by Mike Morris
Nial signaled to move forward. Nothing was rushed, despite the pounding of his heart and the smell of death in the air. He knew Alexis and the others were dead. No point lying to himself about that. His job now was to ensure no one else joined them and they got the killer.
He went first, paused at the archway, checked one corner, then moved across and cleared the other. He knew of too many people who'd died walking through a door and getting smacked on the head from behind to take any chances. The room was some thirty feet long with a row of boarded-up windows facing the street. Dirt, rubble and a broken table and chairs littered the edges of the room. There was no hiding the blood. Black against the dusty floor. Too much for it to belong to one man, or even two.
Pointing, Nial told the others to check the rest of the room while he checked the blood. Alexis and his men had been together in the center of the room. Back to back? Under attack? It would explain the bunching. But that would mean an assault from all sides, not just from one threat. The Nostros and some Turned? Or more traitors like the redcloaks? By God, he'd take an army of traitors any day.
Whoever had killed the Black Dogs had done it quickly. The blood patterns were bunched together. No one had tried to get away — or had time to try. So they'd died in the center of the room. And then?
The smear marks were faint. Maybe the bodies had been carried more than dragged? Nial followed them with his eyes to the far side of the room, where the table lay, where Erik searched. The lad was peering under the table when he suddenly looked up, face white. He motioned Nial over.
The others closed in behind him as he headed over, protecting his rear, ready if anyone came for them. The bloodstains led straight to Erik, straight to the table. The lad lifted the table up so Nial could see what was beneath — see where the blood went.
A hole stared back at him. His heart sank at the sight of it. The smell of death wafted up, stronger than ever. Whatever had killed his men had taken them down into the ground.
He signaled for Erik and Jack to move the table. They did it with care, making no noise as they moved it to one side. It revealed the full size of the hole — about four feet across. The dust around it was disturbed, more bloodstains on one side. Nial tried to peer down to see where it went, but utter blackness hid everything.
He turned to one of the other priests. "Go back, get Edward. Tell him to come here with more men, plus torches and ropes. Do it fast."
"Aye," replied the man. He glanced down at the hole before he left, as if he couldn't believe it was there.
"We going down there?" asked Erik.
Nial shook his head. "Not till we get more people and something to see with. You and Jack stay here with Thomas, keep an eye on it, while I check out the rest of the house. If anything sticks its head out of this hole, shoot it, and then get out of the way until I come back. Got it?"
"Got it," said Jack.
That left the last priest. He wasn't one of Nial's normal team. "What's your name, son?"
"David, sir." His voice was calm, his eyes strong. Nial liked him immediately. He looked like a man who knew his business.
"No need to call me 'sir'. My name's Nial and it's good to have you with us," replied Nial. "You're going to come with me. We go room to room and make sure there's no one else in this building to take us by surprise. I'm pretty sure whatever we're after is down that hole, but we need to make sure."
"I've got your back, sir."
Nial smiled. "Let's go."
Leaving the young lads, they returned to the atrium. Nial looked up, counted the four floors again. It was a lot of space for two men to cover. Common sense told him to wait for backup, but Nial needed to keep moving. He needed to do something that made him feel like he was in control and not just reacting to events.
They moved up the stairs. Nial was in front, David covering the rear. They kept their backs pressed against the wall, eyes searching the darkness, ears straining for any sound that could betray a threat.
The stairs creaked and groaned under their weight despite their care. They moved out onto the first floor landing, circled the atrium. An archway led through to a room much like the one below; long, boarded-up windows, full of dirt and debris, but no blood. No hole to God only knew what below.
They returned to the stairs, climbed up. Nial's mouth was dry but his hand was steady. This was what he did and did well. It'd been twenty-five years since he'd taken his vows. He'd fought the Nostros all over the Middle Kingdoms, led men into battle against impossible odds and brought most of them back alive. Experience, a steady nerve and complete focus kept him alive. Maybe with a little help from God. After all, Nial had sacrificed his whole life to serving God. He had to hope that earned him something.
The next level was split up into smaller rooms along a central corridor. The space grew darker the further they moved from the atrium, the air stale. Dust swirled around their feet — a good sign that no one had been that way in a long time — but Nial had seen Nostros and Turned crawl along walls and ceilings so they pressed on. Checking, clearing, then on to the next one. They took no shortcuts, left no area unsearched.
They heard the crying as they reached the third floor. Muffled, as if smothered by something. Restrained, as if whoever it was didn't want anyone to hear. Nial glanced at David, got a nod back. He'd heard it too. They moved onto the landing. Down the corridor. Checked the first room.
The crying got louder. A child's tears. Was he or she hiding from the Nostros? Or bait to trap the Black Dogs?
There were footprints in the dust. A child's, leading into the dark. Tempting them on with the cries. Even so, Nial didn't rush. He kept his pace, kept to the task at hand. Check, clear, move on. There was no point helping a child only to get killed from behind.
The first room was empty. The second also. Nial moved on to the third. The child was inside. He saw her, huddled up in the far corner, half-hidden under a blanket, lost in the shadows. She curled up as he reached the door, scared to even look at him. Her sobs died in her throat and she pushed back further into the corner, pulling the blanket up like a shield. The poor thing couldn't have been more than ten years old. Still he didn't forget procedure. He checked the other corners, behind the doorway. No surprises, no danger.
He signaled to David to check the last room. The girl could wait. They moved on, repeated the procedure. Careful men didn't get killed. It was empty.
They returned to the third room on the third floor, returned to the girl.
"It's all right," said David softly as he entered the room. "You're safe now."
The girl said nothing, just let out a little sob as she cowered behind her blanket, holding it up over her eyes. Her hair was cropped short, and covered in dust like the rest of the room.
David inched forward, holstering his pistol and holding out his other hand toward the girl. "It's okay. I'm here to help."
Nial waited by the door, watching the corridor. If anyone was going to attack, now would be the time. His eyes searched the darkness but all was still.
"My name's David. What's your name?"
The girl wouldn't even lower the blanket.
"You must be scared. How long have you been hiding here?"
The girl said nothing.
Nial glanced back. Something wasn't right. Why was she covering her eyes?
"David," said Nial, turning toward them, raising his pistol. The priest looked up and the girl's hand shot out from behind the blanket. She raked it across David's throat. Blood spurted out, covering her, the wall, the floor, killing him. Her eyes glowed red. Turned.
Nial fired, but she was quick, so damn quick. The girl grabbed David's body and pulled it in front of her for protection. The bullet hit the priest square in the back.
Nial dropped the pistol, reached for the second one on his hip.
The girl threw David to the corner and roared, showing her fangs, eyes burning with hate. Nial aimed the second pistol, pulled the trigger. The boom as the hammer hit the frizzen was
deafening in the small room. He squinted as the flash burned the darkness away for a heartbeat of a second. Acrid smoke followed.
The girl was only four feet away. It was impossible to miss at that range, even in the dark, even a target that small. Impossible, but he missed all the same. She jumped left, bounced off the wall and flew at him, hands outstretched, fingers eager for Nial's neck. He fell back, hit the floor just as he got his sword free of its scabbard and watched her sail over his head. He brought his legs around, had to turn, had to get to his feet. He heard the kid hit the floor, then the wall, knew she'd be coming back for another go. She was everything he wasn't; young, small, lithe, and fucking inhuman. An unstoppable killing machine.
He got his old, cumbersome, stiff body up, brought the sword around, swinging it, hoping he'd get lucky, praying he'd not die. Not yet.
15
Jack
They all jumped when they heard the gunshot, heads twitching up toward the atrium, toward the stairs. Jack, Thomas and Erik all started moving, but Jack held out a hand. "You two stay here. I'll go."
He reached the archway just as the second shot went off, echoing through the building. He sprinted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He could hear the sounds of fighting. What had they found? Was it the Nostros? Fear gripped him as he ran, past the first floor, past the second. He wished he had the others at his back but someone had to make sure nothing came up the hole after them.
He came out onto the third floor. The noise came from the corridor. He could see two people fighting, crashing into one wall and then rebounding off into the opposite side. It was Nial. He had his arms around someone's neck — a girl. He was fighting a young girl! Then Jack saw the fangs, eager for Nial's neck, snapping and snarling. He saw the red eyes glowing, and he knew what they faced.
She punched Nial, snapping his head back, but still he held on.
Jack let go of his pistol and drew a knife from its sheath on his wrist. With the creature tangled up with Nial, it was impossible to use a sword or pistol without further risk to the boss. He ran toward them.
The girl kicked Nial with both feet, knocking him to the floor. For a heartbeat, he let go and she scrambled after him, swiping with her claws, mouth wide, ready to bite. Nial reached up, grasped her neck as she lunged, and her mouth snapped shut an inch from his nose.
She must've heard Jack as he sprinted toward them. Her head jerked up and her red eyes fixed on him. Nial took the opportunity to get both hands on her neck and pushed up, holding her as far away from him as he could.
Jack didn't slow down and brought his knife around as he slammed into her, putting all his weight into the blow. He felt the impact in his bones and lifted the kid off Nial. Her eyes went wide with shock as he continued on, smashing her into the far wall. It cracked and crumpled with the force of the impact. Jack twisted the knife as he pressed down on her, then pulled it free and stabbed her again and again and again. He screamed with the fury of it, trying not to see her as a child. She was the enemy, the undead, the Turned, the cursed, and she had to die.
"You can stop now," said Nial, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Jack did as he was told, panting, heart pounding, blood roaring in his ears. The girl's eyes were shut. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth. He stepped back and let her slip off his knife and fall to the ground. She looked so small lying there. So fragile. So human.
Nial stepped past him and grabbed her hair, lifting her up. There was a flash of steel and he cut her head from her body. He looked back at Jack, his face covered in cuts and scratches. "Never take any chances."
Jack nodded. "Where's David?"
Nial pointed to the other room. "He's in there."
Jack didn't need to ask whether he was alive or not. Another name to go under the eternal flame.
Nial sheathed his knife. "Get your pistol. We've got one more floor to check."
Jack looked at the man with amazement. Nothing ever fazed him. One of his men had died, he'd nearly been killed himself and yet he still wasn't going to stop. Jack had only come in at the end of the fight but he could feel the shakes starting in his hands. He wanted to sit down, catch his breath, steady himself, but Nial was right: they had to go on.
"Are the others still watching the hole?" asked Nial as they walked back toward the atrium.
Jack bent down and picked up his pistol. "Yeah. It's quiet down there." He checked the weapon was still primed and good to use. "Nothing stirring."
Nial arched an eyebrow. "Yet."
Nial took the lead when they reached the landing. Jack took the rear, arm straight, supported by the other hand, moving the pistol in line with his eyes, ready. They went up the stairs, slowly, backs to the wall.
"You see anyone, shoot," whispered Nial. "Go for the head. There's no place for doubt now. Anyone we see is to be considered an enemy."
On they went. Onto the fourth floor. Jack's nerves played on him. He saw danger in every shadow, a threat lurking in every corner. Too many Black Dogs had died in this building. He didn't want to join them.
It was what they trained for, he reminded himself. It was why they took the oath. It was the Black Dogs' job to put themselves in danger. They took the risks so others could live. Not many knights got to retire like Master Snow and make old bones. He licked his lips, wished he'd had a drink of water before he'd come up to help.
They moved around the landing toward the corridor. Jack spared a glance down over the bannister, down four floors to the ground below. Nothing moved down there. He hoped the boys were all right. He'd known them ever since he'd been sold to the Order. It'd been him, Brendan, Erik, Thomas and Bryan in the wagon to Whitehaven. Bryan had died at Grosnar. Brendan ... well ... maybe Brendan might recover. That left the three of them. His friends. Chances were they'd not all get out of this mess alive. The odds were certainly against them.
They continued on to the corridor. There was more light than down below. The windows on this floor weren't boarded up so the moon washed everything with a shade of silver. Jack stayed a step away from Nial's back, gun ready, arm steady. His ears strained for any sound that might warn them of danger, but the way his heart hammered made it hard to hear anything. He had to force himself to breathe. He tried telling himself this was nothing after Grosnar. He'd survived that. They'd won there. This was nothing. It was just an old building in Brixteth.
They cleared one room, moved on to the next. It was in the second room they heard the creak and a gentle tapping sound. They moved out into the corridor, checked the third room — empty. One to go. The noise was more distinct; a creak followed by a tap of something against wood. Back into the corridor, on to the last room. Jack had to force himself not to rest his finger on the trigger of his pistol. Something was in the last room, waiting for them. Was it another Turned? The Nostros itself? Nial caught his eye, signaled for him to go to the right of the doorway.
They got into position, backs pressed against the wall, one on either side of the door. Jack had his pistol aimed at the floor as he waited. Nial counted out on his fingers — one, two, three — and they moved as one into the room, clearing the corners first, sweeping guns up and across, ready to fire, ready to kill.
They found an empty room. A window was open, creaking back and forth in a night breeze, tapping against the window frame, making the noise. There was no danger.
Jack breathed a sigh of relief, and rubbed his jaw to get the ache from it.
Nial smiled at him, probably thinking what a fool Jack was for getting so wound up. "Let's go back down, make sure the others are okay."
Jack was more than happy to do as he asked. They still took care, but their weapons were held down toward the floor and they moved quicker, not worried about noise betraying them. The only enemy was dead. Only one life was lost. But not his, not yet.
Jack paused on the third floor. "What about the bodies?"
"Leave them," said Nial. "We can collect them later when we have more men."
As
they moved on, Jack spared a glance back to the corridor. He couldn't see the dead but somehow he could feel them like a weight on his shoulders. It was the same every time he killed, or someone he knew was killed. He carried their memories with him, haunted by their deaths. The worst was when he thought Brendan had died on the beach as they tried to return from Jack's first mission. The night when the Nostros had bitten Jack. He'd had nightmares every night until they found Brendan alive in Grosnar. Jack would wake screaming, drenched in sweat. He still had the dreams on occasion, but they were rare and far between. He only hoped they would eventually fade away. He watched Nial and wondered what it must be like for the big man. He'd been a knight for a long time. Jack couldn't imagine what it must be like for him, what he must have experienced. He'd heard the stories, of course. Everyone had. The man was a legend. But Jack knew there was a difference between the man of the fireside tales and the man who led him now.
When they reached the ground floor, Nial called out to Thomas and Erik, letting them know they were returning. Easy to get shot by your own side when nervous men were behind the trigger.
His friends were relieved to see Jack alive, but David missing and the marks on Nial's face were enough to tell them something bad had happened. There was no need to ask questions. Jack took up position with the others in the main room and waited, knowing that once others arrived, men would have to go down the hole after the Nostros.
16
Lin
It was well into the early hours of the morning when Lin and Simon reached the top of the hill. She was exhausted and desperate to rest, but she wasn't going to give the priest the satisfaction of seeing her like that. She sucked in a lungful of cold air, welcoming the sudden shock to her system and the temporary lift it gave her. Even so, her eyes remained heavy and she battled to keep them open. She was about to ask Simon how much further they had to go when she saw what was ahead of them. Lin pulled her horse to a halt as she tried to take in the sight before her, all tiredness forgotten.
