by Ian Whates
"No!" Kat screamed.
This couldn't be happening. The fire had come so close to killing it, and yet the monster was already restoring itself by feeding on the talented, and with this many of them here, Thaiss alone knew how much feeding it might do. People started to scatter, fleeing the creature and moving away from the gate, enabling Kat to catch a glimpse of the front of the crowd. A solid line of armed men stood across the exit, blocking the gate and penning the talented in.
Who in Thaiss' name were these men? What the breck was going on?
Kat hesitated, torn between the urge to attack the Soul Thief directly and her desire to ensure these people could escape the courtyard. Before she could make up her mind, the decision was made for her. A jet of flame engulfed the Soul Thief once more. It wasn't indiscriminate, but it was all-consuming, as fire tends to be. The Soul Thief and the poor man she was currently feeding on were engulfed, and several people beyond were caught as well. Whoever wielded the weapon had obviously realised that the only way to save the majority was to take the monster down, no matter what the cost. Screams of agony joined those of terror. The cloud of darkness detached itself from its latest victim, a high pitched wail issuing from the creature as it burned, a sound which rose above the human voices. The Soul Thief then fled the withering flame by racing across the intervening ground to smash through the nearest window and into the building itself. A fresh stream of fire pursued it, playing across the smashed window and leaving the surrounding frame and brickwork blackened and charred once the flames relented.
With the Soul Thief having slipped beyond her grasp again, choice was no longer an issue; Kat had only one immediate enemy to deal with. She forced, slid and wormed her way through the panicked crowd of people, not hesitating when she reached the front but instead launching herself straight at the line of armed men. Her erupting from the crowd with twin swords at the ready seemed to wrong-foot them for a second – all the time she needed. Kat caught a glimpse of white open mouths crudely daubed on black shirts. The Fang! Then the thrill of combat roared through her blood, bringing her fully alive and suppressing other thoughts. For the next few moments all she was aware of were blades to block, openings to strike at and adversaries to disable and kill.
The twin swords became an extension of her body, moving as rapidly and unerringly as their wielder, as she struck and parried, blocked and thrust, rolled and twisted and then struck again.
A lull in the fighting allowed her to pause; a degree of sanity returned as she took stock of the situation. Kat was dimly aware of four, perhaps five men having fallen to her blades, and she'd suffered a raking cut to her left shoulder – a blow that narrowly missed taking her ear off – but that had only acted to goad her on at the time. She remembered laughing as the sting of steel kissed her skin, before blithely cutting down the man responsible.
The line of those penning in the talented had broken. The remnants of a melee surrounded her, small knots of struggling figures while many more lay unmoving on the ground. She assumed people must have followed her lead and taken the fight to the Fang. Beyond the gate she could see figures scurrying into the night, so at least some of those who had come to help would make it home.
A figure reared up to her right, face contorted in a snarl, sword already descending. Kat stepped to one side, thrust with her right-hand blade – knee flexing, arm fully extended – then pulled the sword back and let the body fall. She walked across towards the gaping door that gave access to the house proper, hacking down in passing another of the Fang who had two of the talented backed against the wall, fighting for their lives. The pair smiled their thanks and then made good their escape, joining the steady flow of people fleeing Iron Grove Square.
Kat felt she'd done as much as she could here. It was time to find the Soul Thief and finish this.
She stepped into the building, to find the floor of the small gate room littered with bodies. Five or six of the Fang and one Tattooed Man: Adam, one of the oldest and one of the first people to take her under his wing when she was consigned to the Pits. The next room was larger but told much the same story. Heavy fighting had taken place here. She counted seven dead Fang and two of the Tattooed Men. How many of these frissing Fang were there and what the breck was going on here?
She came to a stairwell and heard the unmistakeable sounds of combat from two directions – on the ground floor ahead and from the stairs above. As far as she knew, Chavver was upstairs.
Kat raced up the flight, taking the steps two at a time. Once at the top, she saw the suggestion of fighting – of raised arms and falling swords – cast in silhouette against the wall ahead, like some staged battle scene performed by shadow dancers; though she had little doubt this one was for real.
She charged along the corridor, growing angrier with every step. It had all been going so well until the Fang intervened, trapping the talented and now, apparently, attacking the Tattooed Men. Whatever their part in this, she determined to make them pay, dearly. Judging by the number of bodies she was again stepping over – four more scattered along the corridor – it seemed the process had already begun. They must have brought a small army with them. But why?
As she turned the corner she gained a partial answer. A Tattooed Man sat collapsed against a wall: Rel, badly injured, most likely dying. Two of the Fang lay dead at his feet. A little further along Chavver and M'gruth stood side by side, holding off a group of the Fang and a figure Kat instantly recognised.
"Brent!" Images of the man crossing a city square in conversation with a Fang flashed through her mind and she cursed herself for not pursuing the matter at the time. Too late for regrets now. She leapt forward.
At her snarled exclamation the two nearest Fangs turned to face her. Kat went in low, thrusting upwards simultaneously with both blades, slipping under their guards and running the pair through.
Further yet along the corridor a fire had somehow started, which doubtless explained the elongated shadows she'd seen fighting on the wall as she reached the top of the stairs. Chavver and M'gruth had been pressed back close to the flames. No question this Brent was good; he was keeping Chavver pretty much fully occupied, leaving M'gruth to contend with the Fang. Kat's arrival changed the odds dramatically. The Tattooed Man took advantage of the distraction she'd provided to drop one of his opponents. Kat dispatched another. Three against three; or maybe not, as one of the two surviving Fangs evidently did a little mental reassessing of the odds and didn't much like the sums. He turned tail and ran, heading back towards the stairs for all he was worth. After brief hesitation, the other followed.
Brent disengaged from fighting Chavver, leaping back so that all three of them – Kat, Charveve, and M'gruth – were in front of him. He was breathing hard but still had a smile on his face, as if the odds didn't trouble him all that much.
"You should have told me about this little party, Kat. I thought we agreed to work together."
"I changed my mind."
Chavver and M'gruth were too experienced to be distracted by this little interplay if that was Brent's intention, though doubtless Kat would have some explaining to do once they'd finished off this interfering brecker. The three of them fanned out, making sure Brent had no avenue of escape while maximizing their own space to avoid tripping over each other when they pressed their attack.
"Not that it mattered, of course. Or did you really think something like this could be organised without word spreading?"
"So you thought you'd come along and wreck everything out of injured pride, simply because you weren't included?" Kat didn't believe that for one minute.
They were almost there, almost as far apart as possible.
"No, of course not," Brent replied. "I'm afraid I was a little sparing with the truth when last we spoke. You see, I wasn't hired to kill the Soul Thief but rather to protect her and to ensure she grows strong."
"What?" Why would anyone want an abomination like that to thrive?"
"My employer's motives re
main as opaque to me as they are to you, but once hired I always deliver."
"Not this time you won't," Chavver assured him.
"Really?" That supercilious smile was still there. "Who's going to stop me? You? I thought you might have more pressing concerns."
His eyes shifted to look above Chavver. Kat wasn't about to fall for a trick that obvious, but reckoned with three of them present, one at least could afford to check it out, so she did; and what she saw made her glad she had.
Now at least she knew what had caused the fire. The creature must have fled up here, weakened and smouldering, only to ignite some cloth or piece of wooden furniture in passing. Then it had cowered amongst the shadows in the stucco design of the ceiling, greatly diminished and too weak to escape, while Brent and his Fang cohorts had forced Chavver, M'gruth and the fallen Rel ever closer, until finally the Thief saw her chance.
"Chav, above you!" Kat knew her call was too late. In manoeuvring for the perfect attack, her sister had inadvertently stepped directly beneath the Thief's hiding place. A smudge of blackness fell towards Chavver, covering her face even as she attempted to turn and twist and react. The darkness immediately began to swell and gain substance, taking on an almost human shape.
Kat heard her sister scream, a cry of unadulterated agony.
"No!" Kat ran forward, ignoring the smell of burning overlaid with the stench of something putrid. She hacked at the thing, feeling slight resistance through the handle of her sword, but it verged on the trivial, as if she were chopping through a bag of fluffed-up cotton wool. "M'gruth, the fire!"
The big man was already running towards the blaze. There was no sign of Brent at this point – the brecker had obviously taken the opportunity to flee, but she'd worry about him later.
"Leave her, you bitch!" Kat screamed.
Charveve was thrashing, struggling against the shrouded figure that now seemed to envelope her. The suggestion of a face started to appear amidst the chaos. Kat didn't hesitate, stabbing at the thing's head. As before, the blade passed through with minimal resistance, but this time the creature cried out, as if stung. Kat stabbed again, growing increasingly desperate, the fear of losing her sister something she refused to accept.
"M'gruth!"
Where the breck was he? Then the Soul Thief's face began to take on greater definition, becoming more human, a woman's face, one she knew. "Katerina?"
Kat stopped attacking, her arms suddenly limp. All she could do was stare – at a face she only dimly remembered from her very earliest memories. "Mother? No!" The scream erupted from somewhere deep inside her. "You're not my mother. Don't you dare assume her face."
"Oh, but I am." The voice was like the wind across autumn leaves, dry and ancient. "She lives on in me, as do all I claim. Everything that remains of her is here, a part of me. Would you really kill your own mother, Katerina?"
For answer, Kat attacked with renewed fury, punctuating each stab with a word: "You… are… not… my… mother!"
Chavver had stopped moving. The Thief slid off of her, allowing Kat's sister to crumple to the floor; a dried, lifeless husk in black leather armour that now seemed ludicrously overlarge for the withered form within.
"No." Kat suffered a moment of double vision; past and present superimposed, one face overlaying the other. This was exactly how her mother had looked after the monster claimed her. "Goddess, please, no."
M'gruth finally came back, clutching the leg of a chair with fire smouldering at its top. He and Kat shared a desperate look. Too late and they both knew it. Kat felt numb, defeated, robbed of all hope. The Soul Thief flowed across the floor towards a window and all she could do was watch it go. M'gruth flung his burning brand. It sailed through the tattered trail of the killer without discernible effect.
The window's glass burst outward as the Thief paused before it.
Somewhere deep inside Kat the knowledge stirred that the murderer was about to leave. She stumbled forward, realisation that yet again the slayer of her mother and now her sister was going to escape overriding her paralysis and despair. Desperation empowered her and she ran the few short steps to the window, even as the last of that black cloud passed through. And then she remembered Annie's whip.
She yanked the barbed leathery length from her belt and held it properly for the first time, feeling a thrill of energy course up her arm, and dared hope that this seemingly vulgar thing might be more than it appeared to be. Without pause, Kat drew her arm back and cast the tip towards the patch of darker night, leaning out the window to do so, oblivious to the shards of shattered glass that still clung to the frame.
Kat had no idea what to expect. Swords had failed, while flechettes and crossbow quarrels merely slowed the creature down; what good was a whip likely to do? But she was desperate and had nothing else to hand. Her delight when the whip bit and the handle jerked violently was therefore matched by her surprise. There was a shriek of frustration and perhaps even pain from the nebulous cloud, and Kat had to hold tight with both hands to prevent the whip from being jerked out of her grasp. She found herself pulled forward, clothes and skin tearing on the window's glass-fragment teeth. She could have let go then, but refused to; refused to live with the knowledge that her family's killer had escaped again. So instead she clung on for dear life, and was physically dragged through the window.
The wrench on her arms was immense, as they were suddenly asked to take the weight of her entire body. She waited for the whip to pull free, or for the leather to snap, to send her tumbling towards the ground. They weren't high, and she knew how to land. Kat reckoned she could survive a fall from here without too much injury. But it never came.
She found herself carried across the courtyard while the creature above her shrieked its consternation. Perhaps the Soul Thief writhed and twisted, trying to shake off the whip's dogged grip; Kat couldn't say. Her attention was fully occupied with the wall of the opposite wing to the house, which was starting to loom large ahead of her. They'd gained a little height since leaving the window but not enough for her to clear either wall or roof. Fortunately, they weren't travelling quickly. Kat was able to bring her feet up, planting them on the wall and then using them to scrabble up it as she was pulled forward. The same tactic worked with the shallowpitched roof. She could have let go then and been safe, but the possibility barely crossed her mind. She was in this until the end, however bitter that might prove to be.
They were free of the house now, drifting over smaller, single storey dwellings and still gaining height, little by little. Kat dangled, arms and body extended, like some lead weight hanging from a line. The solid presence of the grand conveyor loomed large. In fact, that seemed to be where the Soul Thief was headed.
She tried not to look down on the rooftops that swayed alarmingly beneath her feet, tried not to think of the muscles in her shoulders and arms which ached in mounting degrees of agony, and tried to focus only on the task of holding on.
No question, the Soul Thief was making for the grand conveyor. The brick-built viaduct with its series of broad supporting arches bestrode this section of the under-City like some multi-limbed colossus.
They were fairly high up now, and Kat wondered whether the Soul Thief was intending to pass over the belt, though to do that she would surely have to go higher still. To her right, Kat could see the chophouse where she'd first encountered Brent; a painful reminder of another score that needed settling. Then they were coming in close, approaching an archway two along from the one housing Coalman's. Kat could see a fissure towards the top of this arch, a dark hollowing in the right-hand wall where some of the bricks had fallen out or been removed. Of course; no wonder she hadn't uncovered the Soul Thief's bolt-hole despite all that searching – this was it! She'd never even considered including the grand conveyor, yet it was ideal – within easy striking distance of the streets. It was also in spitting distance of where Brent had chosen to meet Kat. Coincidence? She doubted it. The man had been mocking her even then.
They were coming in too high. She was carried above the archway, and found herself careening towards the brickwork of the viaduct itself. Glancing quickly up, she saw that the Soul Thief had stopped, though Kat continued forward, swinging like a pendulum. Presumably a deliberate attempt to dislodge her.
With her hands fully occupied, she brought her feet up to absorb the shock of impact. As they connected she immediately used them to push herself off, as gently as she could, anxious not to add to the momentum. The result was awkward and only partially successful, her upper-body continuing towards the viaduct. She twisted so that her left shoulder took the brunt of the contact. The Soul Thief was moving again, pulling her away and then dashing her towards the brickwork once more.
No question now, the creature was definitely using the viaduct to try to rid itself of this troublesome burden. The combination of momentum from her kick and the Soul Thief's movement sent Kat spinning, twirling around on the whip, which did nothing to improve her concentration. She saw the brickwork racing towards her again. She tried to bring her feet up, to kick herself off as she had before, but the spinning made judgement impossible. She slammed into the viaduct sideways, her shoulder and hip striking with bruising force, followed a split second later by her head. Pain lanced through her thoughts, fracturing her attention.
