The woman touched the string of consecrated beads at her throat and mumbled a swift prayer to her goddess. Then she turned and fled again. The commotion behind her went up a notch. She heard shouting and the rasp of swords being drawn.
The alley she hurried along came to a junction. To left and right the lanes were narrow and twisting. The way ahead broadened out into a street. There were more people in that direction, but not enough of a crowd to lose herself in. She chose the right-hand turn. Twenty paces on she came to a passageway, no wider than her outstretched arms. She entered it. The buildings on either side were so tall, and the sky so leaden, she found it hard to see where she was going. And she was splashing through a sluggish stream of icy water, and from the smell, sewage.
In spite of the cold she was sweating. Her bones ached and every step was an effort. But the noises at her back, which might have been the sound of pursuit, kept her moving.
Another alley crossed hers. This led to a tiny deserted square. She went through that, staying close to the walls, and emerged in a street. It was lined with shabby houses, and to one side a stable, abandoned and boarded-up. There was nobody about.
She stopped to listen. It was quiet, bar the distant, expected sounds of a city. Lost, exhausted, she looked for somewhere to rest, daring to hope that no one was following her. All the doors she could see were closed, and most of the windows were shuttered. The only prospect was the maw of yet another alley, almost opposite. A house forming one of the corners had its wall shored up with a low stone prop. It was flat-topped and of a height to sit on, and the alley was dark. She limped to it, hands pressed to the small of her back.
Sighing, she perched on the crude seat. She felt the chill of the stone through her clothes and shivered. Weary beyond reckoning, she took what ease she could. But whenever she allowed herself pause for thought, no matter how fleetingly, the demons were there to torment her. Her mind turned, as always, to the children; and to her man, lost to her now, and what would become of them. She dwelt on the life she carried. The things she had done in the name of those she loved lay on her like a great weight. Her conscience made certain she never walked alone. Guilt and fear were always with her.
Drained, she closed her eyes.
A rough hand clamped over her mouth. A strong arm encircled her. She tried to scream, but couldn’t.
‘It’s all right,’ her captor said, speaking in an undertone. ‘Don’t struggle, I’m not going to hurt you.’
The voice seemed familiar to her, but it was too indistinct for her to place it.
‘It’s all right,’ he said again, trying to calm her. ‘I’m going to take my hand away. Don’t scream. All right, Tan?’
Hearing her name made the blood run to ice in her veins. She nodded stiffly.
The hand was removed. Its owner faced her.
She almost gasped aloud. ‘Think of my child,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t kill me.’
He looked as shocked as she felt. ‘Tan, it’s me. Quinn. I wouldn’t harm you.’
He didn’t know. She stared at him. At about thirty summers, he was roughly her age, and ruggedly built. Except for a moustache, he was clean-shaven. His eyes were quick and dark.
‘Tan?’
She blinked and stated baldly, ‘Quinn.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Just…surprised to see you.’
‘We’ve been looking for you for months, woman. We thought you were dead.’
‘No. I…I’m not.’
‘Evidently.’ Quinn Disgleirio smiled. ‘And fortunately. Where have you been?’
Tanalvah Lahn wondered if this was some elaborate game. That perhaps he really did know and was playing with her, like a cat with a sparrow. ‘Here and there,’ she answered. ‘Wherever…wherever I could find–’
‘I understand. It’s been a bad time for all of us. What about Teg and Lirrin? Where–’
‘The children are safe. With someone I trust.’ This was the man who once argued for assassinating her lover. How could she trust him?
‘Good.’ He scanned the streets. There was still nobody about. ‘How do you come to be in these parts?’
‘I had some trouble.’ She found it difficult keeping a tremor out of her voice. ‘A patrol.’
‘Right.’
‘Paladins.’
Disgleirio’s expression froze for a second. ‘You know how to pick your enemies, Tan.’ He was looking around again, alert. ‘Lose them?’
‘I think so.’ Tanalvah wished he’d stop asking questions. She tried one of her own. ‘Are you alone?’
‘I started out with a couple of other Righteous Blade members. We had some trouble of our own and got parted. Look, it’ll be curfew soon. I’ll take you somewhere safe. I assume you’ve nowhere to go?’
‘No.’ She couldn’t say anything else.
‘Let’s move then.’ He stopped, and met her eyes. ‘One thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Whatever made you think I might kill you?’
She had no idea what she would have said, if she’d had the chance.
Disgleirio grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to one side. Tanalvah nearly cried out. Then she saw what he saw.
On the other side of the street the paladin patrol was spilling from the alley Tanalvah had come out of. Disgleirio tugged her into the gloom, but it was too late. The patrol spotted them, fanned out and headed their way.
‘Go,’ she said. ‘Leave me.’
‘You must be joking. I’m getting you out of here.’ He drew his sword, and placed himself between her and the advancing paladins. ‘Move. Get yourself clear of this.’
Tanalvah backed away from him, as though obeying, but after a few steps lingered at his rear. She couldn’t say why she defied her instinct to flee.
The patrol’s officer came on at the head of his men, blade in hand. ‘Identify yourself!’ he barked. ‘And throw down your weapon!’
‘It’s not for taking,’ Disgleirio replied evenly, ‘and neither am I.’
‘You’re shielding a suspect. Stand aside!’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘We want the Qalochian whore,’ the man spelt out, ‘and we’re going to have her.’
‘You’ll have to pass me first.’
The officer’s bearded features twisted in fury. ‘There are severe penalties for obstructing law-servers. Are you prepared to pay them?’
Disgleirio shrugged. ‘We’ll have to see, won’t we?’
The officer abandoned words. In the time it took Disgleirio to raise his sword the paladin had rushed in to attack. Their blades collided, then fell into the steely clatter of blow and counterblow. The exchange was breakneck fast, each man making a potentially deadly pass a dozen times in the first half minute.
The paladin was a skilled fighter, as were all his persuasion, and his swordplay was near faultless. But he lacked Disgleirio’s energy and desperate drive. Blocking a swipe, Disgleirio parried, his blade biting deep into the man’s upper arm. Blood flowing freely, the officer staggered and dropped his sword. Pain and outrage inhabited his face. He backed off.
Too confident in their officer’s ability, his men hadn’t moved. Now they did, as one.
Disgleirio withdrew, and nearly bowled Tanalvah over. None too gently, he shoved her further into the alley. Almost immediately another paladin arrived, enraged and swinging his sword viciously. A swift exchange ensued, made all the more frantic as the rest of the patrol was nearing. Disgleirio cast off subtlety and took to battering his foe.
The stalemate held for a heartbeat. Then one of his blows got through, cleaving the side of the paladin’s neck. It was a lethal strike. The man fell senseless, blocking his fellows’ path. There was confusion. The injured officer bellowed curses.
Disgleirio seized his chance and Tanalvah’s wrist. ‘Come on!’
They broke away and fled along the alley. Twenty or thirty paces took them to a corner. They looked back. All four members of the
patrol were coming after them, including the wounded officer. And now they were fuelled by vengeance.
Disgleirio glanced at Tanalvah. It was plain she could never outrun their pursuers. They turned the corner and kept moving.
‘What are we going to do?’ She was already short of breath.
He didn’t answer.
‘Save yourself. I mean it, Quinn.’
‘No.’
They came to the end of the passageway. A tall iron gate barred the way to the street beyond. Disgleirio rattled the bars. It was locked.
‘I couldn’t climb that,’ she whispered.
‘I know.’
He snatched her hand again, and dragged her back the way they’d come, to a recessed door he’d noticed. He pushed at it, and found that it too was locked.
The patrol had rounded the corner and was running towards them.
He gave the door a hefty kick. It groaned and released puffs of dust. But it didn’t budge. He glanced over his shoulder at the sprinting red-coats. Grasping the frame on either side, he pummelled the door with his boot heel. Wood splintered and it flew open. He bundled her inside.
There was just enough light to see that the place was derelict. They scrunched into muck and decay. The smell of rot was in the air.
One room opened off the passageway. Inside, the floor had given way. The only other option was a rickety staircase.
Disgleirio tried to shut the door. But he’d made too good a job of breaking it. A single hinge held it up, crazy-angled.
A paladin ran headlong into the entrance, sword thrust out. Disgleirio slammed the door into him. The man’s sword arm was trapped against the casing. He yelled in pain. Disgleirio commenced battering door against arm until the weapon and its owner went down.
‘The stairs!’
Tanalvah began climbing, hands clutching her swollen stomach. She moved slowly and clumsily.
Outside, there was uproar. The remnants of the door shook. Disgleirio threw himself against it and strained to keep the paladins out. The contest was short-lived. To the sound of snapping timber, the hunters simply tore the door off.
Disgleirio leapt to the first stair and spun to face them. Shoulder to shoulder, two paladins barged in. He caught a glimpse of their comrade in the alley behind them, on his knees, nursing his broken arm; and their leader, dripping blood, still roaring.
Tanalvah was near the top of the staircase, her white-knuckled hand on the rough banister. A few more steps would bring her to a small landing, then a turning to the next flight. If she got that far.
Disgleirio stood guard.
The space in the hallway was too confined for both paladins to attack him at once.
They jockeyed before one took the lead, while his partner attempted to vault the handrail. Disgleirio slashed at the man, denying his route, as he backed further up the stairs. The first paladin stalked him at swords-length; the other, deserting the banisters, followed. By the ruined door, the officer urged them on.
More violence was fated and it came quickly. The first redcoat sprinted, charging upstairs with sword outstretched. Disgleirio batted it aside, warding off an impaling. They swiftly traded a dozen fierce blows, with Disgleirio’s greater height giving him the advantage. The tip of his blade raked the paladin’s face. His follow-through was a massive downward rap that shattered the man’s skull.
The paladin fell back into his companion. Both of them tumbled, landing in a tangled heap at the foot of the steps. Their officer renewed his shrill tirade.
Disgleirio took the stairs two at a time, catching up with Tanalvah. ‘Keep moving!’
She gave him a pained look. He took her arm and propelled her forward.
There were two rooms on this floor, their doors ajar. They were as derelict as the one below, and their windows were boarded. Disgleirio hurried her to the second flight. The officer and the last mobile paladin were at their heels.
A bolt of scorching blue light ripped the air. Disgleirio thrust Tanalvah to one side, and ducked. Just above their heads a section of wall flamed intensely. A smouldering fissure the size of a fist had appeared in the plaster. The odour of singeing prickled their nostrils.
As the officer raised his glamour wand again, Disgleirio and Tanalvah rushed for the next staircase. Another cobalt streak flashed their way. It gouged a smoking groove along half the length of the wall, and seared a chunk of handrail. Tanalvah screamed.
Disgleirio hustled her round the next corner. She started to climb. After a few steps she turned, and saw he was still at the bottom of the stairs, flat to the wall. He held a finger to his lips and motioned her on. She hesitated, then kept going while he lay in wait.
Nothing happened for a moment. Then a sword-tip cautiously probed the air. Disgleirio tensed.
But it wasn’t the officer who appeared. It was the remaining private, sent ahead.
The space was too confined for swordplay. Both men lunged, grabbed each others’ wrists and commenced struggling. With the officer lurking nearby and liable to join in, Disgleirio had to finish the tussle quickly. He delivered a vicious head butt. It broke his opponent’s hold and impelled him backwards into the wall. Disgleirio snatched a dagger from his belt and plunged it into the dazed paladin’s chest.
He didn’t wait for the fatally wounded man to fall. Relieved to see that Tanalvah had already reached the top floor and was out of sight, he began bounding up the stairs after her.
He nearly made it.
A jolt like a kick from a mule almost knocked him off his feet. The officer had unleashed a further energy bolt. Disgleirio was lucky; it struck the blade of his sword, which took most of the impact. But the weapon was unbearably hot and he had to drop it. His palm was blistered. He felt as though a mass of burning needles peppered his arm. Clutching the knife, he raced up the last few steps.
He found Tanalvah cowering. She stared at his burnt hand. ‘Gods, you’re injured. What–’
‘It’s nothing,’ he lied. ‘I’m fine. But now we’ve only got this.’ He showed her the knife.
‘What do we do?’
He left that unanswered and took in their surroundings. This floor was very much like the one below; a couple of rooms, one doorless, with blocked windows. There were a few pieces of cheap, broken furniture.
‘Quinn.’ She pointed at the ceiling. There was a trapdoor, secured by a simple latch. ‘But I don’t think I could–’
‘Wait.’
He glanced at the stairs. As yet there was no sign of the last paladin. Then he went into a room and came out with a shabby wooden chair. ‘Could you manage with this?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, now’s the time to find out.’
He stood on the chair. Stretching, he slid the latch and pushed open the trap, revealing the evening sky. The stars were just beginning to come out.
‘Can you…?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll try.’
She accepted his steadying hand and laboriously mounted the wobbly chair. Once more, he looked to the stairwell. Nothing stirred there.
‘Put your foot here,’ he said, ‘on the chair back. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. Good. Now the other.’
It took an eternity of straining effort to get the pregnant woman through the trap and onto the flat roof. Panting, he scrambled up after her, slamming the door behind him. There was nothing to secure it with.
The night was growing colder, and their breath expelled in huffing clouds. Ice was starting to form on the pitch.
The roof was edged by a low wall; and as the building was taller than those on either side, getting to them meant a substantial drop. At the back, there was a space too wide to jump separating them from the next jumble of houses. The only thing breaking the flatness of the roof was a brick chimney stack standing not far from the trapdoor. Tanalvah leaned against it as Disgleirio looked for an escape route.
He was checking the roof’s opposite end when she cried out. The trapdoor had risen, and the officer was halfway out. H
e was already aiming his wand.
Disgleirio dived clear, landing painfully, full-length on the gritty asphalt. With a loud report, a power beam smacked into the wall where he’d been standing. The dazzling blast scattered masonry fragments.
He was on his feet again instantly and running, desperate for cover. The officer was out of the trap and moving forward, levelling the wand. Disgleirio zigzagged, trying to work his way to the chimney stack. He saw that Tanalvah had slipped round to its blind side and was all but hugging it.
A sapphire flash hosed the roof just short of his racing figure. Fiery streaks erupted and the surface bubbled. The tar stank. Perhaps thirty paces from the officer, Disgleirio saw only one choice. Aiming as best he could on the move, he lobbed his knife. The officer dodged, avoiding a body hit. But not fast enough to escape entirely. The knife skimmed the back of his hand, gashing flesh and sending the wand flying. It flipped, bounced and rolled out of sight. He dismissed it. Instead he dragged out his sword and, bellowing, sprinted in Disgleirio’s direction.
Having no weapons except fists and feet, Disgleirio’s sole option was to keep clear. As a strategy it had limited potential. The paladin officer had only to herd him.
Disgleirio retreated in the face of the charging man, who’d now drawn a knife too. But there was little room to move, and soon Disgleirio had his back to the low wall. He was rapidly driven into a corner. The paladin strode forward confidently, a smirk on his face despite the wounds he’d suffered.
‘Ready to pay now?’ he taunted. He came closer, until he was standing over Disgleirio, his blades raised. ‘Die knowing that after you I’ll deal with the whore,’ he promised, swinging back his sword.
The blow didn’t come. Lightning struck instead. Or so it seemed.
An obtuse expression on his face, the paladin froze, sword poised over his right shoulder. He looked down at his chest. His red tunic was smouldering. The outline of a tankard-sized hole began to appear. Orange flames blossomed from his chest.
Dropping his blades, he screamed and lurched forward. Disgleirio stumbled clear, narrowly avoiding the paladin’s outstretched arms. As he did, he caught sight of the man’s back and a large, vivid wound. There was the unmistakable smell of roasting flesh.
The Diamond Isle Page 3
