Shadows of Asphodel

by Karen Kincy

  “No. This.”

  Wordlessly, she looked into his eyes. She didn’t know how to tell him how happy he made her when he was like this. And how afraid she was that it wouldn’t last, because this was only a glimpse of a Wendel that could have been.

  “This,” he repeated.

  She couldn’t read his voice, and she swallowed hard.

  He glanced out the window and scanned the street. She watched tension return to the way he held his jaw. He tossed his napkin onto the table and drank a slow swig of water, then waved his arm at nothing in particular.

  “It’s a lovely day,” he said. “Walk with me.”

  She nodded and finished the last bite of her toast. He paid for their breakfast, and they left the Café Amsel together.

  Wind tugged at Ardis’s jacket and tossed Wendel’s hair behind him in ribbons of black. With the sun lurking behind clouds, his skin looked white, his eyes almost as gray as the sky. He hesitated outside of the café, then met her eyes.

  “Have you seen the cathedral?” he said.

  Before she could reply, he hooked his fingers between hers and tugged her onward. He held her hand a little tighter than needed.

  “I have,” she said, “but we can go there again.”

  His smile was fleeting, and she wondered why.

  They walked down the Ringstrasse, an old road built on the memory of an even older wall that once circled the heart of Vienna. At the center of the city, the great Gothic tower of St. Stephen’s soared heavenward. The cathedral’s roof gleamed richly with a mosaic of twin black eagles—one for Vienna, one for Austria.

  Ardis remembered the eagle on Wendel’s neck, and she felt a flicker of anticipation in her stomach. Tonight, she would get him to talk.

  The bells of St. Stephen’s began to ring. The heavenly clamor chimed over Vienna.

  “The Angelus.” Wendel quickened his pace. “It must be noon already.”

  “The Angelus?”

  He shrugged. “A Catholic devotion. They ring the Angelus bell three times a day.”

  “I didn’t think you were Catholic.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “Though I do love cathedrals.”

  They arrived on the steps of St. Stephen’s, dwarfed by its Gothic immensity, and Wendel held one of the iron-barred doors open. They stepped into the hush within. Incense and beeswax candles scented the air.

  “Necromancers and cathedrals?” Ardis murmured. “You hardly seem holy.”

  Wendel leaned close enough that his breath stirred her hair.

  “I love cathedrals,” he whispered, “because they often have catacombs beneath them. Don’t act startled, but someone has been following us.”

  Ardis tensed, her hand itching for Chun Yi. “Who?”

  “Keep walking,” he said, “toward the high altar.”

  As they strolled through the rows of pews, he murmured in her ear.

  “An assassin from the Order of the Asphodel.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he smiled sardonically. “The bastard hasn’t found the balls to come after me yet, though I suppose he did see what happened to the others.”

  She tried to talk without moving her mouth. “Others?”

  “Six of them.” He shrugged. “So far.”

  “You killed them all?”

  “Not all at once,” he said, modestly.

  Wendel turned toward the cathedral’s north tower. Ardis followed him, the muscles in her back tensing as if she expected a knife between her shoulder blades. Would the assassin dare attack in the sanctuary of a cathedral?

  “Are we safe here?” she said.

  He looked sideways at her. “Safe? Don’t worry, the assassins want me alive. I’m infinitely more valuable to them that way.”

  She grimaced. “But I’m not infinitely valuable.”

  He touched his lips to her earlobe, earning them a glare from a passing priest.

  “You are to me,” he said softly. “Stay close. Once we reach the catacombs, the assassin won’t be able to resist attacking.” He held out his hands and shrugged. “I have to admit, it’s so much easier when they come to me.”

  Ardis shivered, and not only because they had reached the entrance to the crypt.

  Together they descended the stairs, each granite step worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. The glow from the candlelight and cathedral’s windows dimmed as they walked into the lantern-lit darkness. The crypt twisted underground like a macabre rabbit’s warren. She had never been down here before, but had heard rumors of royal innards kept in sarcophagi, and more common bones tossed in the catacombs.

  “The catacombs are down this passageway,” Wendel said.

  His voice sounded rougher than usual, taut with what could be expectation. He sucked in some air and let out a shuddering breath.

  “I can feel them,” he muttered. “Thousands. Tens of thousands.”

  Ardis gave him a questioning glance.

  He shut his eyes. “The dead.”

  The tiny hairs on Ardis’s arms stood at attention. She didn’t even see the catacombs yet, but clearly that didn’t stop the necromancer from feeling the bones through solid stone and earth. When she touched Wendel’s wrist, the electricity of his magic crawled onto her skin. She flinched away and rubbed her fingers together.

  “Is there another way out of the catacombs?” she said. “Or is it a dead end?”

  “A dead end?” he said, and he laughed.

  “I’m serious.”

  “There are two ways out. The way we came in, and stairs to the outside of the cathedral.”

  She nudged his elbow to get him walking again. She didn’t want them to be the ones who never left the catacombs alive.

  They strode down the shadowy tunnel, past mildew-slicked stone walls that glistened in the flickering lamplight. It felt like the weight of the entire cathedral aboveground flattened the air. She struggled to breathe steadily.

  “It’s claustrophobic in here,” Ardis whispered.

  Wendel shot a glance her way. “If we are lucky, this will be quick.” He guided her to the left. “Hurry, through here.”

  They pushed through an iron-barred door that creaked on rusty hinges. Beyond, there was no light. The door groaned shut behind them and plunged them into utter darkness. A sliver of lamplight slithered under the door. Wendel took Ardis’s hand and tugged her forward, but she dug her heels into the dirt.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “Step back!”

  Ardis fumbled for Chun Yi and swept the jian from its scabbard. Smoldering rushed through the steel and instantly banished the darkness. And then she could see the bones, hundreds, thousands, stacked inside the catacombs like kindling for a bonfire in hell. Skulls stared back at her with empty eye sockets.

  Wendel’s stunned face looked ghostly by the glow of the blade.

  “Your sword!” he said. “Where did you—?”

  “Same old sword,” she said. “A swordsmith unlocked the enchantment for me.”

  He eyed the sword. “What sort of enchantment?”

  “Blood magic,” she said, as casually as she could manage.

  Wendel inhaled sharply. “Blood magic? Christ.”

  “You know a thing or two about it?”

  “Enough.”

  Wendel reached into his jacket and withdrew his black dagger.

  “Take my hand,” he said. “I want to try something.”

  Chun Yi crackled in her hand, and Ardis’s stomach somersaulted. Frowning, she intertwined her fingers with Wendel’s. Smoke unfurled from Amarant and spiraled down Wendel’s hand, covering his skin with shadows. When they ran from his hand to hers, fiery pain burned her in the shape of his fingerprints.

  Ardis gasped. “Let go!”

  She yanked away and leapt back, shaking her hand. Her skin looked unmarked, but it still ached where he had touched her. Shadows dissolved from Wendel as he pocketed Amarant. He reached for her, then stopped himself.

  “Did I hurt you?” he said.

  “No,�
� she lied. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t trust your sword.” Wendel grimaced. “Seems evil to me.”

  She glowered at him. “Evil? It must be your dagger—”

  “Quiet!”

  They fell silent. Outside the door to the catacombs, they could hear footsteps echoing down the tunnel. It sounded like only one person, though they weren’t even trying to be stealthy. Wendel stole closer to the sound.

  “Get rid of it,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Your damn burning sword. Quickly!”

  Ardis sheathed Chun Yi and plunged them into darkness again. She edged toward Wendel, her arms outstretched like a blindfolded child playing a game. Sweat trickled down her back in the clammy air, and she tried to breathe. She was afraid she was taking great ragged gulps of air that sounded far too loud.

  “I’m here,” he whispered.

  He touched her shoulder. She felt her way along his arm and pressed herself close him. His heartbeat thudded against her chest.

  She lowered her voice so that it was barely audible. “Your plan?”

  He shrugged underneath her touch. “Kill the assassin?”

  She shut her eyes, though it didn’t make any difference in this inky black. Why did he always have to be so arrogant?

  The door creaked open.

  Wendel sidestepped away from Ardis, leaving her grasping air, and she heard a hissing that had to be Amarant cloaking him in shadows.

  Footsteps.

  She thought it was Wendel retreating deeper into the catacombs, but she couldn’t be sure. What did he expect her to do? Stand by and watch? God damn it, she was going to kill him herself if they survived this assassin.

  A scraping sound, a whoosh, and then a lantern flickered to life.

  Ardis flattened her back against the slimy wall, her fingers tight on Chun Yi’s hilt, and held her breath. The light stung her eyes. On the threshold of the catacombs, she saw the silhouette of a sinewy man with a crossbow. She curled her toes inside her boots. She hated crossbows ever since she took a bolt to the leg.

  The crossbowman leaned over the threshold and loosed an earsplitting whistle. He wasn’t alone. If she moved fast, maybe she could disarm or disable him before—

  A pungent aroma tickled her nostrils. She sniffed the air.

  Naphtha.

  Her stomach clenched. You never wanted to smell naphtha in combat. And definitely never underground down in some godforsaken catacombs. When the crossbowman stepped aside, her fears walked into the room.

  Pyromechanics.

  Ardis had seconds to size up her opponents.

  Two pyromechanics in gasmasks and black-and-yellow asbestos armor. Salamanders. They lumbered into the room, their backs burdened with tanks of naphtha—fuel for the flamethrowers that made them infamous.

  She breathed in the stink of naphtha, her fingers frozen on Chun Yi’s hilt.

  One of the salamanders squeezed the trigger of his flamethrower and jetted a lazy sweep of fire through the air. It blackened bones and illuminated the catacombs with infernal light. The shadows wouldn’t hide her much longer.

  Ardis backed into the darkness. She had to warn Wendel.

  The crossbowman shouldered his weapon. “Don’t move.” He spoke German with a thick accent that could have been Turkish.

  “What do you want?” she bluffed, and she sounded a lot braver than she felt.

  “The necromancer.”

  Ardis shook her head slowly. “I can’t help you.”

  The crossbowman narrowed his eyes.

  “Then I,” he said, “can’t help you.”

  She ducked as a crossbow bolt whirred over her head. It struck a skull behind her and knocked it clattering onto the floor.

  Before he could reload, Ardis fled into the catacombs. She sprinted down a long narrow tunnel, the light dimming, until she slammed against a rattling gate. Blindly, she groped in the darkness. She could go either left or right.

  “Wendel!” Her shout sounded hoarse. “Wendel, they have flamethrow—”

  A hand clamped on her wrist and dragged her closer to the wall.

  “Do you have a vendetta against stealth?” Wendel hissed.

  She could hear and feel him, but he still remained cloaked by Amarant’s shadows.

  “Stealth won’t work,” she said, talking quickly. “Your dagger is useless.”

  “Useless? It’s still sharp.”

  She reached out and hit what she thought was his shoulder.

  “Would you stop being so cocky?” she said. “You can’t hide in the shadows forever. They don’t even have to find us, Wendel. You do realize that? They can burn all the oxygen and smother us into surrendering.”

  He growled under his breath. “Let’s not waste oxygen by talking.”

  Flames hissed down the tunnel as the salamanders swept the catacombs with fire. Silhouetted against the burning, the crossbowman stalked nearer. He had left behind his lantern, but soon his targets would be bright enough.

  “Where is the other exit?” Ardis said. “The one to the outside of the cathedral?”

  “We passed it already,” Wendel said.

  “Damn.” She licked her dry lips. “Can you revive some skeletons?”

  He laughed grimly. “You have no idea how long it would take to sort these bones.”

  “Then take out the crossbowman. I can distract him.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Wendel curled his fingers around hers, then vanished into the darkness.

  Ardis flattened herself against the wall. Her fingers clamped around Chun Yi’s hilt. Smoke tickled her throat, and she swallowed down a cough. The crossbowman edged nearer and entered the junction of the tunnels.

  Ardis tightened the muscles in her legs, then lunged into an attack.

  She only had time to draw her sword halfway, but that was enough. She bashed her pommel into his crossbow and knocked it askew, then kicked him in the knee and sent him stumbling back. He found his footing and raised the bow. He still had a bolt loaded. She froze between dodging and attacking.

  For an eternity of an instant, they stared into each other’s eyes.

  Wendel stepped from the shadows and unceremoniously slit the assassin’s throat.

  Blood spurted from the man’s severed artery. He fell to his knees and clutched his neck like he hoped to stop his life from pooling in the dirt beneath him. Wendel crouched beside the dying man, a stance that mimicked concern, though Ardis knew he was waiting. The necromancer’s eyes couldn’t be any colder.

  When the crossbowman collapsed, Wendel touched his neck.

  “Is he dead?” she said.

  Wendel tilted his head. “Not yet.”

  Ardis was acutely aware of her heart still pulsing in her throat. She instinctively backed away from the necromancer. At the sound of her footsteps, he looked at her. The coldness in his eyes melted into a strange distant sadness.

  “Now,” he said softly.

  The undead man staggered to his feet. Wendel retreated, glanced at his blood-slicked hands, and grimaced as if the filth was all that bothered him. But she could still see the look in his eyes, barely there behind his bravado.

  “You can feel them die?” she said.

  He looked sideways at her, and that was all she needed to know.

  Ardis unsheathed Chun Yi. Her sword looked pitiful by the light of naphtha-fire, as if technology trumped magic.

  “Wendel,” she said. “We have to run.”

  He took the crossbow and checked the quiver—only one bolt left. That gave him two shots. Two slim chances to kill.

  “Ardis?” he said. “Run without me. They want me.”

  She stared at him. “I won’t abandon you.”

  Singeing heat buffeted them as the salamanders advanced.

  Wendel stared into her eyes. “You take the left tunnel, I take the right. When they follow me, you can attack them from behind.”

  “Right,” she said.

  He loo
ked to the undead man. “Time for you to say goodbye to your friends.”

  The man swayed on his feet and waited for the necromancer’s command. Blood seeped from his neck and soaked his shirt.

  “Run to them.” Wendel shouldered the crossbow. “Bring them down.”

  The undead man shambled straight at the salamanders, who seemed confused enough that they stopped torching the air. Wendel narrowed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. A bolt whirred down the tunnel and embedded itself in the eye of a salamander’s gasmask. The pyromechanic toppled backwards.

  Ardis heard a muffled shout from the other salamander. She gripped Chun Yi.

  “Do we run?” she said.

  “Not yet,” Wendel said.

  He hauled back the crossbow string and loaded another bolt. The undead man, who clearly had no sense of self-preservation, staggered in front of the remaining flamethrower. The salamander set him ablaze and left him to burn. Black smoke choked the cramped space. Ardis gagged at the smell of roasting meat.

  Wendel fired the crossbow. The bolt missed the salamander and clattered off the wall.

  “Run!” he said.

  Ardis sheathed her sword and lunged down the left tunnel. She ran headlong for a minute, then skidded to a halt. Sweat soaking under her arms, she whirled around. The salamander lumbered into the junction.

  Wendel loped down the right-hand tunnel. He hadn’t bothered to hide himself.

  The pyromechanic saw the necromancer, and pursued his prey. Flames licked the walls and blackened the stone. Ardis hesitated for only a second before she ran back the way she came. Her breath rasped in her throat.

  What if Wendel hit a dead end? What if she was too late?

  Legs aching, she summoned a burst of speed. The heat from the salamander’s flamethrower was intense. Her eyes watered from the naphtha and the smoke. The salamander heard her coming and, ponderously, started to turn.

  Ardis’s hand flew to Chun Yi. She unsheathed her sword and swung.

  The blade sang through the air and arced toward the salamander. She saw the gleam of reflected fire in the eyes of his gasmask—the hesitation that reminded her he was human—the very second before she beheaded him.

  The momentum from her swing brought her blade clanging against the wall.

  Blood splattered her in the face. The salamander’s corpse toppled at her feet, the flamethrower still sputtering in his hands.