. Twenty-four people were enough to feed a lot of demons. "Do you really think there could be more than one Nostros in the city?"
Nial looked at him. "There's no point guessing or worrying. We work with the facts we've got. Once Silas has looked at the bodies, he can tell us for sure. Let's see what he says."
Jack nodded and fell in behind Nial. They headed to the Great Hall. Despite the hour, the monastery was busy as priests readied themselves to go out into the city, either to help in Brixteth or patrol other parts of Arbour.
The crypt was located under the Great Hall. They both stopped as they entered the hall, bowed their heads and drew the circle of God over their hearts. This was the priests' most holy of places and the pews were filled with Black Dogs at prayer. Illuminated by a thousand candles, painted glass arched windows ran along both sides of the hall, depicting battles between knights and demons. Columns were carved in the shape of winged angels, standing sentry over the men within. A giant gold circle stood behind the altar at the far end. It represented God's eye on the world, the circle of life every man had to follow and the sun that offered His protection from the evils of the night.
The two men moved silently past to a recess in the far wall. A winding staircase led down into the depths of the monastery, heavy with silence. They walked along a corridor lit by a row of torches until they reached a set of large oak doors, flanked on either side by sentries armed with swords and pistols.
The guards didn't need to ask Nial his name — everyone knew who he was. One reached out and rapped on the door three times.
A small panel opened and scrutinized the visitors. It slammed shut almost immediately and bolts could be heard sliding free. Finally, there was the click of a lock and one of the doors swung open.
Nial stepped aside to let Jack enter first.
The crypt was almost identical to the one in Whitehaven. Large candles burned in stands around the room and from two candelabras hanging from the ceiling. Four sentries stood at attention, one in each corner, as unmoving as their compatriots outside. The rest of the room was filled with display cases containing weapons and armor taken from the Nostros in battle over the centuries.
As they walked through the collection, Nial stopped before a display case. Inside was a broadsword, some five feet in length. "Do you know what this is?"
"No," replied Jack, staring at the weapon. A blood-red jewel sat in the center of a golden pommel. The grip was made of woven steel at least a foot in length, leading to a guard shaped like a dragon. Another dragon was engraved into the steel.
"It's the sword of Orsmond, the first leader of the Nostros, captured by Saint Stephen himself."
Jack didn't need to be told the story. Everyone knew it; how Orsmond flew across the Angel Sea on a dragon to take Abios single-handedly. Saint Stephen met him with an army on the fields of Sirencester and they did battle. The Lord Abbot in Whitehaven had a painting outside his office depicting the event; Stephen on one side in shining white armor, Orsmond on the other in black, a sword — this sword — in his hand. In the painting, Stephen's army lay dead around his feet, leaving the two leaders to fight alone. Jack knew, however, that in reality it was the knights who made the difference. The Nostros might be stronger and faster than any human but they were not invulnerable. The humans stood together against Orsmond and prevailed.
"It's frightening. It's beautiful," said Jack. He stared at the blade. There was something familiar about it — something he'd seen before — but he couldn't place what it was.
Nial didn't give Jack time to look, though. He touched his elbow and pointed to another door. "This way."
He led Jack into another section of the crypt, down a small passageway that led into a larger, oval room. The temperature dropped as they entered and Jack could see his breath mist the air around him. All the floors and walls were painted white and candles burned on a ledge that ran in a ring around the room. Another large candelabra hung from the center of the ceiling. Molten wax covered the floor beneath where countless candles had dripped over the years. There were four stone slabs, some six and a half feet in length, and waist-high. Bodies from the house on Sigil Street lay on three of them. Shelly was on the fourth. She barely filled a fraction of the slab, emphasizing her youth. The rest of the bodies lay along the wall on the far side, where two orderlies examined them.
A man stood next to Shelly's body, wearing a white gown stained with blood over his uniform. He was squat, with a balding head that glistened in the candlelight. He peered over the top of a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose as Nial and Jack entered the room.
"Are you the ones keeping me so busy?" he asked.
"Brother Jack found the girl first," said Nial, placing a hand on Jack's shoulder. "In Brixteth. A search of the nearby buildings revealed the rest." He walked forward to the man, offering his hand. "I'm Brother Nial."
The man pushed his glasses back up his nose and shook his hand. "I'm Brother Silas." He glanced back at the girl, then at the others. "We're lucky none were Turned," said Silas.
"So it is the work of a Nostros?" asked Jack. "The same one?"
"That we need to find out," replied Silas. "The one who killed the girl is a big bastard." He walked around to the other side of the slab so he could rotate Shelly's neck for the others to see. "If you see the size of the bite," continued Silas, holding a measuring tape to one side and running it to the other, "it's eight inches long. From this I can deduce we are looking at an adult, probably male, between seven and eight feet in height."
There wasn't much left of the girl's neck. The bloodstains on her white skin had turned black since Jack had last seen her. Great chunks had been ripped out of her throat quickly, greedily. Jack's hand went to his own scar. No quick attention would've saved Shelly's life like it had Jack's.
"So it won't be able to move around unnoticed, then," said Nial. "People will see it."
"One would think so — but nothing surprises me these days," said Silas. "Now let's see if the same one killed all these people." He moved on to another body; a man, overweight, and with long grey hair. Silas rotated the neck and measured the bite that had killed him. Jack held his breath, hoping it was only one Nostros they sought.
"Eight inches," said Silas. "Exactly the same." He moved on to the next body and repeated the procedure. "The same here." He looked over at his orderlies. "How are you all getting on?"
"Eight inches," said one.
"Same here," said the other.
"So," said Silas, "some good news — if you can call it that. We can be fairly confident that we're dealing with just the one demon."
Jack let out a great sigh with the news.
"However," continued Silas, "with twenty-four dead, the demon has been here quite some time. If he's fed just once a day ..." Silas didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. A Nostros of that size in Arbour for nearly a month? Unseen? Unreported?
"Someone's helping the bastard," snarled Nial.
"The redcloaks?" suggested Jack.
"It could be." Nial looked down at the girl. "The Nostros has been here for nearly a month and stayed hidden. Someone's bringing him his food each day. The bodies are left in the building after he's finished with them. Left to rot. Waifs and strays and down-and-outs no one's going to miss. So why change that now? Why go out and hunt in the streets? Why risk being seen? Why leave the girl's body to be found?"
"He wants us to know he's here," said Jack.
"Silas, how long does it take to Turn someone?" asked Nial.
Silas blew out his cheeks. "We don't know for sure — even after all these centuries. We know when people go missing and how long it is before they return, but that only gives us a rough estimate."
"Which is?" asked Nial.
"Two days, three at the most," replied Silas. "It could be quicker if the body's kept from daylight."
"Dear God," said Nial. "He could've created an army in a month."
"Aye, he could," said Silas, rubbing his chin. "But an army that would need feeding as much as the Nostros. We'd be neck-deep in bodies by now if that was the case. I think we're still just looking at one for now."
"But it's Brixteth," said Jack.
"What do you mean?" asked Nial.
Jack looked from Nial to Silas and back again. "We found one house with over twenty bodies in it. No one noticed anything. No one reported anything. Brixteth is like that. People come and go. The ones who are there don't get involved with anything. There could be other houses they've been using to feed any Turned they've created. Other houses that haven't been noticed. Other people who've gone missing."
"Shit," said Nial. He dragged a chair over and sat down. For a moment, he didn't look like the invincible leader Jack knew. He looked tired and vulnerable.
Jack hated himself for what he was going to say next. "We know he's been in Abios for nearly a month. He's not made the trip here — with all the risks involved — without a good reason. He'll not have been sitting around doing nothing since he got here."
"The worst case?" asked Nial.
"He's been making an army," replied Jack. "Turning humans into his creatures, and recruiting traitors into the redcloaks to hinder us."
"I'm afraid you're right," said Nial. "The girl marks a new phase."
"Why's that?" said Silas.
"He wants us to know he's here now because he's made whatever preparations he needed to, and we can't stop him."
Silas covered his mouth. "My God. What can we do?"
"Get ready for war," said Nial.
10
Lin
Lin allowed Simon to take the lead from Taveson. The journey no longer held any excitement for her. Her life was in danger and assassins could be lying in wait around the next corner. She cursed the ice that covered the road, stopping them from riding fast. Plodding along made her feel like an easy target, their black cloaks so clear against the snow and frost. At least they were making progress, and each minute without an attack felt like a victory of sorts.
