by Ian Whates
The Demon clearly sensed as much. "Prepare to die, boy."
Sweat trickled down Tom's face. He squinted against its salty sting. He clenched his teeth and fought with everything he had, stubbornly refusing to admit the possibility that it wasn't enough. At that moment thoughts of Kat and of Thaiburley's fate were the last thing on his mind. He was fighting for his life.
At the last moment, as his strength began to falter, a towering figure loomed behind the Demon, seeming to have come out of nowhere. Tom was so focused on resisting the pressure that threatened to break through and crush him that he only saw it dimly, the arm that rose and fell, the solid metal object brought down so forcefully on the Demon's head.
The pressure disappeared. Tom wasn't in the mood to stop and wonder what had happened. He flew onto the attack, his remaining talent bludgeoning past the Demon's defences, only to find that he had penetrated something incomprehensible. Without meaning to, he found himself immersed in the Demon's mind, which itself was linked to the corrupted core. For a disorientated second Tom felt that he was connected to the whole city, that his sense of self had flowed and stretched to touch every point of Thaiburley at once. In that instant, Tom felt that he could encompass the whole world.
Confused and overwhelmed, he panicked, desperate to regain some sense of equilibrium, to feel whole again. He lashed out, breaking and destroying, in the hope of triggering a return to normality. His outburst of blind violence ripped the Demon apart from within. The golden figure, driven down to its hands and knees by the blow to the back of its head, twitched and collapsed, hitting the floor face first.
Was it dead? Was it breathing? Did Demons breathe? While Tom was considering these finer points of Demon physiology, the felled figure started to shimmer. The Demon sparkled and twinkled and melted away, fading as if seeping into the floor somehow, until it had completely disappeared. The whole process only took a couple of heartbeats, leaving no mark or sign that anything had ever been there. Tom assumed that the Demon had been reabsorbed by the core.
Only then did he really turn his attention to their saviour. For a fleeting moment he thought of Kohn, but instantly realised this wasn't the kayjele he'd known. For one thing, the single cyclopean eye that dominated the giant's forehead was bright with intelligence and vision, not milky with the rheum of blindness.
"Thank you," Tom said, with a shallow nod of gratitude.
The giant still clutched in his right hand what appeared to be a huge steel wrench, which was presumably what he'd hit the Demon with. Tom barely registered the details. He was already hurrying over to where a crumpled black form lay pooled at the foot of a wall. "Kat?" No response.
Tom crouched down and reached towards the still form.
"Don't move her," Jayce advised. "She might be injured. If you move her you're liable to make it worse."
Tom's hand hovered for a fraction of a second, but then completed the intended action and grasped Kat's arm. There was still no reaction. "We can't just leave her," he told Jayce. He'd left Dewar, he wasn't about to abandon Kat.
He adjusted his grip, to hold the bare skin of her wrist. Warm, but then wasn't everything in here? Closing his eyes, he reached out with his talent, gently, a feather-light touch. Yes, she was still alive, but hurt, badly hurt, her life energy flickering and uncertain.
Tom wiped his brow and licked his lips, tasting the saltiness of his own sweat. There was no one here to save her but him. Mildra had told him he could be a healer if he wanted, and Thaiss seemed convinced that he could do just about anything, but he'd never attempted anything like this and there was no one here to show him how. He sat back on his haunches and wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers. The bass boom of the semi-organic pump's latest inhalation vibrated through him like a mournful sigh.
Still he hesitated, hands hovering just above her small black form. Perhaps leaving her here would be the best option after all. But then she might die of her injuries or fall victim to a Rust Warrior. No, he couldn't shirk responsibility, not this time. Sucking in a deep lungful of the warm, inadequate air, he took hold of her wrist again, closed his eyes and concentrated, attempting to feel for wrongness in her body. He sensed… something, an apparent anomaly, which he gingerly caressed away with a whisper of talent, ever conscious of how destructive his power could be and indeed had been whenever he'd summoned it in the past. He tried to be restrained and delicate, tried to smooth out the wrinkles in the flow of energy he could sense within Kat's body.
Tom had no idea how much time passed before he sat back again. Nor did he know whether he'd achieved anything worthwhile. He wasn't a medic and had never aspired to be a healer. He hadn't received the sort of training that Mildra had and didn't know enough about anatomy to knit together bones or repair specific blood vessels the way that she was able to, but, in the absence of either training or direction, he'd done as much as he could.
His scalp itched with perspiration and his damp clothes clung to his body. He'd have given anything for a sip of cold water, but all he could really think about was Kat. He squatted there and simply stared at her, willing her to get up, to say something, to simply move…
Her eyes suddenly twitched and then shot open. "Kat?" He grinned, relieved and more than a little pleased with himself. "You're all right."
"Says who?" she asked, tentatively pulling herself upright, wincing with pain. "If this is all right…" She sat with her back against the wall, breathing deeply. "… then life sucks. What happened to the golden guy with wings?"
"Our kayjele friend over here arrived in the nick of time and thumped him with a wrench and then I finished him off with my talent."
"Bully for you." Kat stared at the kayjele, eyeing him up and down. "Big brecker, isn't he?"
"Yeah, they do tend to be."
"Is he gonna come with us to the core?"
Tom hadn't even considered that, but he shook his head, knowing the answer. "Doubt it. He'd have to crawl through the corridors. Besides, his place is here, tending the pump. That's what the kayjele do in Thaiburley."
"Shame. I've got a feeling we're going to need muscles like that before we're through." So saying, Kat clambered carefully to her feet, face a study in concentration as she did so, one hand holding her side. "Broken rib by the feel of it. Where's Shayna when I need her?"
"Sorry, I did my best."
She stared at him, wide eyed. "You healed me."
He nodded. "Sort of, at any rate."
She grunted, still feeling her obviously tender rib. "I'd say you've still got a bit to learn."
"Don't worry I know." He bit his lip, reminded of his own inadequacies. "Are you going to be all right to go on?"
She gave a bitter laugh. "Trust me, kid, I've fought mire bears, dragon worms and murderers carrying far worse than this. It could do with being strapped up, though, if you want me to be much use from here on in. Have we got the time?"
Tom nodded. "Sure." Who knew how much time they had? It felt as if they were in their own world here, completely cut off from events elsewhere. What difference would a few more minutes make?
She obviously read his expression. "That'll be a 'no' then, but we'll make the time anyway, right?"
He grinned. "Right."
"Well… turn around then!" She shooed him away with her hands. "I'm gonna have to take my top off. You, too, soldier boy," she said in Jayce's direction.
Tom and the guardsman both hurriedly shuffled round to stare at the wall. Tom couldn't help but be amused at Kat's coyness. In the Blue Claw, the kids would wash and scrub each other and change clothes without any thought of modesty, the few girl members doing so as readily as the boys. Nudity had never been an issue for him, but Kat's asking them to look the other way had suddenly made it one.
After a short period of rustling and grunting, Kat said, "Kid, I'm going to need a hand here."
"I'll have to turn around."
"Of course you will, genius. I'm hardly gonna let you grope over my body without se
eing what you're doing now, am I?"
As Tom spun quickly back towards her, he just knew his cheeks were burning. Thankfully, Kat didn't seem to notice. She had wrapped her chest and side in bright white bandage, with evident efficiency. "You carry bandages with you?" he asked, impressed by such foresight.
She looked at him, puzzled. "Doesn't everyone? Now, just hold this, where my hand is, and don't be afraid to press. If you let go the whole breckin' thing will fall apart and I'll have to start again."
Tom gingerly reached out to where Kat's hand held a section of pristine whiteness in place against her own side. His fingers lay over hers, which then slipped out from underneath as he took over. They'd held hands once, to escape from a group of nicks, but that was then and it had just been a ruse. This was somehow more intimate. Tom's breath caught in his throat, and he struggled to keep his hand from trembling.
"Remember," she said, "press hard."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
The seconds seemed to ooze past with viscous slowness rather than flowing at their normal pace, but eventually, after what seemed to have been an age, she'd finished, fastening the final length in place with a pin. "Thanks. You can let go now."
"Oh, right." He pulled his hand away sharply, as if he'd just burnt it on something.
TWELVE
Tylus was beginning to wonder if he was really cut out for command. Oh, he appreciated the Prime Master's faith in him and still believed passionately in the Kite Guard School and all that it could achieve, but standing before a group of officers freshly arrived in the City Below and sharing the benefit of his experiences was one thing, leading a party of disparate components into the heart of the unknown Stain quite another. While Kat had stood beside him the responsibility was at least shared, but since she'd disappeared he felt that this was very much his expedition, for all that M'gruth was nominally standing in as her deputy. Which meant that if everything went horribly wrong, it would all be down to him.
Not that he was about to show his doubts, especially not in front of Issie. He concentrated on appearing calm, wise and totally in command, and was grateful that she didn't seem to question the performance, presumably accepting this as the norm. For her part, the arkademic had spoken little since their journey resumed, clasping the wrecked mechanism in one hand and focusing intently on it as if able to fathom its deepest purpose. Presumably this helped her to trace its source. She now walked at the front of the party, surrounded by her knot of dark sentinels, speaking only to provide him with occasional and invariably terse updates.
Their group was somewhat reduced. After consulting with M'gruth, Tylus had agreed that they couldn't continue with one of the Tattooed Men unconscious and an exhausted Thaistess in their midst, and they certainly couldn't leave the two unattended in the Stain. Sergeant Whitmore and his surviving officers had lifted Mildra and Petter aerially back to the more clement environs of the streets, utilising the new hammock-like slings the Kite Guards were equipped with, each passenger suspended between two officers. Petter, of course, was oblivious, but Tylus was impressed by how little fuss the Thaistess made in the face of what must have been a fairly daunting prospect. Despite the passenger being strapped into the sling, comfort and safety still relied on some skilful and synchronised flying by the two officers supporting them. The straps of the sling had to be kept taut, and that required some precision flying. Tylus wouldn't have fancied trying it.
After the stress of the journey – the need to remain constantly alert and the series of small incidents that had dogged their progress, not to mention the vanquishing of the Soul Thief – the Tattooed Men had been glad of a break while they waited for the Kite Guards to return, as had Tylus and, he suspected, Issie. It gave them all a chance to catch their breath, to sip from canteens and munch on provisions. The Blade, as usual, stayed aloof.
The respite had been short lived, with Whitmore and a single officer soon returning – the other two men having stayed behind to guard and see to the needs of the Thaistess and her patient. As soon as the pair touched down the group set off once more, in search of the mysterious Insint.
Progress was steady; they were mercifully unhindered by any of the Stain's denizens. They might almost have been moving through a genuinely lifeless wasteland, although the experiences of the morning had shown otherwise. The only indication that they weren't alone came when a distant baying reached them, coming from the direction of the wall and the dark chamber that Tylus knew lay beyond. The Kite Guard looked to M'gruth for some explanation of the sound.
"Demon hounds," the Tattooed Man supplied. At Tylus's blank look he went on, "Dogs the size of a big ox and just as powerful. Vicious breckers, too. They've been known to raid the streets from time to time for food. You'll know if they've caught our scent; there'll be a lot more howling and it'll get nearer faster than you'd believe."
A comforting thought. Speaking of scent, the foul smell of the Stain seemed to be intensifying with every step, as Issie led them nearer to the river.
"Hope this thing isn't aquatic," M'gruth muttered. "Wandering around in the Stain is all well and good, but plunging into the Yellow Thair definitely wasn't in the brief."
The river at this point had gained the "Yellow" epithet due to the high levels of pollution and effluence its waters carried by the time they passed through the Stain. As far as Tylus could see the water wasn't actually yellow, the name intended as reference to the amount of urine it was said to contain, or so he'd been told.
They were getting very near the Thair now. Ahead of them, a lone blood heron took off from the bank, scalding them for the disturbance. Tylus always found the ungainly way these birds launched into flight comical, as their long necks strained forward and back, almost as if grasping the air in front of them in an attempt to pull their heavy bodies skyward. Only once their wings settled into a regular rhythm did the neck straighten and the bird adopt a more dignified dart-like shape.
They really were close to the river, and there was nothing obvious to suggest their target was on its banks. Suddenly M'gruth's glib comment seemed all too plausible. What would they do if the wretched thing was somewhere in the middle of the Thair?
The stench wasn't the only thing that had increased as they drew nearer the river. So had the number of insects. Tylus slapped at his neck, where another blood-sucking pest had just bitten him.
"It looks as if they even grow their insects bigger in the Stain," M'gruth commented from beside him.
Tylus looked in the direction the Tattooed Man indicated, to see a swarm of oversized bugs coming towards them from the direction of the Thair. Something about them didn't look quite right. Their flight was too direct, too purposeful, and the way the light from distant sun globes winked off their carapaces here and there suggested they might even be somehow metallic.
A number of things clicked into place. "Those aren't insects," Tylus said. "We're under attack. Kite Guards, with me!"
Tylus took a few hurried steps forward and sprang into the air, spreading his arms as he did so. Immediately he felt the familiar sense of lightness, and his feet lifted from the ground as if that solid surface had somehow slipped from under them. In the corner of his eye he saw Whitmore and the other remaining Kite Guard follow suit.
They didn't have much time, with the small swarm closing fast. Tylus climbed as steeply as he could, trying to get above them. Down below, others were reacting. He heard M'gruth shout for Ox to ready the flamethrower, and four of the Blade strode forward to meet the metallic insects, which Tylus suspected were the same as the crushed mechanism he'd recovered from the site of the sun globe disaster, the one that Issie clutched even now.
A pair of the metal beetles detached from the main group and started to climb to intercept the three Kite Guards. Terrific. Tylus had been intending to try out the other new weapon – aside from the bombs – that the arkademics had supplied them with, but using it against individual bugs was going to take a lot more accuracy than aimi
ng for a swarm.
The problem with using any sort of weapon while flying was that in order to stay aloft you had to keep your arms out and the cape stretched taut between limbs and body. The moment you started waving your hands about doing something else, such as firing a weapon, you lost control and risked to plummeting straight down to a hard landing. Tylus had no idea why this was the case given that the supposed science behind the capes was decidedly suspect to say the least, but it was. This meant that the choice of weapons for a Kite Guard was limited and use of even their traditional equipment such as puncheons and net guns while on the wing took a lot of practice and involved an element of risk. So the arkademics had come up with something new especially for this outing, a weapon that didn't require the bending of the elbow or manoeuvring of the arm.
As Tylus saw the two metal bugs climbing towards him he stopped trying to gain altitude, levelling out and then banking, dipping his left shoulder, swivelling so that his right arm was above. He brought his left arm down slightly so that it projected straight out from the shoulder, and then gazed intently along it, using its length to aim by. As the nearest bug came into sight he balled his fist. A beam of pale, bright blue light shot from a small nozzle mounted on his wrist. Breck! He'd missed the bug by a fraction and the thing was closing fast. Resisting the temptation to panic, he shifted the arm downwards slightly, and the blue beam licked against the bubble of metal, which was now no more than a couple of arms' lengths away.
