DANGEROUS TO KNOW

THE CHRONICLES OF BREED : BOOK ONE

K.T. DAVIES
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 CONTENTS

The Empire
Appleton To Valen

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22

Tooth And Claw

Free Books
Author’s Note
About the Author
 1

There’s nothing quite as exhilarating as heedless, headlong flight, when

fear of the unknown is banished by the sure and certain knowledge that
whatever is ahead cannot be as dreadful as that which is behind. It’s
liberating, like being a child again, free of all constraints born of thought or
reason. Although, truth be told, as wild as my childhood had been this was
the first time I’d ever been chased by a dragon.
Even though my situation was sliding rapidly from dire to fatal, every
fiber of my being sang with the joy of being alive. I let out a loud whoop as
I leaped a boulder and glissaded at speed down an ice-sheathed slope,
scattering talus in my wake. My shout rang across the mountain, a
challenge as much as an exultation.
Not to be outdone, the dragon answered with an ear-splitting roar.
Thus warned, I dived into a stand of knotted pines as it spewed a mouthful
of frosty bile in my direction. A wash of ice glazed the copse. Leaves
shattered like glass, trunks and branches cracked like old bones. I escaped
all but the merest lick of cold fire, but the slight splash was enough to peel
the skin from my shoulder.
I stumbled, arms windmilling, feet scrabbling for purchase. The second
I regained my balance, I dug my claws into the frozen ground and propelled
myself down the mountain. My thoasan father had blessed me with his
race’s superior speed and agility, a gift that had kept me alive longer than I
probably deserved. Alas, my human mother had cursed me with the stamina
of her breed. The pace was hard and the dragon relentless. Though I sped
downhill like an arrow, the beast was devouring my lead with every furious
beat of its coriaceous wings.
It seemed that, in this rare instance, crime had not paid. It was a sad
state of affairs, but not one that I’d live long enough to regret if my icy
friend had anything to do with it. Thus disillusioned, although highly
motivated, I sprinted from the snarling jaws of death. Provoked by necessity
to exert itself, my mind began to race as fast as my feet. The thought
occurred that if I discarded the sapphire I’d stolen, the dragon might let me
be, but then the wise words of Mother leaped to mind. ‘Hope is for fools,
and only losers rely on luck. More wine!’ I could almost see the old dear,
slouched gracelessly across the Rat Bone Throne, majestically drunk, and
sneering at my predicament.
Tossing the stone would be pointless, the last act of a desperate cull.
Why on earth would the great, flying turd-sack let me go when it could
retrieve its treasure after it had turned me into a frozen smear on the
mountainside? It wouldn’t. Like me, the big ugly bastard was greedy and
vicious. Even if throwing the gem worked and I escaped from this particular
pot of arsepickle, I’d be leaping from the jaws of one monster into the arms
of another, deadlier fiend. To return to Mother and the Guild empty-handed
would invite a far harder death than any the dragon could mete out. My dear
mama had elevated brutality to an art form, nay, a philosophy, a meditation
on suffering.
Another roar whipped snow and dirt into an icy shroud, a thunderous
stomp sent jagged fractures racing down the mountain. I narrowed my eyes
against the blistering glare and glanced over my shoulder. The dragon was
tearing its way through the knot of pine less than thirty feet behind me. It
paused a moment, fixed its pale, blue gaze upon me and bared its saber
fangs. In that moment, the air was awed to stillness and the beating of my
heart seemed to falter. There was death, sharp and cold. While my eyes
drank in the full measure of my doom, my legs kept running, trying to save
with speed what I had failed to protect with wit. They were doing well, up
to the point that I stepped into nothing.
I pitched forwards and rebounded off the rough sides of a deep fissure.
The breath was hammered from my lungs. I fell, clawed at rock and earth,
tried to latch onto anything to slow my descent. Darkness yawned beneath
me, but before I was swallowed by the baleful unknown I managed to grab
an outcrop of stone and hang there, legs swinging in the inky void. A steady
drizzle of grit and snow rained from above. I adjusted my grip so that I
could pull myself back up into the fissure but the rock I was holding came
away in my hand.
My thoasan instincts trumped my human ineptitude and I landed
prone, arms and legs outstretched spreading the impact of the fall. Myriad
stars exploded before my eyes, lighting the darkness. I squinted through the
fireworks at the grey hole far above me. When the hole vanished I had wit
enough to roll aside. A torrent of icy vomit gushed down the hole, turning
the ground where I had been lying into a hissing mirror of brittle glass. I
laughed before I passed out, lulled by the sound of the dragon venting its
impotent fury on the mountainside.

I’M NOT sure how long I was unconscious, all I know is that when I came
round, everything hurt. My hair spines had saved my skull from cracking
like an egg against the hard floor but the brain within was feeling somewhat
scrambled. I pawed my face and traced tears of dried blood to a sticky gash
on my forehead. As I flexed each limb to see what still worked, a chorus of
aches and pains sang a song of cuts and bruises. I sat up and brushed the
grit out of the raw flesh of my frost-burned shoulder. Considering that I’d
just been chased by a very angry dragon, I’d got off lightly.
When the world stopped spinning, I peered into the darkness. I was in
a cave that a human might describe as ‘pitch black’, but I could see through
the varying layers of darkness. Upon inspection, I adjusted my initial
appraisal. It wasn’t a cave, it was a large, carved chamber with several exits.
The ravages of time had taken its toll on the room. Once beautiful
sculptures and carvings had collapsed into piles of rubble. I drew breath,
tasted fetid air, the musty stink of decomposition, and something else. There
was another scent in the mix, something I couldn’t quite place. I drew a
deeper breath, let the smell roll over the buds of my partially bifurcated
breed-muddled tongue. It was an acrid-smelling taste, a mix of fear-sweat,
sulfur, and anger.
I wasn’t alone.
Shaking off the effects of the fall, I sprang up, drew my blades, and
scribed an arc in the air before me. It was my way of showing anything that
might be sizing me up that it wasn’t worth the pain of trying to find out
what half human, half thoasa tasted like. Nothing moved, but the smell
lingered, clawing at the edge of my senses. As much as I enjoy playing
‘stab in the dark’, time was against me. I had to get out and get home with
my prize before Mother sent my fellow Guild Blades to hunt me down.
I summoned the words of a spell to mind and a fist-sized ball of light
bloomed before me. I sent the pale sphere towards the recess where the
smell of anger was strongest. Sure enough, hunched beneath an arch of
fallen masonry was a thing.
 No bigger than a malnourished, human child, its skin was mottled grey
and its wrinkled head was far too big for its spidery body. It was wearing a
ragged shirt and breeches of an ancient design. It blinked a pair of large,
pure black eyes, and scratched nervously at the cobweb wisps of hair that
garnished its head and pointed ears. It was a pathetic looking creature, a
cross between a very old human and a very young one, but I did not lower
my swords just yet. I’d come across some dangerous coves prowling the
sewers and back alleys of Appleton that had looked just as harmless as this
scrapling.
It raised its hands to shield its eyes from the light. “Don’t hurt me. I
mean you no harm, I did you no harm as you lay there insensible.” Its voice
was little more than a hoarse whisper, as though it was unused to talking.
“What the fuck are you?” I demanded, holding it at sword point.
“Isn’t it obvious?” it asked.
“No, why should it be?” I didn’t give a damn what genus of goblin it
belonged to, I was more concerned with how I was going to get out of here
and off the mountain without being eaten by an angry dragon. The thing
took a wary step towards me, mindful of the steel between us. It scratched
the tiny horn buds that sprouted from its forehead, marking it as a
descendent of the infernal demonspawn that fought in the Schism War. It
stared at me with its huge, dark eyes and folded its arms.
“You’re an imp of some kind.” I ventured unenthusiastically.
It straightened up, puffed out its bony chest. “I, am a demon.”
I snorted. “Are you indeed? A demon of what, pray tell?”
It cleared its throat. “I am a tormentor of scribes.”
“A who of what?” I wasn’t sure that I’d heard it correctly.
It set its wizened face in what I suspected was supposed to be a
righteous frown and planted its bony little hands on its hips. “I steal nibs,
sometimes entire quills, and upon occasion, sealing wax and the odd scrap
of vellum.” I didn’t hear what else it said as by this point because I was
laughing too hard. Not only had I almost been frozen to death by a dragon,
admittedly, one that I had provoked, but I was now stuck in a subterranean
somewhere, with a mad goblin for company. You couldn’t make this stuff
up.
“That’s very petty,” I said when I finally stopped laughing.
It did its best to glower. “I’m a specialist.”
 “I thought demons were supposed to ravage and destroy and lay waste
to civilizations, that kind of thing, not steal pens.”
“Have you ever seen a scribe hunting for a favorite nib? Or been there
when one has discovered the ink has dried up because someone, me, has left
the lid off the pot, hmm?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
It wagged a finger at me. “Well, let me tell you, it can lead to a great
deal of destruction when you steal the pen of a scholarly type. They are, by
and large, a highly-strung breed, given to wild fits of temper.”
“Angry scribes, eh? I’ll be sure to watch out for them. D’you have a
name, or shall I just call you Destroyer of Pens?”
“Stupid human. Do you think I would tell you my name and give you
power over me?”
“Human?” I gave myself an exaggerated once-over. “Are you blind?”
My feet are covered in red and orange scales, and I have seven, taloned
toes on each foot. He couldn’t see the scales on my shoulders and back
because of the tunic I was wearing, but the liver-red stripes on my arms and
neck were plainly visible. I smiled just enough to show him the tips of my
sharp canines. And even if it hadn’t noticed my feet or hair or stripes, it had
looked me in my bright, yellow eyes and must have seen the flicker of my
third eyelid.
The demon shrugged dismissively. “Mortals all look the same to me.
What’s your name, half-breed?”
“Mind your own business, imp.” I gave it my best, broken bottle glare
before sending the globe of light up to the ceiling. It hovered beneath the
stopple of rubble and ice that choked the hole about forty feet above us. It
would take days to melt even with the aid of magic and longer to dig
through. I needed another way out if I was to avoid a bounty being placed
on my head.
“I came when I heard the dragon and saw you lying there. I thought
you were dead,” it said while I surveyed my surroundings.
All thought of escape was momentarily banished when I was struck by
a sudden, horrifying thought. I groped at my chest. After an agonizing few
seconds of panic, I found the sapphire, still nestled in the folds of my tunic
where I'd stuffed it. Relieved, I chuckled. Some demon. Not only hadn’t it
cut my throat while I lay senseless, but it hadn’t even bothered to search
me. The youngest kinchin cove in Appleton would have had the wit to do
that.
My stomach growled. I wasn’t a natural when it came to sorcery. If I
maintained the spell for much longer the hungry weakness would really
start to bite. I searched through the debris and found some wood dry enough
to fashion into a torch.
The imp sneered at my efforts. “Real warspawn can see in the dark.”
“They also rip little shits like you in half. Do you want us to go down
that route?” It didn’t answer. “I didn’t think so.”
I sparked the torch to life with my flint and tinder and wafted it
towards the imp. It leaped away from the wash of amber. “That’s better.” I
gave it a knowing look. “You never know when you might need to burn
something and as I’m neither a real sorcerer or a real warspawn this’ll have
to do me.”
The imp snorted. “The Mage Lords were too afraid to give the
warspawn the ability to use magic. They were scared that their creatures
might use it against them. Cowards, the lot of them.”
“That’s fascinating, really, it is. You should write a memoir, get some
use out of all those pens that you’ve nicked.” I didn’t give two shits what
had happened hundreds of years ago, but I had the distinct impression that
there was more to the little scutbucket than merely tormenting scribes.
Another time I might have delved deeper into its history but the pressing
need to find my way out of here pushed all further thought on the matter to
the farthest corner of my mind.
The chamber had four exits. One was blocked, and none of them
looked any more promising than the next. I tasted the air. A full-blood
thoasa would have been able to discern the finest thread of freshness in the
turgid atmosphere, but my human-blunted senses couldn’t pick anything out
above the musty funk of ages. If indeed there was another way out.
As I pondered which way to go, my gaze roamed over the heavily
embellished walls. The sputtering torchlight sheened the drab stone with
gold and lent a semblance of flickering life to the vicious demons marching
towards an unseen foe. This was no ordinary dwelling or common tomb
buried under a rock fall. A knot of gloom tightened my gut.
“What is this place?” I asked the imp while not really wanting to know
the answer.
 It sat down on the severed, stone head of a demon and drew its knees
up to its chin. Its blank stare echoed the enigmatic vacuity of the statue’s
gaze.
“Shallunsard’s Keep.” The imp’s breath curdled the frigid air.
“What?”
“Shallunsard’s Keep? The Bright Star of the Morning?”
I shook my head.
“The jewel that glitters in the crown of Helel? The Keep of the Bright
Star?” It arched a feathery eyebrow, gave me the all-knowing wide eye, as
though I should know what it was talking about and be impressed.
I didn’t, and I wasn’t. “I think you mean was the bright star of
wherever. In case you hadn’t noticed, a mountain fell on it.”
“Ah. Yes. The fall, I remember.”
“That’s wonderful. Pray, sirrah, d’you also remember the way out?
Only I have to be somewhere yesterday.”
“I do. And I will show you.”
“Splendid.”
“For a price.”
I waved my sword at it, all casual like. “Let me stop you there, shorty.
My body and soul are owned by my mother, and she’s one demon I will not
cross.”
It made a sound akin to that of a cat throwing up a hairball. I think it
was trying to laugh. “I want nothing so prosaic. I just want you to take me
out with you.”
“You can’t come with me. My mother, who is also my employer,
wouldn’t be at all happy if I brought an imp home. She has a strict ‘no pets’
policy.”
“I have no wish to travel with you, breed. Just take me across the seal.”
It wrapped its arms around its legs. “Agree, and you’ll be out of here in a
matter of hours. Don’t, and you can spend the rest of your life, short though
it may be, lost in these ancient and labyrinthine halls.”
“Breed?” I laughed. “Am I supposed to be offended? If I am you’ll
have to do better than that because I’ve been insulted every day I’ve drawn
breath. As for surviving down here, I’ll wager that I’ll last a few days
longer if I spit-roast your carcass, arseling.”
“You think so, eh? the restless dead might have other ideas.”
 I was about to reply with a stinging riposte, but my attention was
diverted by the sound of something shuffling behind me. I tilted my head
and caught a whiff of deathly decay. Without further prattle, I dropped the
torch, pivoted to my right, and rammed my blades into my unfortunate
stalker before I’d given much thought as to what or who it might be. I’d
apologize later if it was some lost cull looking for directions, but where I
come from sneaking up on a person is a declaration of murderous intent.
Nobody plays ‘guess who?’ in Appleton, not twice anyway.
I knew something was wrong the moment I felt my swords bite into
something more akin to rawhide than flesh. I have a good working
knowledge of human anatomy and knew that if it was a human of average
height, both of my blades should have been sticking in a gut, or the
transverse colon as quacksalvers name it. There’s a satisfying pressure one
encounters when stabbing guts, a comforting suck on the steel. It’s like a
warm handshake, one that tells a bloody-handed cove that they’ve hit their
mark. I’d hit nothing. My blades hung loose within an empty husk. The
knot in my gut tightened another notch.
“Oh, this isn’t good.”
While I stood there, goggling at the walking corpse it grabbed me by
the throat. I was somewhat perturbed by this and screamed like my arse was
on fire until it tightened its grip and choked off my air pipe.
Shocked into action, I twisted my blades and ripped them through its
desiccated body. The death-hardened flesh was tough, but fear lent me an
extra measure of strength, and I cut the thing in half. The legs fell away, but
the divorce of top from bottom didn’t encourage it to loosen its bony
fingers. Choking, I sheathed my blades in its chest, took a firm grip on its
hawser taut arms and wrenched the skeletal hands from my throat. Free
from its deathless grip, I threw the damned thing to the floor, retrieved my
blades, and stomped on its bits until it was nothing more than an inlay of
old flesh and bone.
“Neatly done.” The imp clapped. “As you can see, this place is
dangerous, infested with the restless dead and worse. I know how to avoid
them, most of them, at least.”
“I’ve a mind to make you one of the permanent dead for not warning
me that thing was behind me.”
“What do you expect? I’m a demon, I don’t do nice, helpful things, it’s
not in my nature.” The smug little snotstain picked a fleck of dry skin from
its ragged shirt. “You would also be wasting your time, nothing stays
permanently dead down here. This place is cursed.”
“Of course, it is.” I kicked a sliver of skull across the floor. “Does it
flood too? Is the air poisonous? Will blood drinking rabbits attack at
midnight?” I sheathed my blades. “Just my luck to be trapped in a fucking
dungeon with an irritating, half-sized demon and gods only knows how
many walking corpses, and if I don’t get back to Appleton in the next few
days it’s open season on my head.”
The demon chuckled and steepled its fingers. “As they say in the
common argot, you’re fucked, unless you agree to my terms, which I have
to say are rather generous, considering your predicament. Now, do we have
a deal?”
I sighed. “Very well. Just show me the way out.”
The demon grinned, displaying a neat row of tiny, needle-sharp fangs.
It offered its hand. “Remember, Breed, a deal is a deal. You promise to take
me over the seal, alive and well?”
I didn’t know much about demons, other than what I’d heard in the
Nest when some lag wanted to impress their cronies. I recalled something
about it being a bad idea to make deals with them, but I didn’t see that I had
much choice. I clasped its hand. “Deal.”
 2

We walked for hours along lavishly carved corridors piled with moldering
furniture and heaped with bones. Lots and lots of bones. After trudging
along what looked like the same corridor for the second time, I was starting
to think that the mad little skunkpizzle was leading me in circles.
Demon or not, I swore that if it was playing me false, I’d gut the little
bastard. My frost burned shoulder ached, and I was running out of time and
patience. I was also heartily sick of looking at the endless procession of
grim-faced heroes and heroines battling snarling demons.
Some of the rooms we crept past piqued my professional interest,
especially when I spied a glimpse of a chest or the gleam of something
shiny winking from the shadows, but my demonic guide insisted that we
press on without exploring. Even though I had a sapphire the size of a
chicken’s egg tucked into my shirt, it pained me not to steal everything of
value that wasn’t nailed down.
“So, what are you in for?” I asked, bored of listening to my breathing
and the wet slap of the imp’s feet against the flagstones.
It tilted its head to one side and narrowed its eyes. “What are you
talking about, Breed?”
I cleared my throat. “WHY. ARE. YOU. STUCK. IN. HERE? WHY.
CAN’T. YOU. LEAVE?”
It wiped its face and scowled. “A sorcerer imprisoned me, something
of an overreaction in my opinion, all because I stole her favorite pen which
as I recall was albino peacock, silver nib, very classy.”
“That’s it? How long have you been here?”
“I was bound here in the year that Halda the Red Witch and the
Hammer of the North united in battle against the Lord of Dawn.”
“Really? You do know how long ago that was, don’t you?”
“Seven hundred and sixty-seven years, six months, one week, three
days, and nine hours.” It stomped off along the corridor.
“You’ve aged well, considering.”
When I got around to bragging about this adventure in the Nest, I’d
paint over the image of the ‘small, insane demon’. I would instead claim
that my dread companion was seven feet tall, with flaming eyes, wicked
horns, and great, leathery wings. I’d also tell my awestruck and fawning
audience that I’d cut a far more advantageous deal than just ‘get me out of
here’.
We passed more rubble-strewn chambers and the occasional pile of
ancient corpses. Clad in rotting armor, the dead lay where they had fallen,
names and deeds forgotten, their passing marked by none. And all those
purses still hanging from their belts. Sweet salvation, but it was hard
overcoming the habit of a lifetime and not filching their chink.
After a couple more hours of walking in silence, the lightest kiss of
fresh air brushed my cheek. I sniffed, caught a hint of ice, pine, and moss. It
seemed that my little goblin friend was steering us right after all. I turned to
my companion. “So, what’ll you do when you get out? whores and ale, or is
it straight back to business for you?” I was feeling much happier now that I
knew we were going in the right direction.
It sighed. “’Tis not a business. A demon’s wyrd, its nature, is written in
its blood. I do what I was made to do. ’Tis as strong an imperative as the
suns’ need to shine, the rain to fall, the seas to—”
“All right, I get it. You’re a committed pen thief.”
Silence fell again, and we continued until we reached a junction. The
imp raised its hand, bringing us to a halt. The passageway snaked off to the
left. Before us was a pair of impressive double doors. “Which way now?” I
asked.
The imp pointed at the doors. “Through the hall. We’re close now.”
I believed it, the scent of trees and taste of cold, fresh air oozed under
the doors. It was like nectar, and I made to enter the hall, eager to be away.
The imp grabbed my arm and pulled me back. It had quite the grip for
something so small. “What?” I wrenched my arm from its miser’s grasp.
“What is it?”
“You remember I said I could avoid most of the restless dead?”
“Urgh.” I handed it the torch and cast a light spell.
The shimmering globe banished the shadows from the hall, revealing
more than a dozen, shriveled corpses lying on a black-and-white tiled floor.
The ancient dead were wrapped in dusty, silken shrouds that had been
woven by countless generations of spiders. Some of the corpses were
human but there were also warspawn like me, as well as demonspawn. All
of them were locked in combat when they died. I wondered what calamity
had befallen this place to slay them all so suddenly. Skeletal hands tore at
bony throats, mouths were open, frozen mid-shout, swords were buried in
skulls and chests, fists were raised in short-lived triumph. I didn’t care what
had killed them, I just hoped that the demonspawn with four arms and tusks
like longswords was permanently dead.
Despite the silvery radiance of the magical light, the furthest corners of
the chamber remained cloaked in shadows. To my right, an obsidian throne
stood brooding atop a raised dais. I half turned to speak to the imp when
something on the throne caught my eye. Curious, I directed the light over to
it. There was a sword lying across the armrests, not of itself particularly
interesting, a sword was a sword, this one was interesting because it
glittered.
The imp tugged my sleeve. “The surest way to traverse the hall
without waking these poor souls is…”
I stopped listening. The sword, the lovely glittering sword had
captured my full attention. The hilt sparkled like frost in the moonlight. As
vulgar as it was valuable, the whole of the hilt was encrusted with
diamonds, an irresistible lure for a rogue like me. Before I could stop
myself, I was halfway across the room, my eyes locked on the twinkling
prize. It was at this point that the restless dead distinguished themselves
from the permanently departed.

WHEN I’D FINISHED the last of them and the clamor of battle had stopped ringing in
my ears, I sheathed my blades and drew a deep breath. The imp was rolling
around on the floor, laughing its skinny little arse off.
“What are you laughing at, you little bubo?” I was tired but had
sustained nothing more painful than a scratch on my leg during the scrap.
The dead might have been restless, but they were a slow lot.
The imp’s raucous laughter dwindled to a giggle. “I have never seen
something that wasn’t under the influence of a powerful geas act so
recklessly.” It shook its head. “Thy wyrd is greed, halfling.”
I snatched a verdigrised coin from the floor and threw it at the demon.
“Here you go. When we get out, find yourself a nice inn and buy a big,
frothy pint of fuck off, on me.” Chuckling, it plucked the coin from the air
and then idly toed a skull into the shadows. A moment later, the braincase
skittered back towards us, this time accompanied by the dry clatter of
bones.
“You missed one,” the imp sang.
“Why did you do that?” I sighed and drew my blades, again.
“Demon.” It shrugged and settled its arse on the dais.
The restless dead lurched from the shadows. Creaking muscles worked
its rotting jaw as though it was trying to speak or shout a battle cry, but all I
could hear was the sound of its teeth grinding.
The bag of bones was wearing the remains of ancient plate armor and
wielding a longsword. It wove its blade in a loop before launching an
overhead blow at me. It was fast for a corpse but nowhere near fast enough
to catch me. When it was committed to the swing, I pivoted on my left foot
and scythed my blades through its neck and torso. The head flew backwards
and rolled into the shadows while the torso folded beneath the sternum. I
sheathed my weapons with emphasis and swept onto the dais without so
much as glancing at the goblin.
The throne was carved from cloudy obsidian and decorated with a
writhing mass of dragons. The stone alone was incredibly valuable but the
whole thing was far too big and heavy to move. The sword, however, was
an entirely portable proposition. The blade was double-edged, deeply
fullered and tapered to a fine, diamond-cut point. The pommel and
crossguards were covered with glittering, white-blue stones. Time had been
kind to the gaudy weapon and the steel was unblemished. I picked it up,
gave it a swing. It was perfectly balanced and sang through the air.
“Do you see how it’s been forged?” the imp asked. “The metal is rare,
Stellaris Metallium only sorcerers can work it. The Shen call it star steel
because of the way the crystals shine like stars in the night sky.”
While the imp prattled on, I took a firm, two-handed grip of the hilt
and smashed the blade against the arm of the throne. There was a loud crack
and the steel snapped neatly just below the rain guard. I let the now useless
blade lie where it fell and stuffed the hilt into my tunic. As I turned to leave,
I saw that the imp was staring at me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
“What?” I asked.
“That was Dawnslight, the greatest sword of the age. It, it was
priceless.” The little rat-dropping scuttled over to the broken blade, picked
it up and cradled it like it was a sleeping babe, before gently placing what
was left of it back on the throne.
 “I know it’s priceless, that’s why I broke it up. I mean, where in the
Empire d’you think a breed like me could fence such a relic?” I laughed. “If
I turned up waving a great, shiny pig-sticker like that and tried to sell it, I’d
either end up doing the gallows jig or be vented by one of the Guild before
I’d seen a penny of its value. Now, loose stones I can fence. Sell a few at a
time so as not to draw attention to myself and I could keep the wolf from
the door for many a month on the proceeds. Anyway, what’s it matter to
you? It’s a sword, not a pen.”
The imp didn’t answer. It wandered out of the hall with its head
bowed.

AFTER A FEW HUNDRED FEET, the passage widened. Decapitated statues stood either side
of a gaping wound where I assumed the outer doors must have once been. A
cold wind greeted us, carrying with it a hundred mundane smells and tastes
that I never thought I’d miss so much. Beyond the ragged arch, the rose-
infused glow of the setting suns melted into the dark line of the horizon. I
ran outside, opened my arms, and drank in a lungful of the racing air.
I was standing on the ravaged lip of a cobblestone promontory that
ended abruptly some fifteen feet from the entrance. Below, a bare slope
stretched about fifty feet before giving way to a broad sweep of pines that
flowed into the vast, green sea that was the Arrak Basin. On the far side of
the forest was Appleton, my hometown. A thick pall of smoke from the
calthracite burners marbled a patch of sky, marking its location. I turned to
my companion who was lurking nervously in the shadows of the entrance.
“I need you to take me over the seal,” it whispered. It didn’t look me in
the eye, instead its gaze flitted nervously from one foot to the other as it
shuffled from side to side.
“Oh, right, the deal.” I went over.
It held out its hand. I saw it was shaking, could smell the acid tang of
fear and apprehension rising off its diminutive body. I picked it up and
carried it into the sunslight.
“Put me down, stupid breed,” it squeaked, kicking feebly against me.
Laughing, I put it down on the other side of the large steel ring that
was set in the cobbles by the doorway. I guessed this was ‘the seal’ because
of the arcane scribbles incised in the metal rim.
“Oh,” it said surprised.
“The words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’,” I said and went back
over to the edge of the plateau to plot my route down. It was steep but not a
difficult climb. The imp was silent. I guessed it was embarrassed for having
misjudged me.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been wrong about something important.
As ever when something went awry, my body was quicker to react
than my brain, so when I heard the soft implosion of air followed by a wave
of heat and sulfur, I didn’t spring into action and draw my blades. I turned
around but before I had chance to raise my hands in the universal sign for ‘I
surrender, don’t hit me’, I was grabbed by the throat and hoisted off my
feet.
The demon was over seven feet tall and naked but for a few shreds of
cloth clinging to the bony scales that jutted from his dead white shoulders.
He had long, curving horns like those of a massive ram, and fine, sharp
features. He flexed his shoulders and a pair of black, leathery wings
unfurled. The only thing that hadn’t changed were his eyes. They were the
same smooth pools of obsidian and they were staring at me.
“You broke my sword, Breed,” he said in a voice that I felt as much as
heard.
“Sorry?”
His laughter sounded like a rock slide. “Oh, Breed, there are some
trivial imps and some petty demons, I’ll grant you that, but a demon
dedicated to stealing pen nibs? You really believed that?” He laughed again
and squeezed a little harder. “You are without doubt the most stupid
creature I have ever encountered. Some might say, too stupid to live.”
“I helped you.” The growing pressure lessened, but I was still dangling
by my neck over a precipice.
“Helped? We made a deal. I showed you the way out, and you took me
over the seal.”
He took a step back and released me. I fell in a heap and sucked in a
huge gulp of air. The demon rolled his heavily muscled shoulders and
cracked all fourteen fingers that terminated in gleaming black talons.
Preferring one death to another, I got ready to leap over the edge.
“What are you the demon of?” I asked, trying to buy myself time to
come up with a better plan than jumping off a cliff.
 “Oh, you know, vengeance, destruction, laying waste to civilization,
crushing empires under my heel that kind of thing. The more pressing
question is, what am I going to do with you?”
“Let me go?” I asked, somewhat hopefully it must be said. The demon
reached a taloned hand towards the seal. A lance of white-hot fire leaped
from its fingers and engulfed the ring. The air burned black and bitter as the
metal melted and ran between the cobbles.
“That’s better,” he said. A curtain of steam rose between us. “Let you
go? That would be fair, I suppose, only I don’t want everyone to know I’m
back just yet. I’d like to surprise them.” He winked.
“I won’t tell anyone anything, I promise.” Even as I said it I knew it
was a lie, and so did he.
Before I could leap backwards and take my chance with rocks and
gravity, he grabbed me again. Once again, his iron-hard fingers closed
around my throat. This time he swung me so hard into the rock face that it
felt like I’d dented the mountain with my head. Now I fought like a
cornered thoasa. I kicked, I punched, and I bit and made no impression
whatsoever. With my eyes bugging out of my skull, I used the last of my
breath and hissed, “Shallunsard.” The pressure lessened.
“That is the name the world knew me by.” He released me.
I slid down the wall, I was saved. I had power over a demon lord. I
was,
“Of course, that isn’t my true name.”
Fucked. I was fucked.
The demon threw his head back and laughed like thunder. “What? You
didn’t really? Ah, Breed, if only the rest of the world was as stupid as you.”
It held out its hand.
I fished the hilt of Dawnslight from my tunic and handed it over.
Caught by the dying rays of the suns’ light the gems flashed a crimson
farewell. The demon raised his free hand above his head, the air grew heavy
and crackled with energy.
“Let’s make a deal,” I begged, cringing away from the blast of fire that
I knew was coming.
His hand hung over me like a hawk’s claw poised to crush a rabbit’s
skull. The suns haloed him in scarlet. I held my breath. After an eternity, the
demon lowered his hand.
 “Very well, Breed. I have a task for you, perform it and I won’t kill
you, fail and, well you know the rest.”
“Anything. Thank you.” I could have kissed him.
“Bring me the Hammer of the North.”
Euphoric at being alive, it sounded like a fine idea. “Certainly, right
away,” I said, and then the magnitude of what he asked sank in. “You mean
the Hammer of the North’s hammer, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“He’s been dead for a very long time.”
“You owe me a debt, Breed.”
“Funny, that’s how I ended up being chased by a dragon.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Now, do we have a deal, or do I turn
you into a pile of ash?”
“Since you put it that way.”
The demon held out his hand. I gripped it.
“How long do I have?”
He grinned. “A year and a day.”
“Deal.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, my hand began to burn. I tried to
pull away, but the demon held me fast. When he let go I saw that a black
sigil had been burnt into my palm, marking me out as the demon’s own. I
looked up, a salty oath on my lips, but Shallunsard had vanished.
 3

Appleton does not smell of apples. Appleton smells of shit and misery,
which perfectly summed up my situation.
My father was a Thoasa, the toughest breed of warspawn. They can
survive for weeks on nothing more than a few mouthfuls of brackish water,
run for twenty miles without tiring, and still fight like ten bastards in a sack
at the end of it. So, it’s a shame that my mother is human. That less hardy
side of my lineage was currently desperate to add the contents of my
stomach to the corrosive salmagundi of viscera sloshing around in the
bottom of the honey pot in which I was hiding.
As I slipped and skidded in the greasy waste, I tried to follow the
thread of events back to where everything had started to unravel. Stealing
the sapphire from the dragon hadn’t gone exactly to plan, I’ll grant, and
then I’d inadvertently loosed a vengeful demon on the world. What irked
me more was this latest indignity. I had been forced to hide in a gong pot
just because I was a couple of days late getting back to Appleton. Two poxy
days and my own mother had put a bounty on my head.
The honey wagon slowed. A yelled greeting-come-warning was
followed by the creak of gates telling me we’d arrived at the city. I
hunkered down out of habit rather than fear of discovery. Not even the most
zealous greenshanks would think to search a honey wagon for fugitives.
Why would they? Only a lunatic or a desperate fool would hide in a shit
pot.
The team of urux pulling the wagon bellowed lugubriously when the
driver encouraged them on with a few licks of the lash. My fragrant
carriage jounced against its neighbors, and I slid around the pot like an oily
rag. After a halting, five-mile journey from the dump to the city, I was
covered in filth, and despite the best efforts of tear ducts and nictitating
membranes, the stinging fumes were blinding. My finely tuned sense of
smell had also been bludgeoned to uselessness by the olfactory assault of
putrid effluvia.
After the last outbreak of plague, all tannery waste and night soil was
required by law to be dumped at least five miles from the city. The Imperial
Factors who ran Appleton didn’t give a crusty scab about public health, but
they did need a workforce to dig and refine enough calthracite to supply the
Empirifex’s Royal Cannoneers. It was almost funny that a rogue like me
had benefitted from an Imperial law. I would have laughed if I wasn’t trying
not to breathe.
The pots clattered hollowly against each other as we rolled along,
much like the heads of the two Blades who’d waylaid me on my way back
to the city. After a brief and pointy exchange with the pair of foolhardy
opportunists, I left them in the shallow grave they’d prepared for me. It was
a bit of a squeeze fitting them both in there, but where there’s a sword
there’s a way. Their clumsy attempt had at least warned me that Mother had
made good on her threat to put a bounty on my head should I be late. I
wasn’t surprised, she had a vicious reputation to maintain.
The wagon slowed almost to a halt. I lifted the pot lid a finger’s width
and saw that we’d reached the crossroad of Pater Lane and Main Street.
Seven-foot mounds of grey-dusted urux shit banked the busy thoroughfare.
Everything in Appleton is gray, even the shit. Height of summer, depth of
winter, the soot that falls from the calth burners paints all seasons the same
uniform shade of hopeless.
After we crossed the Silverlight River the urux gathered pace and
channeled their breath through the hollow bones of their crests. The beasts’
ululating cries rolled through the timber and daub canyons of Old Town’s
shanties and dilapidated mills. Minutes later, the mournful cries of their
stablemates flowed back towards us.
I didn’t leap out as soon as the cart pulled into the gong farmers’ yard.
I lifted the lid a crack and waited for the dead-eyed driver to unhitch the
urux. Unsurprisingly, the yard was empty save for her and the animals. As
she led them to their stalls I saw the locked bronze cuff on her wrist that
marked her out as a self-indentured servant. It made sense, given the job.
Pawning yourself to the state was common practice amongst the poor of
Appleton and this was the fate of many a poor cull who had fallen on hard
times. With the animals bedded down, she grabbed her coat and left the
yard. I waited a few minutes before tipping the lid and vaulting to the
ground.
I landed with a squelch; rancid fat oozed between my toes. It was
times like this that having seven, clawed toes on each foot was a massive
pain in the arse. I wished, albeit briefly, that I’d inherited Mother’s fleshy
little human feet that could be shoved into a neat pair of shoes and not get
covered in filth every damn day.
Cursing under my breath, I squeezed a handful of stinking, gong juice
from my hair spines. It did nothing to improve my grimy appearance, but I
felt a yard less wretched without rotting viscera dripping down my back.
My left hand itched. I scratched it, remembered the black sigil of the demon
Shallunsard that was embedded in my palm.
I had a year and a day to find the hammer of the Hammer of the North,
the weapon of the greatest hero the world had ever known, if Mother didn’t
do for me first. I laughed at the absurdity of the situation and tore a strip of
cloth from the lining of my jerkin to bind around my hand. There was no
point adding ‘demon-marked’ to the list of reasons to kill me.
Despite my appearance and exotic aroma, nobody gave me a second
look as I made my way along Tannery Lane. In this part of Old Town, I’d
have drawn more attention if I wasn’t covered in filth. I took a few random
turns to make sure that I wasn’t being followed before heading down
Grinder’s Snicket. Wedged between clapboard warehouses, at the end of the
narrow passageway, a flight of steps led to the cellar under Blookmann’s
Grindery.
In a dark corner of the cellar, behind a row of storage racks that were
never moved, used, or inspected, there was a cunningly hidden sewer
entrance. The Blookmann family and their employees were well paid to
ignore it, along with the shady types who used it.
I was about to congratulate myself on evading my brothers and sisters
of the blade when I saw something move under a piece of sacking that was
crumpled by the cellar door. The suns hadn’t quite set, but thuggish
shadows mobbed the alley and fell heavily across the doorway. I tried to
arrow my gaze through the murky depth only to find that it was a little too
dark down there. I sniffed the air. Someone was using hedge magic. The
spell to deepen shadows was a favorite among the stealthily inclined
members of the Midnight Court. Scribed on bloodclay tablets, they could be
used once. They were a nice little earner for sorcerers of modest skill or for
those who wanted to stay on the right side of the Paradox of Power.
Whoever had cast this one had used it in the right place, but they
hadn’t taken their smell into account. Free of the gong pot, my senses were
my own again. I tasted the air and let the ambient funk of the alley wash
over my tongue. The lurker was human and either a male or someone who
had recently been pissed on by a male. Whoever they were, they hadn’t
washed in a while and had recently dined on pickled garlic. Nevermind a
thoasa, a rotnosed poxmonger would have been able to smell the tang of
cheap wine vinegar that cut through the alley’s background perfume of cat
piss, pigeon shit, and grindstone dust.
It was an amateur mistake, very sloppy.
Outwardly, I affected an air of feckless nonchalance as I strolled
towards the cellar. Inside I was drawn as taut as a bowstring, ready to spring
into action. I waited until I was half a stride from the steps before I snatched
my blades from their scabbards and leaped.
As planned, I landed inches from my would-be ambusher, leaving him
scant room to maneuver. He spat a curse and threw the sack aside. Like me,
he was using two long knives, the weapons of choice for discerning, back-
alley brawlers. Unlike me, he wasn’t very good. He swung his steels, but I
parried both blades, inside to out, and kneed him in the jewels. As he folded
I butted him in the face. Gargling snot and blood, he took a seat in the
corner. I rocked him off to sleep with a smack in the teeth and then had a
quick rummage through his personals. The ghost of a familiar odor clung to
the tumble of silvers that I found in his purse. I gave the coins a lick and a
sniff. They smelled of failure and self-abuse. They smelled of my old mate,
Sketh.

THERE ARE those who say that Appleton’s sewers are nothing more than a shit-
smeared, fat-calked labyrinth. A treacherous maggot burrow where only the
desperate or the deadly venture willingly. Here be monsters, they say, which
I know to be true, for I am one, and this is my home. The passage under the
grindery isn’t the safest way to get to the Nest and therefore seldom used,
which was why I chose it. From here I could either take a long and time-
consuming detour, or a shorter but more perilous route. I paused briefly to
weigh up the relative dangers of keeping Mother waiting longer, against the
risk of taking the potentially fatal shortcut. An image of her scowling visage
floated before my mind’s eye, tipping the scale decidedly in favor of the
shortcut.
NOBODY KNEW if Ludo had ever been a single person. Some speculated that it had
been a sorcerer who’d pushed the Paradox of Power too far. Other’s said
that they, he, she, or it, had always been the way it was, just another freak
birthed too near some old Schism-tainted battleground. The only fact about
Ludo that was beyond speculation was that it was a deadly cove of the
highest order.
I was hoping that the guardian of Mother’s backdoor would be out
fishing the sewer flow for ‘treasures’ when I passed through its lair. I am
often disappointed and today was no exception. I paused before the
bloodstained door to Ludo’s lair which was swinging gently on well-oiled
hinges. Long before Mother had moved the Guild into the sewers, someone,
perhaps Ludo itself, had blocked all but two of the entrances to the
collection chamber that lay between me and my destination. It had been
Ludo’s home for as long as I could remember and as all knew, if the doors
were locked, it meant that Ludo had a visitor, as it liked to call the poor
culls it lured to their deaths.
“Come iiiin,” Ludo sang in an unsettling twine of baritone and falsetto.
I sheathed my blades and entered. Previously, when I’d gone to see Ludo to
beg a favor for Mother or take the shortcut through its home, I’d felt a thrill
of fear as invigorating as it was disturbing. I was therefore disappointed to
find that after almost being killed by a dragon and a demon in the space of a
week, the thrilling terror of a visit to Ludo was somewhat muted. Thoasa
hadn’t been bred to be emotional, they’d been bred to kill demons for the
Mage Lords. Even now, seven hundred years after the Schism War, the
descendants of those mage-bred warriors were known to be a coldly
practical breed of warspawn. It was the human in me that enjoyed the
spikes and troughs of stirred emotions.
I took in the room with a casual glance. A rusting walkway spiraled up
the wall before tapering off beside a blocked-up doorway. As usual, it was
piled with a wide variety of objects that Ludo had either fished from the
sewer or stolen from its many victims. Today I hardly thought about the
coins and jewels that lay scattered amid odd shoes, broken buckets, and
yellowing bones. I just wanted to get in and out in one piece, although at a
push, I’d settle for alive.
 As usual, Ludo was dressed in a motley outfit sewn from mismatched
swatches of fabric that the more ghoulishly inclined gossips swore had been
cut from the clothes of its many victims. It had artlessly posed itself for my
benefit and was leaning against a broken alabaster column with a mildewed
book held daintily —and upside down— in its giant, red claw. Belying
Ludo’s imitation of gentility and refinement was the collection of severed
heads that had been nailed to the wall. In various states of decay, from skull
to still dripping, the gaps in their ranks were a grim reminder to be
extremely wary around this cove.
Over the years there had been several doomed attempts by heroes and
rogues alike to kill Ludo and plunder its hoard. Mother had never officially
sanctioned any of those attempts, although I know she would have happily
taken her cut of the loot had any of them succeeded. Officially, Ludo and
Mother had an understanding. She didn’t move against it or kick up a fuss
when one of the Nest’s less cautious patrons vanished, and Ludo kept an
eye on the back door to her territory. It was a pact between monsters which,
thus far, had extended some protection to me as Mother’s only offspring,
but hereabouts I never took my safety for granted. Ludo flipped the book it
wasn’t reading closed and beamed a wet-lipped smile with both of its
lopsided mouths. Imagine taking two humans, sticking their eyes on stalks,
replacing the right arm of one with a massive lobster claw and the left arm
of the other with a flaccid tentacle. Then imagine the two unfortunates had
been squashed together in some infernal vice. That’s what Ludo looked like.
Its smell was equally unique, akin to a bowl of overripe fruit and maggoty
bread, with a subtle hint of licorice. Its gender was another mystery, as not
even the lowest slubberdegullion in the sewer had dared a sniff of that hem
and lived to tell the tale.
It watched me intently, both pairs of gray eyes dancing merrily on the
end of weaving stalks. Like a fleshy jigsaw, its vaguely human skulls were
distended, flattened, and bulging where nature had deemed necessary in
order to accommodate its warped design. Greasy fronds of hair the color of
curdled milk clung to its sallow pate. Two extra legs unfolded from
somewhere beneath its gaudy raiment and the two halves glided apart. But
not the voice. When Ludo spoke, its voices remained in disturbingly perfect
unison.
“Dear friend has come to visit. Dear friend smells very tasty, like a ripe
skin fruit plucked straight from the flow. Mmm… luscious,” Ludo both
rumbled and squealed. “What pretty thing have you brought Ludo, what
treasure?” Its eyestalks contracted and extended excitedly, both halves
licked their rouged, too-full lips.
I took out the ambusher’s purse and tossed it to the half of Ludo with
the pincer. The claw snapped shut on the bag like a bear trap. It weighed the
pouch appreciatively before tipping the coins into its human hand.
“Only coins for Ludo?” It sighed and deposited them somewhere
within its motley. “Ludo likes pretty things, likes eyeballs, and pigeon
tongues, and sapphires as big as hens’ eggs.”
“Alas, dear friend, I only have one of those and it belongs to Mother.”
The halves continued to slowly drift apart, casually flanking me like a
pair of wolves. I tried to watch both without looking like I was watching
either.
Ludo pouted and teased a lick of hair behind its ear. “Mother.” It
groaned, swung away from me like a petulant child. “Mother has a bony
soul, a heart of flint, a mind of knives and wasps. Stay with me, dear friend.
I’ll kill you for much better reasons than jealousy.” It licked its lips.
“It’s tempting, friend Ludo, it really is, but I’ve already kept the old
dear waiting and… What do you mean ‘jealousy’?”
Ludo tittered. “You’re a sharp cove, dear friend. You know the grip is
slippery on the greasy pole of power. Old hands grow feeble, lose their
strength.” It fondled its nethers suggestively.
“Come again?” I said whilst trying neither to stare or avert my gaze.
“Mother fears you.”
I didn’t get a chance to answer, to say, with respect that I thought it had
dropped a maundering whid and should stopper up its bunghole sharpish. I
didn’t get a chance to say anything because one minute both halves of Ludo
were casually gliding around the room and the next it apported.
“Here I is,” it breathed in my ear.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t so much as twitch when the warty, red claw
clacked an inch from my neck. Ludo giggled. The other half wandered over
to the exit and clapped its hand and tentacle.
“Dear friend is very clever,” it said from over there, and next to me.
“I do try, friend Ludo, I do try.”
Its clammy, human arm slithered around my shoulders. It sniffed my
neck. I flinched, not because I found Ludo repulsive, who was I to talk? But
because the skin and scales on my shoulder were still tender to the touch.
 Ludo noticed. “Ice burn, hmm? Has dear friend been playing kiss-
chase with a dragon?” It giggled like a child.
“Something like that,” I said through gritted teeth.
It sniffed me like a boarhound on the hunt for truffle pigs before it
grabbed my hand and tugged the strip of cloth aside. It sucked its teeth.
“Dear friend is demon-marked. Dear friend is fucked.” The part that had
been beside me vanished and appeared by the exit where it cozied up to its
other half. It opened the door and with a flick of its claw invited me to
leave.
I obliged without hesitation. As soon as I was out, the light behind me
thinned to a narrow wedge. I glanced over my shoulder. The old villain had
half closed the door but was still loitering in the doorway, eyestalks bobbing
in thoughtful contemplation.
“Be well, dear friend,” it sang in tenor and bass. “But don’t come back
too soon.” The door slammed, bathing me in echoes and shrouding me in
shadows.
The booming noise of the door slamming ran ahead of me, rippling
ever weaker as it spread through the tunnels. It was good to be back in the
sludgy veins of the city. I knew this darkness, knew the way the shadows
wrapped around flesh and stone, knew every nuance of every native stench
and sound. I feared no evil down here. This burrowed corpse was the only
home I’d ever known and as far as I was concerned there was no better
place to dwell. But then, worms like me; coves who were hooked into the
arsepipe of Appleton, had a habit of elevating the feculent passages far
above their inglorious purpose. I suppose I was a bit of a romantic at heart.

NOT LONG AFTER leaving Ludo’s, a burst of tavern babble breached the silence,
welcoming me home with raucous laughter and slurred curses. I had almost
reached the Mouse’s Nest. The Inn was the epitome of dump and proudly
catered to the vilest scum and most dangerous flotsam that dwelt within or
passed through Appleton. The queen who ruled this benighted kingdom was
the most evil, ice-hearted monster I’d ever met, and I’d parleyed with a
demon, so I knew what I was talking about.
 She was known as Mother Blake or just Mother to her gang which she
had imaginatively named ‘the Guild’. I was one of her Blades. That she also
happened to be my birth mother was purely accidental according to the
woman herself. I never met my father, a thoasa who apparently went out
one day to buy a goat and never came back. I can’t say as I blamed him,
Mother was a difficult person to live with.
We did not get on, but for the most part bore the burden of our
relationship with stoical and mutual disdain. After the demon, she was the
very last person I wanted to see right now, but I had no choice if I was
going to save my neck. By way of encouragement, I promised myself that
as soon as I handed her the sapphire and she canceled the bounty, I was
going to dive into a vat of cheap wine and stay there until I was entirely
pickled, something which could take a while on account of my iron
constitution.
My high-spirits lasted for about another four paces which was when I
caught the unmistakable whiff of failure and self-abuse. I flattened myself
against the wall just before a spiral of air riffled past my face. The crossbow
bolt whined like a mosquito as it sped into the gloom. I cut sparks from the
wall as I swept my blades from their scabbards and peered in the direction
from which it had been fired.
About fifteen feet away, the skein of smells that were tickling my
nostrils knotted themselves into a familiar lump of crap that was pressed
tight against the corner of the wall. I’d wanted a legitimate reason to make
Sketh bones for a long time so, in a way, I was grateful that he’d opened the
account with this sorry attempt, although I could have kicked myself for not
spotting the little turdling sooner.
I growled so he could hear me. “When I catch you, Sketh, I’m going to
peel your balls like a couple of grapes.” That was an exaggeration. I didn’t
have the patience to peel his poxy fruits, I was just going to stab him a lot.
Hero that he was, my fellow Blade ducked around the corner and ran. The
wet slap of his feet receded at a pace. I followed at a walk because I knew
where he was going. He kept running until he reached his destination. Soon
after, a blast of conversation and the smell of stale beer billowed through
the tunnels. Sketh had reached the Nest.
 4

There wasn’t a sign above the door of the tavern, but a literal
representation of the inn’s name. Set in a rusting cage was a broken human
skull that had been carefully packed with rags and straw by the now long
dead and desiccated rodent still curled within the braincase. Nobody had
ever dared to ask Mother who the skull had belonged to on the off chance
she was in the mood to redecorate.
As well as being the only inn in the sewers, the Mouse’s Nest had the
dubious honor of being the headquarters of the Guild. Mother had built both
from nothing with only her wit, powerful sorcerous skills, and efficient
stock management skills to aid her. I sheathed my blades. There weren’t
many rules in the Guild, but few sane people entered the Nest looking like
they wanted a fight. Before going in, I straightened up, loosened my neck
with a quick head toss, and composed my expression to read ‘cross me and
I will stab you in the face’. I’d been away a while and the heady stench of
piss, pel, and beer tickled my nostrils as soon as I opened the door. I wanted
to sneeze, but stone-cold killers don’t sneeze. Instead, I swaggered through
the crowded bar. For the briefest of moments, I thought that news of my
adventures had somehow preceded me as lags and bravos all but fell over
each other to get out of my way.
Then I remembered.
I could tolerate the stink of the gong pots, but non-thoasa weren’t as
resilient. Even down here, in a tavern in the sewers, I must have stunk.
Deflated, I gathered the tattered shreds of my ego and hurried through the
main bar.
Members of the Guild tended to congregate in the dimly-lit back room
of the inn. Casual drinkers were allowed but were often discouraged from
staying with a polite smack in the teeth. This shady den was where deals
were made, fates sealed, and the well-heeled with their faces hidden behind
masks came to have awkward problems permanently solved. It was like a
temple, silence ruled, except when someone came in smelling of rotted
brains and fermented pigeon dung. A couple of the patrons gagged, several
threatened violence. One shrank back into a curtained booth, quiet as a
murderous little mouse.
 “Evening, Sketh,” I said as I strode past.
“Er, aye. Evenin’,” he mumbled.
I had no intention of starting anything in here, not when I was already
in Mother’s bad books and besides, it was dreadfully rude to fight while
people were trying to have a quiet pint, but it didn’t hurt to make Sketh
sweat before I closed his account. It served the bastard right for attempting
to vent me, but before I could have a short, sharp word with my brother-in-
arms, I had to square things with Mother.
The stairs down to her den were hidden at the back of the room behind
a faded tapestry of an Imperial knight. The image of the armor-clad bastard
was a warning to the Guild Blades of who’d come calling should they screw
up. I took a deep breath. The thrill of fear I’d thought lost was now dancing
light fingers up and down my spine. I pushed through the tapestry.

LEDISS WAS SLOUCHING at the bottom of the stairs. The door guard’s once muscular
bulk hung like sacks of sodden wheat on his tired bones. The ogren glared
at me, his solitary eye gleaming angrily from beneath his heavy brow. He
snorted, rubbed his stomach with a grizzled paw. He’d been with Mother
for as long as I could remember. The big oaf was slavishly devoted to her
but hated everyone else, including me. Over the years I’d watched him slip
from being Mother’s red right hand to her doorman. The next step down
was working behind the bar. After that, it was sweeping the floors and
emptying spittoons, and then he’d be out on his arse and prey for those with
long memories and axes to grind, something which couldn’t come soon
enough for my liking.
“You stink,” he said, spittle flying from his broken tusks.
“I can wash, you, however, are always going to be an ugly, one-eyed
bastard.”
He growled. So did I. It was good to be home. The ogren shoved the
door open and tossed his head impatiently. I spared him a sneer before
sauntering inside. All conversation died, all heads turned in my direction.
“Where have you been, you miserable, half-breed bastard?” said
Mother.
 “Hello, Mother,” I said cheerily, even as the leaden surety of doom
settled over me.
“Don’t you fucking ‘Mother’ me.”

IMAGINE a room that has been decorated by someone with a lot of money but
no taste whatsoever and that would give you a fair picture of Mother’s
audience chamber. It was an eclectic goulash of the most expensive and
gaudy fixtures and fittings money could buy, in Appleton. Now imagine it
upside down.
Upon my arrival, Mother and I engaged in an unfortunately spiky bout
of bear garden badinage. Soon after which I found myself disarmed and
hanging by my ankles over the pit, suspended from a rope held by that
grinning, rut-stuck bucket-fucker, Lediss.
The pit was a sheer-sided hole that Mother had dug down into the
uncharted tunnels where the dog rats lived. It had taken her months of
patiently feeding the feral creatures juicy morsels of miscreant to train them
to come when she called. The pit was now the centerpiece of her audience
chamber, much like an exquisite crystal chandelier might be in the house of
a less bloodthirsty noblewoman. Unfortunately for me, there was nothing
more than the whim of a madwoman and an arthritic, one-eyed ogren
between me and an unpleasantly bitey-chewy end.
Mother sprawled across the Rat Bone Throne in her usual pose. A bird-
thin leg was hooked over the arm of the glazed mountain of skulls and
bones and a silver goblet hung from her bony fingers. She nailed me with a
pin-sharp stare as I slowly spun to face her and her bodyguards.
The Dumbrovski twins flanked her throne like a pair of malformed
bookends. The identical goblin brothers liked to think of themselves as the
killer elite of the Midnight Court. Killer elite my arse. I didn’t fear them,
but I had a healthy respect for the handcannons they were carrying.
One of the pair, Klaus I think, going by the stink of fermented fish
drifting off him, tightened a sparkling zanthe crystal in the priming screw of
his gun. That the weapon could blast a lead ball through Imperial plate
armor at fifty paces was why I was hanging upside down over a pit of
massive rats, instead of stabbing the smug grins off their faces.
 “Two days late,” Mother intoned. Candlelight etched a deep v between
her eyes. Neatly coiffured waves of dyed black hair shone darkly and
framed her vulpine face. Like a lot of humans, she valued her appearance as
much as, if not more than, her abilities. Beside the throne, an incense clock
smoldered on a cracked alabaster table. Another string burnt through and a
tiny brass weight dropped into the boat-shaped metal tray, signaling the
death of another hour and the approach of my demise. The next string began
to smolder.
“I lifted the fucking sapphire from a dragon, what more do you want?”
I said with as much indignance as I could muster, although I admit, it’s hard
to be taken seriously when you’re upside down. When I swung round to
face Mother again, I saw that she was examining the stone in question.
She slammed the rock against the arm of her throne, sending chips of
rat bone flying. “You also lost my fucking shipment of pel.”
“The fucking guards weren’t supposed to be there,” I snapped back.
A foot of rope slipped through Lediss’s hands. Mother laughed. Some
of the more sycophantic Blades joined in. Sensing a meal was in the offing,
a few of the bolder rats leaped at the tail-ends of my hair spines. Mercifully
I was still out of reach. Blood flows almost to the tip of each leathery strand
and it damn well hurts when they get bitten or cut.
“Guards or not, you shouldn’t have dumped my pel.” She wrinkled her
nose at the huge rock like it was a turd. “This bauble will barely cover my
costs, let alone compensate my clients for the inconvenience.”
“Most of your clients don’t notice when they’ve shit themselves.” I
rejoined. What was really biting her arse was that they had gone and bought
their drugs off Pork Chop Jing instead of her. Angry as I was, I didn’t point
this out or mention her rival’s name, not with the furry masses staring up at
me, eyes bright with hunger.
Mother tucked the sapphire into her sleeve and took an angry slurp of
wine. A dribble of scarlet ran down her chin and joined the widening stain
blooming on the delicate brocade of her blue satin gown. She stabbed me
again with another accusing glare as hard and sharp as coffin nails. It was a
solid fact that the dragon had a friendlier visage, even when it was trying to
kill me.
“If I’d have known what an utter and complete fucking lackwit I was
growing in my womb, I’d have gutted myself with a rusty spoon rather than
give birth.” She spat as though even the memory of my birth was
distasteful. “Useless. Just like that flyblown, bastard father of yours. Two
cocks and you are all he could produce!”
Nobody in the chamber had the guts to address Mother’s willful
ignorance of thoasan biology, least of all me. To emphasize her displeasure,
she lobbed her goblet at my head. I was well used to such shows of
affection and easily dodged the improvised missile. Lediss didn’t. The cup
struck him on his blind side. He yelped, which would have been funny had
he not fumbled the rope as he pawed at his injured face. I dropped another
couple of feet before the fat-fingered idiot caught it. The rats screeched. I
curled my body up to my knees to avoid the more athletic rodents who were
scaling their companions to reach me. Backed against the walls by the force
of Mother’s anger, the Guild Blades all watched in silence, except one.
Wulfrun pushed through the ranks and approached the opposite side of
the pit to Mother’s throne. The warrior from Grundvelt’s stance spoke of
confidence just shy of confrontational. He was bold, but not arrogant,
strong but not overbearing. He walked a fine, dangerous line with Mother,
one I’d never seen any cove walk for long. As I swung between them like a
pendulum, or a worm on a hook, depending on your point of view, I could
almost feel my skin burn from the intensity of their staring contest. I tried to
look inconspicuous, which isn’t easy when you’re six feet tall, upside down,
and swinging from a rope.
“There’s no need for this, Mo,” Wulf said. “The stone’s worth twenty
times what you lost.” He had one of those voices that made you want to
listen. A born leader, he was liked and hated in equal measure in the Guild,
but nobody regarded him with indifference.
He’d only been a full member for a few months but in that short time
he’d made his mark and proved he was as clever as he was big, something
that had fatally surprised the Blade he’d replaced. The double-headed ax
strapped to his back belied his talent as a cracksman but advertised well
enough that he was a more than competent enforcer, something Mother
hadn’t missed. She liked him and let him get away with more than many
who’d been with her for years.
It was obvious that there was a strong, physical attraction between
them from the moment they met over a pile of blood-drenched corpses and
a consignment of stolen rum. He was just her type; big, muscular, and
intelligent. Although, being human, I assume he only had one cock.
 “What do you suggest, Wulf?” All trace of fury left her voice and the
snarl was replaced by a purr.
“Timekeeping aside, Tails got you the stone.” He gave me a sly wink
when I drifted between them on my slow, elliptical rotation. “Didn’t you tell
me you had an awkward job that needed doing? Maybe it’s something Tails
could do, t’ make up for being late?”
So, they not only shared a bed, but she’d confided in him too. I felt no
slight, she’d never told me anything, but there were others in the room who
I could sense were recalculating Wulfrun’s worth and their relative
positions in the Guild.
Mother’s lips curled into something like a smile. She clicked her
fingers and Melpinin flip-flapped from behind the throne. The amphibane’s
moist skin shone like verdigrised copper in the tallow gold light that was
dripping from the candelabra. A powdered wig that was made for an
entirely different shaped head was perched awkwardly on his warty pate.
He filled another goblet and offered it to Mother on the platter of his wide
webbed hand. She snagged it without acknowledgment and took a
thoughtful slurp.
My fate was dependent on so many unfathomable and irrational factors
that I’d already started planning how I’d get past the slavering pack of dog
rats and out of the pit tunnel before they could tear me to pieces. As for
Mother, I didn’t have time to waste hating her, although it did cross my
mind that perhaps I should at some point in the future when I wasn’t in
imminent danger.
The amphibane’s gaze flicked in my direction before he hopped back
behind the throne. He might have given me an encouraging double blink of
his saucer eyes, but it was hard to tell from my inverted position. I couldn’t
remember how long I’d been upside down, all I knew was that my head felt
as swollen as a blood-soaked sponge. My hair spines were near rigid from
the amount of claret that had pumped into them and I was still covered in
shit. Much longer like this and I’d have to cut the rope with my claws and
rescue myself.
“You might be right, Wulf.” Mother turned the stem of the goblet
between her bejeweled fingers. “Ah, but what about my furry friends?” She
gestured to the dog rats with a languorous wave. “They will be ever so
confused if they don’t get their treat and it took an age to train them. You
see my problem?”
 The very next instant the goblet clanged against the empty throne. A
sharp burst of summer fruit soared from the spilled wine, momentarily
distracting me from what had just happened. As usual, my body was much
quicker on the uptake and was already twisting to face Wulf.
To his credit, the barbarian was reaching for his ax before Mother
appeared behind him and shoved him in the pit. He didn’t cry out as he fell,
he wasn’t the type. As soon as he landed on the writhing mass of hungry
rodents he was on his feet and laying into them with a fury that matched
their ferocious hunger.
It was a mistake.
He must have realized that the tunnel leading from the pit was big
enough to accommodate even his bulky frame, so why hadn’t he run for it?
I suppose Mother’s surprise attack had thrown him. Whatever the reason,
his choice to stand and fight was the wrong one. If I’d been in any position
to make a wager my money would have been on the rats. The other Blades
in the chamber were of a similar mind and didn’t pass on the opportunity
for a quick bet. As soon as coins were exchanged they began cheering and
cursing depending on where they’d put their money.
After a tense handful of minutes, Wulf let out an anguished cry as a rat
tore the sausage of his guts through a bloody gash in his stomach. It was
over quickly after that. The last I saw of the warrior was the butterfly blades
of his ax drowning in a spray of scarlet. Mother watched every bone-
snapping, flesh-rending second, and I watched her, watched the play of light
and shadow scratch frowns and chase smiles across the livid canvas of her
blood-splattered face.
I almost didn’t blame her. As a sorcerer she was subject to the Paradox
of Power, the more magic a sorcerer channeled, the less stable, physically,
and mentally, they became. The clever ones got round this by developing
strategies to cope with and contain their abilities. Meditation, drugs, regular
bleeding, and quite commonly, limiting what they did and how often they
did it. Mother handled the Paradox by embracing murderous insanity, I
would say ‘like a lover’, but it meant more to her than that.
Twenty minutes later, the feeding frenzy of the alpha rats gave way to
the scrap-hunting of the pack. The spell of slaughter broken, Mother looked
up and fixed me with her viper stare. If I was lucky, the bigger critters
would be sated after eating their way through a mountain of Grundvelt bred
prime beef, and I’d be able to make good my escape through the tunnels.
Ready for the drop, I waited for her to give Lediss the order to let go of the
rope.
“In half an hour your fucking hero will be nothing more than a pile of
rat shit,” she said to me. Her voice was husky, thick with the iron blood
scent that perfumed the room. “There’s a lesson for you in that. Fail me
again, and you’ll learn it the hard way.”
The echo of her words died away until the only noises were squeals
and the sharp crack of bones being splintered. She turned her algid gaze on
the Blades who were all trying to look less worthy of note than the next
cove along. Satisfied they were all suitably cowed, Mother spat into the pit
and then vanished. I spun round to see her sitting on her throne like she’d
never moved. You had to respect skill like that. Only a master of her art
could apport with such precision. It was why she was still queen of the
Midnight Court after eighteen years, probably why she and Ludo held to
their little arrangement. The Dumbrovski twins cracked matching, toothy
grins, vicariously smug and no doubt relieved that someone they’d seen as a
rival was now passing through the digestive tracts of fifty or so dog rats.
Melp flip-flapped from behind the throne again. His tongue flicked out
and snared the dropped goblet which he duly filled and handed back to
Mother. She drained it in one. Suffused with the heady mix of wine and
murder her cheeks flushed. Nobody said a word. The silence dragged on.
Below me, I heard metal scraping against stone. I looked down to see a pair
of smaller rats had the leather wrist strap of the ax clamped in their teeth
and were dragging the weapon across the blood-soaked clinker towards the
tunnel.
Other than a few wisps of sun-bright hair and scraps of leather harness,
there was nothing left. Wulf the leader, the hero, was gone. It wasn’t
supposed to be like this. My would-be savior was rat food and here I was,
still alive, dangling arse over head, surrounded by leering Blades. Still, I’d
had worse days.
“Let the lackwit down,” said Mother.
Dutifully, Lediss let go of the rope. I rolled when I hit the blood-
soaked ground. Bright green eyes glowed in the shadows of the tunnel.
“Not like that, you fucking moron!” Mother bellowed at Lediss.
I was about to slash the rope when it was pulled taut and I was yanked
off my feet and hauled from the pit before the sluggish rats could reach me.
THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER was cleared of everyone except the Dumbrovskis, Melp,
Mother, and me. The grille over the pit was replaced and covered with an
orange and purple floral carpet.
“I suppose you think you’re off the hook now?” Mother held out her
goblet for another refill.
“Er, yes. I rather thought I was.” I tried to sound contrite even though I
was anything but. She smelled of wine, raw meat, expensive perfume, and
the tiniest hint of sweat, just a grade sharper than mere heat perspiration. It
couldn’t be fear because nothing scared her but there was a subtle hint of
apprehension. If I didn’t know better I’d have said she was wary of me,
which was worrying as she’d been wary of Wulf. I suppose it could have
been worse, she might have liked me.
“Well, you’re not, and you stink. Why were you late? Never mind,”
she spoke too quickly for me to do anything except open and close my
mouth a few times which was all the response she required.
“I need you to kill that louse farmer, Pork Chop. Don’t bother trying to
work out why, just get your arse over there and do it. I don’t care how, just
do it tonight, now. I was going to send Sketh, but the vapid little turd-sack
has vanished.”
“It wasn’t me,” I blurted too quickly.
“What wasn’t you?”
“Nothing.”

I WAS in desperate need of a wash but I daren’t risk visiting a bathhouse. Even
one that catered to warspawn would probably balk at letting me in like this.
Not to mention, if Mother found out that I’d stopped off for a scrub, she’d
have fed me to the dog rats, again. ‘Misunderstanding’, my arse. That cock-
stain Lediss was going to pay for dropping me.
I did stop off at the room I rented in the Nest to pick up my bow. Not
even Mother would object to me arming myself for a job that I had no idea
how I was going to accomplish. I knew it was the Paradox that kept her
dancing on the edge of madness. She threw a lot of power around and there
was a price to be paid for that. The trouble was, I seemed to be the one
paying it.
Now that I had a moment to breathe, I saw that my faithful jerkin, my
only jerkin, was beyond repair this time. The back had been ice-burned by
the dragon and it had half a dozen ragged tears from when I’d fought the
restless dead in Shallunsard’s Keep. That it had soaked up a goodly amount
of liquor from the gong pot was the final nail in its sartorial coffin. I’d
never be able to sneak up on anything smelling like a rancid shit pot, not
even in Appleton. I tossed it in the corner, regretting that I’d never thought
to keep a spare.
Other than the mattress, the only piece of furniture in the room was an
iron-bound chest and only then because it was bolted down. Despite what
they say, there really isn’t any honor among thieves. After disarming the
needle trap I’d rigged on the lock, I dug out a spare shirt. Unlike the jerkin,
it offered no protection but the mud-brown homespun would at least hide
my stripes and paler human skin. I also found a pair of fingerless gloves.
They were old and speckled with mold, but they’d do a better job of hiding
the mark in my palm than the strip of cloth.
My heart did a drunken waltz that might have been akin to human
dread when I thought about what Mother would do if she found out about
the deal I’d made with the demon. I told her that I’d been late back because
I’d run into a gang of ogren after escaping the dragon. It wasn’t the most
convincing story but as I was dangling from a rope at the time of telling, I
forgave myself for the lack of bardic flair. She was so drunk and angry that
she barely heard a word I said anyway. I’d decide what to do about the deal
I’d made with him later. Right now, I had to kill a gang boss for her.
Dragons, demons, Ludo, and Mother. “There are just too many monsters in
my life.”
I wrapped my bow and quiver in an oilskin and took a last look around
my little corner of heaven. It was strewn with month-old rushes and was as
damp as a drowned rat. I wasn’t sure, as I knew no different, but I had a
nagging suspicion that there must be more to life than this.
 5

The Silverlight River crawled through Appleton and separated Old Town
on the east bank from New Town on the west. Two gangs controlled the
midnight economy that kept both halves of the city moving. Mother’s
Guild, the headquarters of which were under Old Town, and Pork Chop
Jing’s outfit, the Pearl. Jing and his crew fancied themselves as more
upmarket thugs and had their den just west of the river, on the Street of a
Thousand Lanterns. It was what you might call the entertainment district if
your idea of entertainment was being robbed blind and catching the pox.
The street was named for the lanterns carried by the whores of every
stripe who worked the long meander. They lured customers with bright
paper lanterns that dangled enticingly on the end of gilded fishing poles.
Poorer culls, miners and calth smelters and their ilk, would head for the
river end of the street to squander their meager wages. The more fastidious
amongst them might even visit a bathhouse before picking up a whore or
falling into an inn that best suited their purse.
The more affluent denizens of Appleton, those out for a good time
would visit the theaters and expensive brothels furthest from the stink of the
Silverlight. Young rakehells would dare the bawdier backstreet
establishments, hunting for cheap thrills and pel. The whole, wild jig was a
lucrative business, ably orchestrated by Pork Chop Jing and the Pearl.
To avoid Jing’s lookouts on the bridge I swam the Silverlight. I
climbed out downriver of the main street, near an inn called the Grinning
Dolly. It was a ramshackle flop-house which was slowly falling into the
Silverlight. Canted towards the river at a jaunty angle, the Dolly catered to
those hard-up culls whose next stop would be a dip in the drink with their
pockets full of stones. After my swim, I emerged much cleaner than when I
dived in, which goes to show how filthy I’d been because there are days
when the Silverlight is so stiff with garbage you can walk across it.
Jing’s compound was at the midpoint of the street. Impossible to miss,
the brazen scarlet and gold pagoda stood three storeys higher than any of its
neighbors. Cleaned daily by nimble amphibane servants it was a spike of
brightness in an otherwise drab and dreary city.
 Unlike Mother, Pork Chop wasn’t a sorcerer. He was warspawn and
therefore lacked the ability to use magic. It didn’t stop him hiring sellspells
when he needed a few fireworks, but he tended to rely on a sizeable retinue
of well-armed guards to enforce his will. Being as I was half human,
Mother had managed to beat a couple of simple spells into me.
Unfortunately, apporting wasn’t one of them.
I strung my bow before threading my way through the maze of back
streets, dodging pel-smoking sentries and bored city guards, until I reached
the high walls of Jing’s compound. The mournful peal of distant temple
bells rang out the tenth hour. The suns had long since surrendered Appleton
to night’s charitable embrace. Unfortunately for me, Jing’s pagoda was lit
up like a bonfire.
Climbing the wall of the compound wouldn’t be difficult. Not being
seen while doing it just about impossible. A burst of laughter rippled on the
breeze as though mocking my predicament. It was followed by the opening
strains of a dolorous tune. The smell of succulent roast brachuri and the
sickly-sweet aroma of grilled pigroach wafted towards me and made my
stomach growl. I sniffed, caught the undercurrent of tea, beer, and
Grundvelt Blast Whiskey. Curious as to the reason for the celebration, I
made my way to the back gate of the compound.
Unlike the front entrance, which was richly decorated with giant
insects and gilded arrachid warriors, the rear gate was unadorned, iron
bound and to my delight and surprise, wide open. ‘Now, tonight’ hadn’t just
been Mother raving. She must have known that Jing was holding a banquet.
Security would be tight, it always was, people like Jing and Mother only
survived by maintaining a ridiculously high level of paranoia, but guards
would be less focused on the dark and silent places, whether they chose to
or not, their eyes and ears would be drawn to light and movement. The
influx of guests, the loud music, and abundance of pel and drink would
wear down the senses of even the keenest sentry. Born for dark work, I
would slip into the shadowed corners like a hand into a glove.
Feeling a little more enthusiastic about the job than I had been before I
set off, I jogged down the street behind Jing’s place. Just before the corner
of the block, I squeezed behind a stack of broken barrels from where I could
watch the road unseen.
Like my old friend the ambusher, I cast a spell from a bloodclay tablet
to deepen the shadows around me and then settled down to wait, snug in the
magical fold of darkness. A fistful of minutes later a pair of amphibane link
boys hopped into view ahead of a couple of wheezing humans carrying a
sedan chair. They staggered towards Jing’s, followed closely by a nice big
coach which was what I’d been waiting for. Although the rattler was
unliveried, it must have belonged to a wealthy cove because it was being
drawn by no less than four horses. Only one of the valuable beasts
acknowledged my presence. The grey mare bestowed upon me an
imperious snort as it high-hoofed past my hiding place. Despite their
pampered existence city horses were as inured to the stink of Appleton and
its inhabitants as any plodding urux.
The driver pulled on the reins and applied the brake as the coach
wheeled round the corner. When it was three-quarters through the turn, I
sprinted from my hiding place to the rear of the carriage, dragging shreds of
shadow with me. Holding my bow tight against my chest with one hand, I
gripped the rear axle with the other and slid under the vehicle. Supporting
my weight on one arm, I wrapped my legs around the brake beam and
gripped the leather through-bracing with my feet. It wasn’t the most
comfortable way to travel, but it was unquestionably better than riding in a
gong pot.
When I’d scouted the gate earlier I’d taken note of the two, beady-eyed
ogren guards. All I could see of them now were their big, hairy feet and the
butts of the firelances they both wielded. Substantially bigger than
handcannons, the firelances worked on the same principle. Calthracite
powder and lead shot were loaded into the barrel, and a zanthe crystal was
locked into the firing claw beside a pan filled with more calth powder.
Firelances not only made really big holes in whatever was in front of them
but as their name implied, they often set fire to it. The bloody things were
as dangerous as a drunken sorcerer but thankfully still uncommon due to
the cost of zanthe crystals and calthracite powder. The situation was
changing. The Empirifex had a taste for conquest and had recently decreed
that more mines should be found. There was still work for handy coves like
me, but I sensed that the days of the blade were numbered.
The horses’ hooves clattered against smooth stone as the carriage
entered the compound and pulled up outside the pagoda. I clung on, hardly
daring to breathe. On one side, I could see a neatly trimmed hedge in front
of several long low buildings. On the other, the footplate dropped. A pair of
silk hakama approached the step. A moment later, a dainty, slippered foot
descended before being engulfed in layers of brocade-edged satin. Whoever
they were, they smelled of emerald water and tincture of pomegranate. The
carriage rocked and a pair of long, brachuri hide boots followed the gown.
Why some of Jing’s guests chose the rear entrance perked my professional
interest, but I pushed the thought aside in favor of concentrating on the task
ahead, which was to slot the host.
A door opened, and light spilled across the courtyard. I tried to think
small and inconspicuous thoughts whilst being very conscious of the spatter
of gold that clipped the frame of the carriage and fell across my back and
hip. All it would take was for someone to look and connect the abstract
shape with that of a living being and then, just for a change, I’d be in a right
pot of arsepickle.
I pressed myself as close to the underside of the carriage as I could and
willed the driver to move off. A long minute passed before the reins
snapped and the horses pranced away, drawing murmurs of delight and
admiration from those present. The haughty beasts were unimpressed and
shat a trail of steaming, partially digested grass across the impeccably clean
courtyard.
What little I knew about the layout of the compound told me there
wasn’t enough room for all the carriages to wait inside, this one in
particular as horses and urux do not enjoy each other’s company. When we
were about fifty paces from the pagoda I dared a quick look round. This end
of the compound was framed by a collection of single-storey buildings that
crouched against the outer wall. The driver turned the rattler to face the
gate, which I took to be the best time to alight. When the rear axle was
facing into the darkest corner of the compound, I dropped, flipped, and
scrambled from under the swaying belly of the carriage. Supporting myself
on my claws, I scuttled over the hedge and wedged myself in the shadow-
clad corner of the buildings like a six-foot-long cockroach. I lay still and
held my breath and waited for sounds of alarm. None came.
My bow was made for thoasa and was long and flexible, which
allowed me to bend it beyond the tolerance of lesser weapons. The quiver of
arrows wasn’t as forgiving, and I’d heard a couple of loud cracks as I
crawled from under the carriage, luckily nobody else did. I felt inside the
quiver. Two shafts had snapped leaving me twelve, which was plenty. Given
the task, I’d be lucky if I had the time and opportunity to use one.
 The music drifting from the first floor of the pagoda changed tempo.
The reedy agony of an arrachid ballad scratched the skin off the air like the
dying cries of a cat being slowly eviscerated. Jing would be in that room as
the gang boss fancied himself a cultured cove when he wasn’t extorting
coin, selling drugs, and peddling flesh. He’d be sitting there, smoking pel
and enjoying the scathing vibrations of the arrachid ‘music’ the very same
as was making my ears bleed.
The windows on that level were set high on the wall and partially
overhung by the flaring skirt of the roof above. I quickly and quietly
crossed the compound, climbed the wall, and vaulted over the balcony of
the first floor of the pagoda seconds after two of the four sentries
disappeared around the left-hand corner. Without waiting, I reached up,
grabbed the lip of the sweeping roof, and swung myself up and under the
eaves. I was safely tucked upside down in the darkness before the next pair
of guards rounded the right-hand corner.
Gripping the cedar lintel above the window with my feet, I braced my
back against the underside of the roof. Wedged as I was in the angle of the
roof, I could see into the room and remain hidden in the shadows of the
eaves. If the guards patrolling the balcony looked up they’d see me, but
why would they do that? There were far more interesting things happening
in the hall, the courtyard, and the street beyond the compound.
Even so, I was momentarily tempted to enhance the darkness with a
spell, but I changed my mind, just in case the rumors were true and the
place was warded against magic. I carefully drew an arrow. The last thing I
wanted, other than to miss was to spill the contents of the quiver all over the
balcony. I licked the flight smooth and threaded the shaft between the string
and stave before searching for Jing among the gentry gathered within.
There’s something deeply unpleasant about the smell of arrachids. It’s
like old shoes that have been left to marinate in lemon juice and
earthworms. It’s not a strong smell, nothing that a human would notice, but
I did. Not all the jasmine-scented fountain water and eaglewood incense in
the world could mask the stink of a nest of them. As well as being the
national dress of their adopted culture, the Shen silk kimonos that Jing and
his offspring favored also concealed their six, double-jointed legs, which
apparently made some humans feel uncomfortable. I watched Pork Chop’s
dutiful sons and daughters as they mingled with their father’s guests,
making polite conversation, and laughing at unamusing jokes.
 Old Pork Chop was content to rest his bloated abdomen on a pile of
plump silk cushions and smoke his double bowled pel pipe surrounded by
his favorite concubines. The gang lord’s long black hair hung to his waist
and his violet silk haori perfectly matched the color of his two pairs of eyes.
It was said that the best arrachid silk was produced by virgins. If that were
true, the amount of the good stuff floating around in this room would have
made a brothel keeper weep. Jing nodded politely at his guests as they
passed before him and paid their respects. He favored some lucky few with
a word or two, but for the most part, he sat and watched, as impassive as an
arrachid gang boss in the heart of his web.
I didn’t go straight for the kill. I first made a note of the security that
would blaze into action the moment I vented Jing. The ogren standing guard
by the sliding doors was of interest, partly because she must have been
seven feet tall, but mainly because she was carrying a very large, bronze
handcannon, the barrel of which was cast in the form of a roaring dragon.
Although the imagery was laboring the point, the beast slumbering in the
ogren’s arms was due serious respect. Like the creature it represented, the
weapon breathed ruin. I counted another four sentries positioned around the
room, but as they were only armed with halberds and spears, they were not
as much of a concern as the ogren with the cannon.
The main door to the banqueting hall was directly opposite me, but
Jing’s dais was against the wall on my right, so I had to lean left to get a
better angle on the King of the Midnight Court. I re-nocked the shaft and
drew the bow until the stave was tight against the window frame and my
elbow was touching the rafters. I could have got a few more fingers’ width
of draw, but this would be enough to put a shaft through Jing. I took a deep,
slow breath and was about to loose when, for some reason, someone else in
the room snared my attention. Irritated, I relaxed the draw and took a proper
shufty at them.
I couldn’t smell much above the blooming reek of arrachid, pel, and
incense so I had to rely on my eyes but there was no mistaking the grizzle-
chinned, pig-nosed, tiny-eyed lackwit strutting into the room, arm-in-arm
with one of the Pearl. It was Sketh. The miserable little snot-gobbet had
turned traitor. That it was probably my fault was not the point. The little
toad-gobbler looked right at home and was grinning wide as a cheese rind.
They’d even dressed him in a fancy pair of hakama and coiffed his greasy
hair into a top knot. The tomb-toothed puke must have spilled his guts to
the roots to earn such pampering. No wonder Jing looked happy. My aim
tracked from Jing to Sketh.
As much as I wanted to vent the traitor, I knew I shouldn’t. I had my
orders. Mother really would kill me if I messed up this time. I re-aimed at
Jing. Sketh snagged a drink from a passing servant. He was laughing at
something his new best friend had said. I drew the string to my lobeless ear.
Jing. The target is Jing.
I’ve often found that it’s one thing knowing what you should do, but
quite another doing it.
The arrow entered Sketh between the pectoralis major, or at least
between where chest muscles would have been if the little turd-biscuit had
any. A rose of deepest red stamped my fatal brand on his nice new haori. I
knew Mother was not going to be happy but, by all the gods, it was a good
shot.
It takes a lot to really rile me, but Sketh had succeeded where a demon,
a dragon, and Mother had failed. It wasn’t just that he’d tried to ambush me,
or that he’d come close to putting a bolt through my head, that was just
embarrassing. It was the gong pot. When I should have been strutting along
Main Road, I’d had to hide in a shit wagon to avoid my greedy comrades
and that was why Sketh was dying on his feet.
The ex-Blade, ex-Pearl member stared at the ever-widening scarlet
bloom, confusion written across his rabbity features. The game was only
truly up when his companion tugged the yard shaft out of the tatami behind
him. She frowned at first and looked questioningly at Sketh, who answered
by slowly pitching forward and crumpling into the folds of his silks.
“Guards!” she yelled.
One shot. That’s what I’d promised myself, even if I’d missed Jing. So
by the time the ogren had blasted the window frame and a fair chunk of
wall and roof into flaming matchwood, I was already halfway to the
ground. Almost on the beat of my feet touching the cobbles, a gong
hammered alarm into the languid night. You can always trust some bastard
to ruin a party and tonight that bastard was me.
I sprinted across the open ground and leaped up to the roof of the
single storey building before anyone outside the pagoda knew what was
happening. Given that they were in the same business they caught on
quickly and by the time I’d dashed across the roof and had my foot on the
compound wall, I heard the heavy thwunks of crossbows being discharged
in my direction. A velvety ripple of air preceded a searing whip of fire that
lashed my left bicep. It was nothing, a sting that served to spur me on to
greater effort when I leaped.
Darkness flowed beneath me as I launched myself over the gilt-edged
void. Landing softly, I wound the energy from the drop into a roll that spun
me across the slates, thrust me up, and set me off running. I knew that if I
could reach the river I’d get away. A jarring impact on the roof behind me
underscored the if.
The sagging joists creaked and groaned. I didn’t slow or turn around, I
didn’t need to. The smell of old shoes soaked in lemon juice and
earthworms rushed at me on a following wind hot, hard, and angry.
Arrachids didn’t swim well but they were experts at tearing people into tiny
pieces. With that in mind, I summoned an extra measure of speed and ran
for my life.
I don’t like to brag, but I’ve outrun dragons, which was a good thing to
bear in mind with one of Pork Chop’s broodlings inches from taking a
chunk out of my scaly arse. Their species of arrachid had a pair of vicious
sword-like foreclaws, tucked just below the abdomen. I know it might not
sound like it but being chased by this kind was preferable to being pursued
by those that spat gobs of sticky, poisonous web-snot from their nethers. Of
course, given a choice, I’d rather not be chased by any kind of arrachid.
Ahead of me, the river gleamed invitingly like a shining rod of rippled
obsidian, framed by crooked chimneys. I vaulted the pots. My many-legged
pursuer smashed straight through them. Who would have guessed that
Sketh was so well loved? Thus encouraged to greater effort, I surged
forward and was just starting to pull away from my ardent pursuer when the
roof collapsed beneath us.
When you’re falling, you reach out for anything; it’s an instinct
common to every creature that has limbs. I watched, quite detached from
the act, as my hands and feet groped at timbers and slates until they
eventually found something substantial and grabbed hold of it. Alas, the ‘it’
turned out to be the arrachid. She’d had a similar idea and so, like boon
companions, we fell together, briefly visiting a grimy, rat-infested loft
before crashing through to the next floor, and the next.
By now I wasn’t sure which were my limbs, and which were hers.
There was a mass of flame-red hair in my face and her arms were locked
around my waist, but as luck would have it I was sitting on her pincers, so
she was unable to fulfill her screamed threat and stab me to death and
beyond. In truth, we both did a fair bit of screaming and cursing as old
plaster, dead pigeons, and roof rained down around us. Finally, we hit a
floor that didn’t break.
I landed on top of the arrachid, the air whoomphed from her bellows,
leaving her gasping. Two pairs of angry, green eyes shone from amid the
mass of hair, giving me a general target to aim for when I headbutted her in
the face. She groaned, her grip on my waist loosened. I disentangled myself
and sprinted for the nearest exit. Floral wallpaper, paintings, and bemused
faces peering from doorways flashed past. The sound of three pairs of feet
charging after me drove me on. I hurtled along the corridor and through the
door at the end without stopping to open it, which quite surprised the
occupants.
A red-robed human male with a black beard glared at me. He had
another human pinned by the throat against the wall opposite the door. In
his other hand, Blackbeard held a slender bladed knife. The other human
was wearing rough brown robes and was struggling ineffectually against the
bigger man. I leaped at the bearded cull and knocked his head against the
wall. While he decided to have a little sit-down, I relieved him of his pig-
sticker and threw it at the arrachid, just before throwing myself through the
window, again without bothering to open it. The blade found its target, the
arrachid yelled and crashed to the floor in a tangle of hairy limbs.
I was prepared for a hard landing and so was surprised when my fall
was broken by a group of late night revelers who just happened to be
passing. With nary a scratch, I untangled myself from the skirts of a
pleasantly doughy cull and was about to leg it when one of her foppish
friends had the suicidal urge to draw a blade on me. I say blade, it was more
a hairpin with a hilt.
“How dare you. You, what the devil are you?” The fop stared down the
barrel of his bony nose and quirked one of his plucked eyebrows. “You
should have stayed under your rock, lizard,”
A rouged, ‘punch me’ smile gashed his powder-pale face in response to
the laughter of his friends. Playing to the crowd, he whiff-waffed the
hairpin and took some kind of stance that I assumed a dancing master must
have taught him.
I’d never had the patience to bandy words with halfwits, so I snapped
the blade and slapped him across the chops for fear that a punch might kill
him. He sprawled. Alas, the distraction was enough to give the wounded
arrachid time to join us and for a sizeable crowd to gather. I don’t like
crowds, especially when I’m the subject of their attention, and I certainly
didn’t like the arrachid who was aiming a murderous glare in my direction.
I drew my blades. She advanced, kicking a couple of the fop’s friends
out of the way with casual disdain. She’d come off worse in our little roof
dive and her arm was bleeding where I’d caught her with Blackbeard's
dagger.
“What the hell?” exclaimed another of the youths. “Is it raining
demonspawn?” He and his companions drew an assortment of glorified
toothpicks.
“Who are you calling demonspawn, you little shitstain?” the arrachid
snarled, pincers twitching.
Emboldened by his friends, the aforesaid shitstain puffed out his
fashionably thin chest. “You, you four-eyed grotesque.”
The arrachid reared up on her hindmost pair of legs. I’m not sure
exactly what happened next as something akin to an anvil hit me on the
back of the head. I saw white light and dropped to my knees, stunned but
only distantly alarmed as pretty purple flowers burst into bloom before my
eyes. My blades slipped from nerveless fingers, I fell. The last thing I saw
before the press of fighting bodies closed around me was the brown-robed
human. He was leaning out of the ragged hole I’d put in the wall of the inn,
the one which the arrachid had enlarged. He was staring at me, his brow
knotted in concentration.
What happened next is hazy, but I got the impression that the entire
Street of a Thousand Lanterns decided that right then was the perfect time
to have a riotous brawl. The night erupted in shouts and screams,
accompanied by the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood.
 6

I woke up, face down on a hard floor. Pockmarked flagstones burnished by

constant abuse swam into focus. There was something vaguely familiar
about them and the wet metal stink of the place. Before I had a chance to
ponder my location further, I was grabbed under the arms and hauled to my
shackled feet. Now I knew where I was. I tested the manacles around my
wrists and got a slap across the head for my troubles.
“Stop that,” said the greenshanks. Coves like me called the local,
Imperial Guard ‘greenshanks’ on account of their green uniform breeches.
This one was short and had beady eyes set deep in a flat, expressionless
face. She had the heavy build of a mountain goblin but must have been
human because warspawn weren’t allowed in the Imperial Guard.
I’d lodged in the cells under the law courts once or twice when I was a
kinchin cove, but this was my first stay since I’d become a fully-fledged
Blade. Other than the inmates, nothing much had changed since my earlier
visits. The rows of cells looked and smelled the same. The cells on the right
were for humans and were warded against sorcery. Those on the left were
more heavily reinforced for warspawn but bore no sigils. Warspawn, true
warspawn, not half-breeds like me, couldn’t use magic.
“What are ya?” the greenshanks demanded. Her breath smelled sickly
sweet like something was rotting inside her. She coughed. If she didn’t
already know she was sick, she soon would. “Well, what is it? Thoasa? Do
you understand?”
Before I had the chance to earn another slap by telling her that I didn’t
speak dolt, the door behind me opened and another guard came in. He
looked tired and was sporting a week’s growth of facial hair. I don’t know
how humans can stand all those bristles. They must itch something terrible,
and then there’s the lice. An old scar running across his cheek and nose
spoke of past battles. Like a lot of the greenshanks in Appleton, he’d
probably served on the front, fighting to gain the Empirifex another acre of
nothing much at all.
He gave me a cursory once-over. “S’just another breed, Tori. Put it in
four.”
 Tori grunted and prodded me towards cell number four on the
warspawn side. Such a pity that the most dangerous spell I knew was how
to boil water. Mother had taught me the cantrip when she was going
through a phase of drinking hot chai. There was a chalkboard nailed to the
outside of the door. The guard looked at me expectantly.
“What? You’re not going to give me a test, are you?” I asked.
Neither smile nor smirk marred the unleavened perfection of her pasty
face. She took up the stylus that was chained to the board. “Name?”
“Breed,” I said straight-faced. If she got the joke she didn’t let on. She
invited me to enter the cell with a toss of her head and patted the butt of a
cudgel that was hanging from her belt, implying punishment would follow
should I refuse to comply. If there hadn’t been an entire garrison of
greenshanks hanging around, I’d have taken the tickle-tail off her and
shoved it where the suns don’t shine. As it was, I acceded to her invitation
without argument. In truth, I wasn’t in any particular hurry to get back to
the Nest. I needed some time to come up with a plausible lie to tell Mother
as to why I’d killed Sketh instead of Jing. ‘Because I was annoyed’ would
lead straight back to the dog rats, if I was lucky.
The cell smelled no worse than anywhere consistently used as a toilet.
I slumped against the door, grateful for a chance to sit down. Now that the
excitement had passed, I was starting to feel the various cuts and bruises I’d
earned during my recent adventures. The cells sounded busy, which told me
it was still night. They’d empty in the morning when all the scallywags
were sent before the beaks. While I sat in the shadows, listening to rats
crunching through cockroaches, I briefly regretted killing Sketh instead of
Jing. But then I remembered sitting in the gong pot and the feeling went
away. One thing I could be sure of was that nobody would finger me for
killing the little bunghole. The Guild and the Pearl had few agreements, but
it would be a dull day in hell when either went to the authorities seeking
what passed for justice in Appleton. I closed my eyes, tried to get a little
sleep for the first time since I’d got back to town.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that the sleep I snatched was far from
restful. The thunder of a dragon chasing me down a mountainside
accompanied by the laughter of a demon resolved into the sound of
someone banging on the door and shouting at me to get up. It didn’t feel
like more than a few minutes had passed since I closed my eyes, but it had
been long enough for the guard to change. A skinny cull with a cauliflower
nose and weeping acne unlocked the door.
He squinted at the slate and snorted. “Right, Breed. It’s your turn in
front of the magistrates. C’mon, look lively, they’re in a hanging mood this
mornin’.” He laughed, no doubt like he did every time he made the joke,
which was probably every time he unlocked a cell.
I was stiff and thirsty and in no mood for light-hearted banter and I
didn’t have any coin to pay a fine, but that was the least of my concerns. By
now Mother would know where I was. I’d delivered enough bribes for her
to know how the wheels of justice were greased and just how much sway
she had with the official government in town. Whichever of the magistrates
she owned would pocket a nice sum of gold, set a low fine, and make sure
that I was sent off with a stern warning not to transgress again. I didn’t for
one moment consider that Mother might leave me to rot. Even if she was
angry, she’d pay to get me out so that she could kill me herself.
Me and a dozen other coves were chained together and taken up
through the barracks to the City Hall, where the official if only slightly less
nefarious business of running the city was conducted. Burghers and
merchants, sycophants and toadies congregated in the lobby to exchange
bribes, gossip, and backhanders. As our not-so-jolly band of resigned
ruffians, penitent drunks, and tired whores shuffled past, the honest gentry
squinted at us through spectacles, monocles, and lorgnettes in order to
properly turn up their noses.
We were shoved into the holding pens outside the courtroom just off
the main lobby. I claimed my place in the cramped cage and watched the
great and the good of Appleton go about their very important business. Ugly
little pet dogs, smaller than your average sewer rat, pissed on the grubby
marble floor and barked incessantly at everything. Bedraggled jadewings
squawked mournfully from tenuous perches on the limp wrists and sloping
shoulders of the more fashionable pillocks of society. The birds were the
current ‘must have’ amongst what passed for the social elite of Appleton.
Mother preferred to deal in pel, murder, and larceny rather than smuggling
exotic pets. She didn’t have the patience to peddle anything that needed
gentle handling. She had tried it once, but when twenty birds suffocated,
she gave up and spit roast the rest of the consignment.
“Oi, Breed. You’re up,” The greenshanks crossed my name off the
slate. I eyed the handcannon in the crook of her arm and obediently shuffled
out.
The court’s sickly yellow walls were bare save for the Empirifex’s
gaudy crest painted above the magistrates’ bench. The leaded windows
looked out onto Four Gallows Square where the five city gallows were
situated, indicating to all and sundry how brisk business was in Appleton. It
was a point of pride for the good citizens of the town, not so much for me
and my fellow rogues.
Three periwigged magistrates sat on the bench above the court,
shuffling papers, taking snuff, and muttering amongst themselves about
proceedings and other tiresome preoccupations of their day-to-day
existence. A bored-looking scribe sat beneath the bench idly sharpening his
quills. My palm itched. An image of the demon Shallunsard sprang
unbidden into my mind. I thrust it aside. I had to try to think innocent
thoughts and see if I could push them through the naturally sardonic set of
my face bones.
I was shoved into the dock and the cage door was locked. A sorcerer’s
sigil etched on the heavy bolt ensured no magic could be cast from inside. A
couple of guards stood either side of the door, fingers resting on the triggers
of well-used handcannons. It did my professional pride no harm to know
that they weren’t giving me the benefit of the doubt.
Unusually for morning court, there was quite a crowd in the public
gallery. Several of them had cuts and bruises some also had torn and blood-
speckled clothing. Almost all were staring daggers at me. I guessed that
they must have been the rakes that I’d landed on the night before. What
with deals with demons and inadvertent assassinations I’d hardly given this
crew a second thought. For their part, they seemed delighted to see me, in
an angry mob sort of way. Sitting behind them, knitting furiously was an
old human I knew well. Martha Ferney, or Mattie the Drop as she was
known in the Guild, looked like your average grandmother, but you turned
your back on her at your peril. She didn’t so much as glance when I came
in, but I knew she’d clocked me.
Her presence was reassuring. Despite Mother’s constant
admonishment never to hope, seeing Mattie meant that Mother probably
wasn’t too angry and that she’d sent the old mort with a bribe for the judge.
I relaxed but tried to look contrite, which isn’t easy with a face like mine.
The Chief Magistrate cleared her throat and cast a bulge-eyed glance
in my direction. “Case the fifth on this the 10th day of Messidor, Year of the
Pantheon, 766. By Empirifex, Dunstan the Seventh’s grace, the court will
rise.”
The court obeyed. A lawyer in a black gown swept in and bowed
before the bench. I was touched, I didn’t think Mother would go to the
trouble of hiring an attorney.
As it turned out, I was correct.
“Council for the Prosecution begs leave to proceed, Magistrate
Ornlably,” quoth the daughter of prattlement I had briefly mistaken for my
defender.
“Yes, yes, go on.” The magistrate waved impatiently.
I very much wanted to object, struck as I was that I might be getting
stitched for killing Sketh after all. My mind raced. Had Jing turned barley?
Had he ripened into a yellow-backed coward, broken all the laws of hell,
and gone to the authorities? Such a thing wasn’t entirely unheard of, lesser
members of the Midnight Court had committed slow suicide by going to the
catch-poles, but no one of Jing’s stature had ever stooped so low as to get
the lurchers involved. It was downright dishonorable. I was shocked.
“Thank you, Magistrate. I’ll hurry to the quick, as the Court’s time
should not be spent lingering over such overt miscreancy. I would be so
bold as to say this is—”
“Just get on with it, Counselor Cheams,” said the magistrate. As I was
keen to know what I was being charged with I was inclined to agree.
“My client, Sir Mathorius Walmisus.” The lawyer indicated a skinny
cull in the public gallery with a black eye and swollen lip. “Was the victim
of a vicious assault, and I, therefore, ask that the savage responsible.”
Cheams pointed at me. “Feel the full force of the law. Death... is too good.
This gutter scum should serve the Empirifex in the calthracite mines for no
less than twenty years,” Cheams declared, shaking with bought and paid for
indignation.
The magistrates exchanged weary glances. “How very thoughtful of
you, Cheams,” said the chief magistrate. “But we’re more than capable of
coming up with a sentence. All we ask is that you present the evidence.”
“As you wish, Magistrate.” The prosecutor straightened her wig.
“Would the first witness, Sir Mathorius Walmisus, please take the stand.”
It turned out that Mathorius Walmisus was the razor-nosed fop who’d
pulled a blade on me.
 He swaggered over to the witness stand and gave a curt bow to the
magistrates. “Lord Harrin, Lord Reevis, Aunt Gwendolyn.”
My heart didn’t so much sink as dive majestically into the pit of my
stomach, dragging my hopes down with it.
The chief magistrate, Aunt Gwendolyn, whiffled through a sheaf of
papers and waved him to silence. “Yes, all right. Go on, Counselor.”
Cheams strutted before the witness, hands clasped behind her back, no
doubt contemplating the easiest conviction she’d ever won. “In your own
words, Sir Mathorius, before the seal of the Empirifex, his duly appointed
magistrates, and this court,” she intoned. “Pray tell, what befell you and
your companions last night on the Street of a Thousand Lanterns?”
“Thank you, Counselor.” He inclined his head at her and cleared his
throat. I rested my elbow on the bars, keen to hear what fantasy the
simpering pisspeddler was about to spew. “My friends and I had just
enjoyed a tolerable supper at Fausto’s on Garrote Street and were on our
way to Tremlaynes theater to watch a production of the Death of the Red
Witch when that thing,” he glared at me. “Leaped upon my companions and
attempted to accost Lady Juliet.” He waved his handkerchief at the gallery,
indicating a pinch-faced froe I wouldn’t tup with borrowed nethers. She
sniffled, the gallery made a unified rumble of displeasure and threw facefuls
of disgust in my direction, although not one of them had the cods to look
me in the eye. The fop continued. “As a gentleman, I stepped in to defend
my friend from the amorous advances of that creature, who, with its vile
accomplices, proceeded to attack my comrades and I. I’m happy to say, we
were more than a match for this gutterscum and had gained the upper hand
by the time the city guards arrived.” He puffed out his chest. “And lucky for
this creature that they arrived when they did.”
I noticed that the greenshanks guarding the dock exchanged wry
smiles at that. I was interested to know why the arrachid had been left out
of the account, and indeed why the rank virago wasn’t in the holding pens
waiting her turn in the dock, and then it occurred to me that Jing might have
outbid Mother in the bribery stakes.
For the next hour, a long procession of ill-used ladies and gentlemen
limped from the public gallery and took their turn on the witness stand. I
was accused of all manner of grievous crimes, from beating the fop and his
crew to attempted murder. Had I been conscious I probably would have
done what I’d been accused of, far worse in fact, leaving a damn sight
fewer of them to point their waggers at me today. Throughout it all no
mention was made of the arrachid, not once. It was as though she’d never
been there. Eventually, the Chief Magistrate turned her attention to me.
“Do you have anyone to speak for you, any defense counsel?” she
asked.
I shook my head.
“Do you have anything to say in your defense?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” A startled murmur ran through the
gallery. The magistrate regarded me suspiciously. “This is a travesty!” I
tried to mimic the haughty manners of Counselor Cheams. “I wasn’t even
conscious for most of the fight. I am the victim here, Your Honor.”
I would have continued, but she banged her gavel. “All right, that’s
enough. The defendant’s evidence has been noted by the Bench.”
As unfair as it was, I knew better than to argue. You never beat the law,
especially if you looked like me. Once the beaks had you fast, you weren’t
going to encourage them to go easy by haranguing them. It was better to
submit and get it over with as quick and as painless as possible. I’d been
done up tighter than a miser’s coin purse and no mistake, but there was no
point bleating, who’d listen? I looked over to Mattie. She made a shrug face
and cast another stitch off the formless mess she was knitting.
After a whole two minutes of thoughtful deliberation, Aunt
Gwendolyn stamped her authority on proceedings with a sharp staccato rap
of her gavel. “The court will rise,” she said through a half-stifled yawn.
“The defendant is hereby sentenced to seven years’ hard labor in the
Empirifex’s calthracite mines. Case closed. Send in number six.”
The magistrate set her seal to some documents, and the court sat. I
stood there a moment, trying to work out how the hell I’d got into this mess,
how the hell I was going to get out of it, and what the hell was going to try
to kill me next.
While I pondered these questions, my gaze wandered to the public
gallery. It wasn’t the smug, fundament jugglers busily congratulating each
other who drew my attention; it was a turnip-pated patri-cove who I
recognized as the very same whey-faced cull I’d seen in the inn. He
shuffled awkwardly past the spindle-shanked gentry but didn’t leave the
courtroom as I’d expected. Instead, he made his way over to the bench and
beckoned the chief magistrate down from her perch. Much to my surprise,
Aunt Gwendolyn didn’t have him thrown from the court for his
presumption or order him sent to the mines for contempt of her high office,
she complied. Smelling deeds afoot, the lawyer followed, ears straining to
catch the gist of the confabulation between Wheyface and the beak.
In the gallery, Mattie packed away her knitting and gave me a look that
told me I was on my own. Meanwhile, Wheyface was heads down with the
magistrate, locked in a heated argument over I knew not what, save that
there was a lot of gesticulating and headshaking by both parties. It was then
I noticed that the brown-robed cull’s left hand was missing, the wrist being
tidily sheathed in a leather cup.
After a hiss-whisper exchange between the lawyer and Wheyface, the
magistrate shooed them away and returned to the bench where she knotted
heads with her colleagues. Eventually, after a short debate, Aunt
Gwendolyn hammered on the table. “Order. The court will come to order, or
I’ll throw the lot of you in the bloody mines.” The chatter died. She fixed
her dead-eyed gaze on me. I offered what I thought was a warm smile
which didn’t appear to go down well. “Due to, Mitigating circumstances.”
She glanced at Wheyface. “The court has decided to show leniency in this
case and commute the sentence to five years’ indentured servitude to
Brother Tobias of the Sacred Order of Scienticians of Saint Bartholomew.”
The priest bowed his head. The magistrate grunted, unimpressed. “Case
closed.”
 7

Somewhat begrumpled by this miserable turn of events, I cursed all the

way out of the court, laying all manner of vile imprecations upon the heads
of my accusers, the magistrates, and the greenshanks who dragged me back
to the cells.
Being condemned to the mines was an excessive punishment for
falling on a bunch of over-privileged popinjays, but I could’ve escaped
from the mines. I could have extorted some coin, used it to bribe guards,
and grease the right palms. I’d have been out within a month with no one
the wiser. Judicial indentured servitude reinforced by a sorcerous geas was
an altogether different proposition.
Despite knowing there was no point fighting the catch-poles when they
have you, I often rebel against my own wise counsel. It’s like a disease.
Very kindly, the greenshanks tried to cure my affliction by administering a
dose of steel-shod boots as soon as I was out of sight of the ruffs and
ribbons.
I woke in a cell, manacled to a ring set in the floor. My nose was
crusted with blood and my jaw ached like I’d repeatedly been kicked in the
face which, I blearily recollected, I had. As I lay there, contemplating the
righteous vengeance I was going to wreak on the bastards who’d put me
here, the peephole in the door slid open. From my position on the floor, I
could just make out a worry-pinched face peering in at me. I forgot about
the manacles and lunged at the priest. He recoiled despite the three inches
of steel door between us.
“I mean you no harm,” he mumbled. “I just want to talk to you.”
“Well, there you go, you’ve talked to me. Now fuck off.” I was in no
mood to chat with someone who’d had me condemned to magical slavery.
“I saved you from the mines,” he countered as though he’d done me a
favor.
“I could get— Never mind. Just leave me alone.” I couldn’t be
bothered arguing with the one-handed lackwit. I had to focus on how I was
going to get out of this. I’d given up on Mother if she was going to help she
would have done it by now.
 “It was all I could think of at the time. I used what influence I have.
I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why? Why the hell did you try to ‘help’ me? What’s in it for you,
priest?” I think he looked confused, but it was hard to tell. He had one of
those soft, book-bathed faces, pale and smooth from lack of sunslight or
kiss of the wind. It was the kind of face that begged to be repeatedly
slapped.
“Because you saved me.” He shivered. “What happened after you went
through the window was an accident. I was trying to help, but I was
disorientated, and the spell went awry. I honestly didn’t mean to knock you
out, but with hindsight, it’s probably for the best that I did.”
Again, I forgot the manacles and lunged at him. The chain snapped me
back to the cold stone flags. The moon-faced bastard loitered a while,
staring at me with a look of pity and guilt painted on his milky features.
Upon receiving nothing in return save a dead-eyed stare, he slunk away,
head down, and shoulders hunched to his ears.
It was night when they came for me. I hadn’t slept. I’d lain in the
darkness, listening to doors slam and inmates proclaim their innocence
while cursing, or weeping, sometimes all three. I was trying to decide if I
was going to make the guards do this the hard way or if I was just going to
submit, like a lag of the highest mark. What was churning my vitals was not
knowing if the geas of servitude would dominate my survival instincts,
something I guessed would come in handy given the many apple carts I’d
upset of late. I didn’t know how much of my free will would be curtailed
and that worried me. I can’t say I was scared, Thoasa were bred to be
fearless and although I was only half thoasa, I don’t think I’d ever
experienced fear as powerfully as humans seemed to.
What I did know was that I’d been given a sentence of five years but
had less than one to find the Hammer of the North before my life and
possibly my soul was forfeit to Shallunsard the demon. And then there was
Jing. He would most likely send the Pearl after me for slotting Sketh at his
party, and of course, I couldn’t forget dear old Mother. She would
undoubtedly want to know why I’d disobeyed her. As nice as it was to be
wanted, I couldn’t afford to be bound in servitude to the milksop priest. I
needed to go to ground, preferably in another country, until everyone forgot
all about me.
 Before I could formulate a brilliant plan to escape, the door was
thrown open and a lantern lit up the cell half blinding me as I’m sure was
the intention. The barrels of a pair of handcannons were thrust into the
circle of light.
“So you’re a Guild Blade, eh? You don’t look much from where I’m
standing,” one of the cannon-wielders said from the darkness.
“Spoken like a true hero, from the brave end of a barking iron. Come
out from behind the brass and we’ll go tap for tap, see how ye fair then, eh,
greenshanks?” I grinned. My offer was declined with the stony silence.
One of the guards unchained me, and I was dragged from the cell. The
two gunners stayed behind us as I was taken down to the lower of the
lockup. I didn’t know anyone who’d been down here. All I knew was that it
was where confessions were extracted and indenturing by sorcery was
carried out. Any cove down on their luck could sign up for regular
indentured servitude and sell their labor in exchange for work and food.
Punishment indenture was another fish altogether. I should have been
honored. Not just any lag got indentured by sorcery. Only those for whom
chains were not enough of an impediment to making mischief suffered this
fate, and then only rarely. It was an expensive spell from what I’d heard.
Soul-binding, indeed anything to do with dominating the will of a person,
extracted a high price from the sorcerer, whereas a hempen necktie was a
less expensive cure for a fractious nature.
My stomach rolled as I was marched to my fate. I’d been stabbed, shot
at, lashed, even burned by dragon breath, but this was something more
worrisome. Pain only hurts. Losing my free will filled me with a greasy
feeling of dread.
At the end of a blood-splattered, flame-scorched corridor was an iron
door unlike any I’d seen in the jail. It was inlaid with alloys of a dozen
different metals that had been hammered into overlapping sigils. It hummed
with magical energy and the air grew stiff with power the closer I got to it. I
stopped a few paces away. One of the greenshanks behind me stumbled to a
halt. If I spun around now, I could take his cannon and torch and have a
quick dance in the dark with his gun-wielding companion. I might even get
the better of them with surprise on my side, but the chances of fighting my
way out of the barracks were slim even with a pair of irons to back me up.
With this in mind, I allowed myself to be shoved forward, although my guts
were writhing like a sack of snakes.
 On the other side of the door, a passage split right and left. A strong
smell of dried blood and death emanated from the right. I was taken to the
left. At the end of the dimly lit corridor, I was thrust into a room that was
little more than a rough-hewn cave. There were no other exits. A half dozen
rancid, tallow candles spilled a dim light across the floor and wreathed the
low roof in oily ribbons of smoke. Unlike the building above, which had
been designed to emulate the architectural style prevalent in Valen, this
place was ancient and reeked of old magic and primitive rites.
The floor was obsidian, variously inlaid with groups of concentric and
overlapping rings of copper, bronze, steel, and iron. Each ring was scribed
with arcane sigils. I was invited at gunpoint to stand in one of a pair of
overlapping steel rings, where I was duly shackled. The smell of strong
incense blinded me to everything save the overpowering scent of attar of
roses, camphor, and the sour undertone of knotweed.
After a few minutes, the door opened and my savior shuffled in. The
one-handed cull swallowed hard when he saw me. He was followed by the
sellspell or as they preferred to be called, Court Appointed Sorcerer. She
cast a sharp glance in my direction and frowned before instructing the priest
to stand in the ring beside mine, luckily for him, beyond my reach.
“Sweet Saint Bart, what happened to you?” the priest asked me.
“Juris impudence,” I said. The greenshanks stationed by the door
chuckled.
The sellspell shushed everyone. Stooped and grey, she looked well
past her prime but must have been good at her job given the gold trim on
her robe. She obviously dealt with her Paradox through pain, as every
sagging wrinkle on her face was pierced. Lips, nose, eyebrows, cheeks.
Every inch of pliant skin was either scarred from previous insertions or
hung with tiny silver rings.
She made no announcement, nobody gave a speech or read out the
sentence. The sorcerer merely lit a censer and began to pace the perimeter
of the circles, muttering the incantation that would bind me to the whey-
faced fuck-knuckle. In her other hand, she held a thick silver wristband
inscribed with sigils. My palm itched to the point of burning.
“I’m really sorry about this” the priest muttered, his eyes imploring
like those of a beaten puppy. “I honestly never intended to hurt you.”
I growled. “You better hope this works, priest, because if it doesn’t,
I’m gonna skin your pasty hide and wear it while I ravage your grandsire’s
worm-infested corpse.” It wasn’t the most imaginative curse, but I was
starting to feel lightheaded. It had the desired effect though. The priest
flinched as though I’d slapped him. For a second, it looked like he might
grow some stones and give me some stick in return. Alas for him, the fire
that had briefly kindled in his eyes died and he shrank back into his robe. I
felt no satisfaction as the room had begun to spin, and I was struggling to
stay on my feet. The sellspell’s voice bored into my skull, made my bones
ache. The room spun faster, the inscriptions in the floor began to glow, and
the world blurred as the ground rushed up and kissed me into oblivion.

I WOKE in yet another strange place only this time I found myself lying on an
unpleasantly yielding mattress, somewhere that didn’t smell of piss or
mildew. I forced my eyes open. Hard sunslight streamed through a pair of
gauzy curtains. I raised my hand to blot out the painful brightness and saw a
silver cuff fastened seamlessly around my left wrist. I sat up and promptly
puked. After emptying my stomach of everything but the lining, I lay back
on the bed and shivered despite the warmth of the day.
“It will pass,” said a familiar voice. I raised my aching head. A few
feet beyond the end of the bed, the priest was sitting at a book-buried desk.
His hood was down, revealing closely cropped yellow fuzz, set above
watery grey eyes and a soft chinned face that was ill-defined by age or
character. “The sickness is due to the magic. I felt awful for a few hours
after, but I think it’s worse for…”
“The victim?” I offered. It came out less angrily than I’d intended.
“Would you have preferred seven years in the mines?”
I sat up, swung my legs off the bed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I would.
Hard labor is preferable to slavery.” The sharp note of defiance in my voice
reassured me that I hadn’t been turned into an entirely spineless drudge. I
looked at my hands and was relieved to see that I was still wearing my
gloves. At least the demon mark hadn’t been discovered.
“You wouldn’t have lasted seven years, nobody does,” he said.
I grinned at him. “You’re right there, priest.”
“Brother Tobias of the Sacred Order of Scienticians of Saint
Bartholomew, actually. You may call me Brother Tobias, or Father.”
 I snorted. “My scaly arse. I’ve never called anyone father and I’m not
going to start with someone like you, no offense.” I stood up, lights danced
before my eyes. I was pleased to see him shrink back in his seat. Pleased to
taste a faint whiff of fear sweat above his watery musk.
“Then Brother Tobias will suffice, or sir. You are my servant, my
property for the next five years. You might as well get used to it.”
Like fuck. Pain bloomed in my skull like a flower made of broken
glass. It suddenly felt like I’d drunk a pail of the cheapest, sot-brewed,
back-alley rum and had then proceeded to headbutt rocks.
“Yes, sir.” The pain lessened. “You dumb-armed muff-fumbler,” I
whispered. The pain spiked again, I stumbled.
The priest came to my aid, his face knotted with concern. “What did
you say?” He looped his arm around my waist and eased me back onto the
bed.
“Nothing of import,” I said when the pain gave me leave to speak. It
hurt like hell, but the ache helped me feel my way around the geas and
begin to get the measure of my bonds. I’d sprung a fair few master-crafted
locks in my illustrious career, I’d find a way to unlock these chains, magical
or not.
“So, what shall I call you?” he asked, all nicely, like we were newly
acquainted friends.
“Breed.”
He nodded, as though it was an entirely acceptable name for someone
like me. I cracked a smile at his ignorance. “Have you ever been outside of
Appleton, Breed?”
“No, sir,” I answered humbly, ignoring the hammer tapping in my
skull. I knew his type. Barely out of puberty but wanting to be thought
venerable, to be called Father. As if reading a pile of books conferred
wisdom as well as knowledge, as if the robe he wore was something more
than clothing. The flash of contempt squeezed another pinch of pain from
my noodle.
“Wait here,” he said and left the room.
The only decoration in the chamber was an icon of a platter-faced
human with a yardstick in one hand and a staff in the other. He glared down
from a plinth on the wall, a smug look painted across its plaster face. The
priest returned with a mop and a bucket of sweet smelling water. He handed
it to me and chinned towards the yellowing puddle of vomit.
 “Is that Saint Bartholomew?” I asked as I mopped up my puke.
“Aye, may his name be praised.” He bowed to the icon. “Ours is a
relatively new order, though by His grace it is gaining prominence and more
followers with every passing year.”
“How nice.” I finished cleaning up the mess and offered the pail and
mop to the priest. He pointed to the door. Outside an unadorned corridor
stretched right and left. Long and low-ceilinged, the sandstone walls and
floor had been scrubbed to the color of old bone. The air was tinted blue,
and a strong smell of incense tickled my nose. It must have been one of the
monasteries in New Town’s temple quarter, not a place I’d ever had much
cause to visit, not during daylight anyway.
Of the hundreds of saints and gods in the Pantheon, a few dozen had
opened shop in Appleton. They were mostly obscure or poor, run by
scammers and sharpers hoping to find softheaded culls, lacking wit but not
wealth, to swell their ranks. There were a few of the true believer kind
who’d take the poor and exchange a hot meal and a bed for a sermon and a
lifetime of unquestioning devotion.
The drab cloister and homespun garb of the pew-bashers creeping
about the place told me that this wasn’t one of the more affluent orders,
which was a pity as I didn’t have so much as a clipped penny to my name.
A few of the brothers and sisters cast fearful glances in my direction as they
passed. As I had a mop in my hand instead of a sword, they continued,
offended but unalarmed by my presence. The brethren I saw all looked
human, which was not unusual as humans and warspawn rarely shared
anything, least of all religion. Thoasa had gods of their own, but I preferred
to believe in that which I could see, smell, hear, and touch rather than
otherworldly beings, except for the Annurashi. I believed in them because
they made their presence known from time to time although I’d never seen
one.
I handed the mop and bucket to one of a group of shave-pated
priestlings shuffling by and went back inside. Tobias was at his desk,
stuffing books into a backpack and stacking sheaves of paper which were
covered in elaborate diagrams and elegant scrawl. Though I kept it quiet, I
could read Imperial, Guldistani, Vrok, and a smattering of a half-dozen
others. Mother believed that education was important and had book learning
beaten into me from an early age. My tutors were mostly scholars who’d
fallen on hard times and had a desperate desire to work off their drug or
gambling debts by teaching me rather than lose their fingers. Given
Mother’s reputation, they needed little encouragement to make sure I
remembered what they taught me, and I still had the scars to prove it.
“I must shortly return to our temple in Valen,” the priest said. “I’ll
need you to carry my belongings and help with cooking, that kind of thing.
Should we encounter any undesirables on the road, I give you leave to help
me fend them off.”
“With a mop?”
“What? No. Just your hands, er, claws.” He flailed, searching for the
right words. “Just, you know, do what you did the other night.”
“I had my blades when I was saving your life the other night. Do I get
them back?”
He laughed nervously. “You didn’t use them as I recall, so no, they
won’t be necessary.”
“Now, you say that, but there are some dangerous roads between here
and the capital where all manner of scum prey on the unwary traveler and
they will not be discouraged by fists and feet alone.” I knew this to be true
because from time to time, I’d been the scum doing the preying.
The priest seemed to think about it for a moment but then shook his
head. “No, it wouldn’t be right and besides, in his wisdom, Saint
Bartholomew has seen fit to gift me with certain abilities that allow me to
calculate both defensive and offensive angles of reality. Blades will not be
necessary.”
I shrugged. I had no idea what he was talking about and neither did he
judging by the flush in his cheeks. “Remember you said that when you’re
being slow-roasted alive by some meat-starved ragabash.”
He frowned. “Don’t you mean when we’re being slow roasted alive?”
“Nah, thoasa don’t make good eating, it’s the scales.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He grinned and made a show of sizing me up.
“Other than a few patches here and there, you don’t look to have too hard a
shell to crack. I’m sure you’d make a perfectly excellent meal for some
varlet, should the situation arise.”
“If you let me use my blades, the situation won’t arise. But if it does,
they’ll eat you first. Soft, white meat is a delicacy, after all.”
“If I thought you were being insolent, I’d have you flogged.”
I shrugged, looked him straight in the eye. “It wouldn’t be the first
time.”
 His pinked cheeks darkened to scarlet and he looked away, according
me the victory. “I shall pack my books myself. Please don’t touch them.”
He curled his left arm into his sleeve, a defensive habit if ever I saw one. If
he hadn’t bound me to slavery, I might have felt sorry for him. Only might.
I knew some dangerous coves who were missing the odd appendage. As an
old acquaintance once told me, ‘It’s not what you have, it’s what you do
with it that counts’.

THE REST of the afternoon passed in near silence save for a few begrudging
exchanges. The quiet suited me well enough as I had a lot to contemplate.
Mattie would have told Mother what happened in the court. The question
was, what would she do about it? The priest sent me on various errands
within the monastery which gave me the chance to explore the limits of my
bond while I recovered from the ill-effects of the indenturing.
Although not painful, the longer I was away from the little piss-streak,
the more a nagging itch grew in the back of my skull. I wasn’t sure if it was
a real feeling, like someone tapping me on the head or if it was just my
imagination searching for some sign of the magic that bound me.
Out of sight of prying eyes, the cuff proved invulnerable to my
attempts to smash, lever, and saw it off. I didn’t so much as scratch the
metal, all I succeeded in doing was give myself a headache. It dawned on
me sometime later that I hadn’t really been trying as hard as I might to
remove it. My heart, my will, wasn’t in it and it didn’t particularly bother
me.
After a few hours’ running errands, the dizziness wore off, and I
stopped jumping at every noise that might be a Guild Blade or vengeful
arrachid come to settle my account. The brothers and sisters of the Order of
Saint Bartholomew were wary around me. Some delicate souls flinched
when they came upon me unexpectedly, a few squeaked. That these timid
culls survived in Appleton was the best and only proof I’d seen since I’d
been here that they had any kind of divine patronage.
That night, drained from the indenturing, I fell asleep outside the
priest’s room within minutes of putting my head down. The corridor floor
was pleasantly cool and dry, the swept flagstones smelled of lavender, shoe
leather, and clean, garden soil.
A few hours later, I was woken by the sound of shuffling footsteps. I
didn’t leap to my feet because assassins don’t shuffle. I opened one eye a
crack but lay as still as a corpse. The smell of wool, sweat, and old human
wafted past my face as someone swirled the hem of their robe away from
me. Whoever it was knocked quietly on the priest’s door and entered
without invitation. I’d heard the bells chime midnight probably two hours
before, so I was curious as to who was visiting the priest when all goodly,
godly folk should have been long abed.
The priest and his visitor were too talkative for this to be a simple
lovers’ tryst. A wise Blade knows well enough that it’s better to keep ears
open and mouths shut, something neither of these prayer peddlers seemed
to ken.
I put my shell against the door for a listen. They started their
conversation at a whisper and I couldn’t make much out above the odd
word, but being the amateurs that they were, they quickly forgot the
precaution. A couple of minutes in and they were chattering like a pair of
excited children. Their naivety made me smile, I found it charming, in the
same way that a hawk finds a pair of conies a delight to behold.
“I have no doubt the binding geas is powerful but more powerful than
that, Toby?” As I’d guessed, the shuffler was old. His voice rattled and was
occasionally lost to wheezing coughing fits.
“With all due respect, Benedict, I know what I’m doing.” The priest
spoke with more authority than I’d heard before. “I’ve prayed, and I’ve
done the calculations. You have to trust me. The Order has to trust me.”
“Marius has already tried to kill you. Sweet Saint Bart, just saying that
makes me feel ill, that it has come to actual violence.”
“He wasn’t trying to kill me, just scare me. It’s not the first time. But
that’s in the past now.” The priest paused, something rattled. “No, try
turning it the other way.” The old man grunted, straining against something.
My mind jumped to all manner of prurient conclusions.
“I’m not convinced. Oh, right, I’ve got it,” Benedict said. There was a
pause and the rustle of what sounded like waxed paper. “Oh, these are
rather nice. Thank you, Toby. Now, about Marius. I think you underestimate
his ruthlessness and that of his order. This isn’t about religion to them, this
is about politics and power, albeit temporal.”
 “Glad you like them. My mother sends me a tin of them every month.
No matter where I am, her care packages always find me.” He laughed.
“The blackbell cherries are particularly good, very sweet. And since when
has there been a difference between politics and religion?”
“Oh yes, these are lovely,” Benedict said as he munched a mouthful of
candies. “Careful, Tobias, you’re starting to sound like those jaded old sots
in the Synod. But yes, it’s a sad fact that the two things are oft entwined, or
should I say entangled, to the detriment of all. But back to the matter. If
you’re right about that thing, and I’m not convinced you are, then
malevolent forces could be rising as we speak, forces that are beyond the
power of the Synod to contain. Please, for all our sakes, be wary of it. We
do not want another Schism War.”
Although I couldn’t see, I was pretty sure that thing the old scrote was
talking about was me. I can’t deny that he was right. People should be wary
of me, especially those who’ve landed me in a pot of arsepickle or talk
about me behind my back, those folks should really watch out.
“I know what I’m doing, Benedict. No, please, take them. I don’t have
much of a sweet tooth.”
“Very kind of you, my son. I’ll do what I can to calm the situation, but
I have little influence in Valen these days and Augustra is looking for any
means to garner support for her challenge. If she can rally the orders behind
a cause, any cause, even one as vile as this. Oh, Tobias. If only you hadn’t
given her the reason she needed.”
“I couldn’t lie. This is too important. I had to report what I’d found.”
“But what you found is open to interpretation and abuse, as we’re
seeing now. You should have waited, or better yet, not told the Synod at
all.”
“No. I’m sorry, Benedict, but I cannot legislate for the evil in people’s
hearts. The truth had to be told, the world must prepare. It will happen. That
thing is proof.”
“If you fail, hundreds, nay, thousands might perish.”
“I know. Enjoy the sweets.”
“I shall. May Saint Bart guide you, my son.” The old man sighed,
defeated.
The latch rattled. I lay back down before the door swung open. A curl
of warm air blew the same, pissy, sweaty smell of old human across my
face, now sweetened, if not overly improved, by the syrupy tang of sugar
and cherries. When the old man had shuffled off around the corner, I rolled
on my back and stared at the whitewashed ceiling. A cold nugget of
discontent lodged uncomfortably in my gut and refused to budge. They
were scheming, and I was involved and worse of all, it didn’t alarm me
overmuch.
By the time I drifted back off to sleep, dawn had begun to wash night’s
shadows from the walls. I dreamed of the demon Shallunsard, saw him
sitting on his obsidian throne, toying with the broken hilt of Dawnslight. He
looked up, looked my dream self in the eye, and shook his head.
 8

It wasn’t the call to morning prayers that woke me. What roused me from
my slumber was the frantic clamor of alarm bells ringing out across the city.
Bereft of anything approaching a sense of emergency or purposefulness,
priests and priestesses stumbled into the corridor and clumped themselves
into babbling knots of confusion.
The air was tinged with smoke from bakery ovens lit hours earlier, but
as dawn approached the smell thickened into something more sinister than
baking bread. My first instinct when trouble called was to absent myself
and yet, here I was, guarding the priest’s chamber door like a faithful cur
and wondering why. When he finally showed himself, I bundled him back
inside, followed him in, and locked the door behind us. He flounder
mouthed something incomprehensible, his words dictated by a sleep-fugged
mind. I propped a chair behind the door, my hands twitching for blades I
didn’t have.
“What the hell is going on, Breed?” He rubbed his eyes. “What are you
doing?”
“Looking after you, your priestness. Now, stay away from the door
until I’ve had a look-see out the window, there’s a good fellow.”
I noted that I was concerned for his welfare. While I grappled with the
unfamiliar feeling of giving a damn about someone, I picked up a bludgeon-
sized plaster effigy of Saint Bartholomew from the priest’s desk and went to
the window to see what the hell was going on. The monastery courtyard
was filling with bewildered-looking devil-dodgers, but my attention was
drawn beyond the walls to what I assumed was the cause of the alarm.
I have no idea who named spew maggots, but whoever it was had a
dark sense of humor or a poor grasp of scale. These demonspawn were
between six and eight feet long. True enough, they were maggot-like in that
they were eyeless and limbless and as pale as a bled corpse, but there was
no spewing, quite the opposite in fact. Their round mouths were lined with
three rows of serrated teeth, which were capable of chewing through rock.
How they’d come to be on the streets of Appleton instead of miles
underground was a mystery as much as it was a surprise, but there they
were dozens of them.
 The priest joined me by the window. “Sweet Saint Bart and all the
angels.” He tugged the improvised club from my hands.
“Miners must have delved a nest of them or flooded their tunnels.
Look there’s more coming up.” I pointed out where two more were
breaking through the cobbles.
“It can’t be just one nest, or one mine come to that.” He pointed into
the distance to a cloud of dust rising from a collapsing building. “They’re
coming up all over.”
I grabbed the lintel of the window. The wood creaked but seemed
sound. “Do you mind?”
He shook his head. I swung myself out and up onto the roof. It was
good to feel the cool rush of the wind against my scales. I looked across the
city, across the tiled rooftops that spread in rolling red waves to the rim of
the horizon. I could go anywhere in the city from up here, one leap and I’d
be free, but I didn’t leave. The magic bound me to the priest. I climbed on
the shoulders of a statue to get a better look. It had been worn to an
anonymous lump by decades of wind and rain, but it made an excellent
perch from which to view the city.
“What can you see?” the priest shouted.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Actually, I do.”
“More spew maggots, all over the city. They’re eating everything,
everyone that comes near. Buildings are collapsing into tunnels. It’s chaos.”
The cry of ‘demon’ rang through the streets. Spew maggots were said
to be demonspawn. They were supposedly created by infernal magic for the
same reason that the Mage Lords created warspawn, which was to fight the
battles that humans and demons didn’t want to fight themselves. That had
been over seven hundred years ago. Since then spew maggots had bred and
lived relatively peacefully deep underground. They weren’t harmless and
were justifiably feared and avoided by miners.
Why they were here, eating the citizens of Appleton like it was the
good old days of the Schism War was a mystery, at least I hoped it was. It
occurred to me that it might possibly be my fault, given it had been just
over a week since I’d released Shallunsard. I felt a small stab of guilt when
I thought about my comrades of the Blade down in the sewers up close and
personal with the maggots, but the feeling passed when I recalled how none
of the bastards had tried to spring me from prison. Down below, the
monastery gate cracked like kindling under the assault of a couple of
maggots that were smashing their chitin armored heads against it like a pair
of living battering rams. A sense of alarm rose within me as I realized that
the monastery and the Order of Saint Bartholomew were in grave danger.
“If I had my swords I could do something to help them,” I shouted.
And then it struck me. The concern I was feeling wasn’t mine. I didn’t give
a damn if my own Mother was being choked down by the maggots, so why
did I care about these sanctimonious geese? I didn’t, but the priest did. His
anxiety was infecting me through the bond we shared, filling me with all
manner of unwanted and hitherto unfamiliar emotions. And what was
worse, it didn’t even make me angry, just dispassionately aware of the fact.
“Everyone, get inside,” Tobias shouted. “Dear gods, why are they just
standing there? Move, damn you.”
“Can’t you do something?” I asked. A maggot reared up and bit a
chunk out of a grey-haired sister. “Sweet salvation, they’re fast.”
Perhaps summoned to the feast by its kin, or drawn by the blood
soaking into the earth, another maggot burst through the cobbled courtyard.
The smell of burning filled the air, smoke ropes uncoiled into the lightening
sky.
“Give me my blades and I can help them.”
“I can’t.”
“Then you do something. They’re dying down there.”
“I just can’t. The angles are wrong. There’s nothing I can do,” the
priest shouted. Those members of the order who were able, ran inside while
the maggots feasted on their unfortunate brethren.
“Fuck the angles. Those things will go through this place like giant
flesh-eating maggots. You have to do something.” I’d never heard me sound
so concerned for anyone except myself. It was strangely moving, a bit like
indigestion.
“Didn’t you hear me? I can’t.”
I snorted. “I heard you. I just don’t believe you.”
He craned his neck and glared up at me as though I’d just called his
mother a whore and then with a yell, he turned and gesticulated at the
courtyard. There followed a moment of utter silence where it seemed that
time held its breath, froze the world, and stilled the very beating of my
heart. The next moment rushed in with the fury of a storm. The air was
whipped to splinters as sharp as glass and the pre-dawn day turned to fire.
The backwash of heat knocked me off my perch and onto the roof. My third
eyelids flashed closed a moment before flames engulfed the courtyard and
utterly consumed the maggots. The smell of cooked demonspawn was,
unique.
The priest sagged against the sill. I grabbed the edge of the roof and
swung back in through the window. He was out cold, drained by the spell. If
that was what happened when the angles were wrong, I’d love to see what
happened when they were right. The milksop had power.
I picked him up and tossed him on the bed before going back to the
window to survey the damage. The courtyard, several outhouses, the
remains of the gates, and a cart in the street outside the monastery were all
blazing merrily. The fire would have spread to the monastery proper had not
a dozen or so of the order rushed out and doused the blaze with a variety of
small spells and a good quantity of water. By the time they’d finished, the
suns were over the horizon and a fair portion of Appleton had been reduced
to smoldering rubble. In truth, the city didn’t look too worse for wear,
perhaps a little blacker than the day before when it had mostly been grey.
While he was unconscious the priest’s anxieties didn’t reach me
through the bond we’d been forced to share, so I could enjoy watching the
god-mongers in the courtyard stumbling around in the bleeding light of
dawn. As amusing as it was watching them flounder, I couldn’t help
wondering why the maggots had attacked the city. I looked to the west,
beyond the black line of rooftops, towards the distant shadow of the
mountains where Shallunsard’s lair lay buried.
The priest moaned in his sleep. I slapped a damp cloth on his forehead
and although I’d resisted temptation for almost a full hour, I finally gave in
and searched him. He had a sweet rum-bung stashed in his pack which
didn’t surprise me as I’d never met a poor priest. I took a couple of the
crowns and some pennies and put the still healthy pouch back where I
found it. Taking the coins hurt. A stab of pain skewered me between the
eyes, but it was nowhere near as bad as that which I’d felt when I’d given
him a bit o’ lip after the bonding. This pain settled into something akin to a
hangover and I’d had plenty of those. Of course, I had to go and spoil the
moment by fantasizing about smothering the whey-faced bastard with a
pillow which caused an instant and blinding pain that dropped me to my
knees.
 The priest woke up about an hour after he’d cast the spell. Not long
after he came round there was a knock on the door. Still groggy, he
motioned for me to open it.
“What d’you want?” I asked the handful of slightly singed and
pensive-looking heaven-peddlers.
A skinny little woman looked up at me, clutching the yardstick
pendant around her neck. “We would like to speak to Brother Tobias. Is he,
that is, we would like…”
I got bored listening to her and closed the door.
The priest glared at me. “For goodness sake, Breed. Let them in.”
I shrugged and did as he bid. They shuffled inside. “Ah, Tobias,” said
the woman. I slammed the door behind them, put my back against it, and
folded my arms. The weak-kneed culls jumped in unison. The priest shot
me a warning glance.
“I’ve spoken to Benedict,” the woman stammered. “He asked me to,
that is, he’d like me to…”
“Say thank you?” I suggested.
The woman dared a scowl in my direction. “He wanted me to ask you
when, er… well…”
One of the other priests, a portly fellow who looked as bored of
listening to her as I was, stepped in as she choked on another mouthful of
words. Tobias rubbed the bridge of his nose, dark circles ringed his eyes.
“You destroyed the whole courtyard, Toby, not to mention the damage to
the monastery. It was pure luck that you didn’t kill anyone. Such a
regrettable lack of control.” The fellow sighed. “We’ve already had the city
guard pay us a visit. To put it mildly, they are less than pleased.”
“You’re right, Alph, I don’t know what came over me.” Tobias
scowled at me.
Alph softened. “It was probably shock. Nevertheless, it has left us in a
difficult situation.”
Tobias bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll go and explain what
happened.”
“Oh, no need. Benedict managed to placate them, for now.” The group
exchanged guilty looks. “He, that is, we were wondering when you were
thinking of leaving? Only, sooner might be better than later, given what has
happened.”
 Tobias sat on the edge of the bed. An uncomfortable silence fell over
the room. Alph went over to him and put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m
sorry, Tobias, but I’m sure you understand. Your use of the spell was, well.”
“Impressive?” I offered. I was only trying to be helpful and speed up
the painfully slow eviction.
“That’s enough, Breed,” Tobias’s voice was graveled and weary.
“Sister Lillian, Brother Alph, everyone. I did what I thought I had to do, but
yes, I panicked. I knew the angles were wrong, but I did it anyway.” He
again shot me an accusing look. “I made a bad calculation. I’m sorry.”
Rather than give him a kicking, which is what would happen in the
Guild if you screwed up, the group closed around him and offered their
deepest sympathies. Bad angles my arse, they were jealous and afraid. He
had power that would make most sellspells weep, and they were making
him apologize for using it to save their miserable hides.
After an hour or so of turgid theologizing and the recitation of many,
many trite aphorisms, Sister Lillian led the group in a long-winded prayer.
When they were done, the sorry crew filed out. Exhausted and downcast,
Tobias sat and stared at the icon of Saint Bartholomew.
“I told you the angles were wrong,” he said.
I shrugged. “They looked pretty fucking right from where I was
standing.”

THE GREENSHANKS finally cornered and slaughtered the last maggot just before
midnight. The booming rapport of firelances heralded an end to the menace,
but the damage had been done. The priest half-heartedly packed a few more
things while I watched the city burn.
The next morning, after a breakfast of thin gruel we departed, waved
off by a tired Father Benedict and a guilty-looking Sister Lillian. The three
of them exchanged a few whispered words and said another prayer before
we could finally be on our way.
I was loaded with the pig pizzle's baggage, but I didn’t mind. Although
he was in a somber mood, I was happy that we were leaving town and
heading to Valen, which was exactly where I wanted to go. I didn’t know a
lot about Imperial history, that which was recorded seemed like the dullest,
egotistical fluff; just a list of wars and the names of the kings and princes
that waged them. What I did know was that the Hall of Heroes was in Valen
and that the Hammer of the North and his blasted hammer were buried
there.
I kept my head down and my eyes open as we made our way through
the carnage. After Sketh’s killing and the maggot attack, I was betting Jing
and Mother would be too busy to worry about me. Of course, as soon as
they had a grip on the situation one or other of them, both if I was unlucky,
would come after me. Crime lords, like nobility, were a vindictive breed
and it was bad for business to let a slight go unpunished. Until a few days
ago I’d have been fighting with my fellow Blades against Jing and the
maggots and whatever else fate threw at the Guild. Now the only family I’d
ever known was lost to me. I cannot say I missed them.
A curfew and order for summary execution for looting had
immediately been put in place and judging by the crop of makeshift gallows
that had sprung up across town, the law was being enthusiastically
enforced.
We fought our way along crowded streets, past the burned-out wrecks
of buildings and yawning maggot pits. A column of bull-shouldered miners,
candle lamps tied to their caps, passed us on their way to the mines. Instead
of the usual resigned misery, today their grimed faces were rigid with fear.
The boss of their crew was an ogren with a limp. She cursed and kicked
those who dawdled but didn’t seem overly enthusiastic about her work. I
didn’t blame her or them considering what might be waiting for them below
ground.
“Why are they going to the mines today?” the priest enquired. “Surely
it’s too dangerous?”
“They don’t have a choice. Look at their wrists. D’you see the
jewelry?” I pointed out the bracelets marking them as indentured servants.
“The mine owners’ will make them earn their freedom even if it means
sending them to hell. The Empirifex needs his calthracite.”
The priest blanched. “It isn’t right. Someone should stop this.”
I laughed. He was ridiculously naïve. How this cull had survived to
adulthood was a marvel. “You should go tell the patricians who own these
poor culls’ debts then. I’m sure they’ll take heed of your council, and while
you’re at it, you can spring me, seeing as how you’re so set against forced
labor.”
 He stopped and glared at me. The miners filed past. The tide of
refugees heading in the opposite direction flowed around us. My head
started to pound.
“How can you, how dare you make light when you’ve seen what those
things have done?”
“What am I supposed to do? Cry? At least they’re only bound by
contract. They could do a runner if they wanted to, unlike me.” The veins in
my temples throbbed.
“No one made you break the law.”
“In point of fact, they did, sort of.”
“Enough. You’ve said enough.”
Steel flashed in his eyes and just for a second it looked like he might
forget his meek manners and burn me to a crisp. I stood my ground. Let
him, I had little to lose. He shook his head and stormed off. Perhaps like
me, he was getting a taste of how the other felt. Perhaps his flaring temper
was mine. I hoped so. I hoped my anger was causing him as much
confusion as his bleeding heart was causing me.
As we made our way out of the city, I heard all manner of grisly tale
being spread like pox through the scared droves fleeing the mayhem. Wild-
eyed street preachers lamented the end of days, drunks gave gory,
unabridged accounts of what the spew maggots had done. Citizens bleached
pale by fear told of entire streets that had been swallowed by sinkholes and
their hapless inhabitants devoured by the beasts crawling below. Demons
had apparently come to Appleton. My palm itched. I put my head down and
kept walking.
Flooding in the calth mines had probably driven the maggots to the
surface. Damn mine owners, scraping every last crumb of calth out of the
ground. It was a surprise this hadn’t happened before. That was what I kept
telling myself as I forged a path to the gate. While I beat my guilty
conscience into submission I kept us moving. I was carrying almost all the
priest’s belongings as well as dragging him behind me and shoving aside
those laggards who got in our way.
Occasionally he insisted we stop and help some unfortunate cull whose
cart was stuck in the mud or who needed a penny to buy food for their sick
infant, blind mother, one-legged aunt twice removed. The priest was soft for
all manner of con trick and sob story and slowed our progress considerably.
 The closer we got to the Old Town gate out of the city, the more
crowded the streets became. It seemed like the only folk not trying to leave
were the bondsmen and women and their families. Huddled groups of the
indentured watched as the tide of people flooded from the city, leaving them
behind to clean up the mess along with the greenshanks who’d enslaved
themselves with oaths of loyalty instead of debt. I shook my head. Fools the
lot of them.
On Main Street an urux had sunk up to its shoulders in a pothole,
miring the over-laden wagon it was pulling up to the axles and blocking the
road. The animal wheezed pitifully as its lungs were slowly crushed and its
frustrated owner lashed and kicked it in a futile attempt to get it moving.
The damage the maggots had caused was immense and still taking its
toll on the city and its inhabitants. All over town buildings were collapsing,
undermined by the maggots’ furious burrowing, leaving both sides of the
city a wreck. If they’d survived, the Midnight Court would do well out of
this.
We reached the gate just after midday. The greenshanks on duty were
in an ugly mood. Many had the ghostly ash-blasted features of those who’d
been using firelances. The backblast from calthracite and zanthe crystal dust
tattooed the skin of cannoneers with tiny silver-white pockmarks. The
greenshanks eyed the crowd with the cold detachment of people too used to
killing but we passed beneath their dead-eyed gaze without drawing
attention.
Bursting from the city on the desperate tide, we joined the wave of
dispossessed rolling north. I kept glancing over my shoulder, to see if I was
being followed. As far as I could tell I wasn’t, and so we made our way out
with a group of refugees that swelled and contracted by turns as people
joined or left the main road. Anxiety and tension permeated every
conversation. Every knot of travelers was tied together by the fearful
rumors that demons had returned.
“Off t’ Shadowspite,” a wide-eyed, grinning beggar barked at the
priest. The maunder couldn’t have been as old as he looked, given the vigor
with which he was scratching his nethers and skipping along the road, but
he was grimy, withered as kindling, and stank of pel and cheap drink.
“I’m sorry?” Tobias looked up for the first time in hours. He’d been
quiet since our little argument, lost in whatever wearisome thoughts passed
through his soft skull case. That he’d torched the monastery courtyard was
probably also weighing heavily on his tender little conscience.
“Them demons.” The old man cackled and gestured at me with shit
stained fingers. “They’re heading t’ the mountains. Mark me, this is just the
beginnin’.”
“And you’d know, would you?” I made as if to backhand him. “Did
you divine the truth in a ha’penny dram of bucket brew?” He skipped back,
stayed just out of arm’s reach. Beggars are good at gauging how much and
from whom they needed to keep a distance.
“Don’t like the rub o’ truth, eh, demonspawn?” The old tosspot shot
me a gap-toothed grin.
The proclamation caused several of our fellow travelers to give me the
fish eye. I laughed it off but there wasn’t a blasted thing I could do to allay
their fears, not now that the old scrote had planted the seed of distrust in
their fearful and superstitious minds. To attempt to deny the claim would
have been tantamount to an admission in their eyes. In truth, any
acknowledgment would have been divined like chicken guts and, given
what I look like, probably taken as proof of guilt. People were afraid and
looking for something tangible on which to hang their fears. Not to mention
that in part, they would have been correct.
The demon mark in my palm itched, or perhaps I just thought it did
because my conscience was pricking me. Whatever the cause, I ignored it. I
didn’t let on that I’d heard the whispered conjecture about my heritage, or
that I could smell the pungent aroma of fear that bloomed like swamp
miasma whenever the old pel-head stirred the travelers’ doubts about me
with his drug-fuddled insinuations.
That night, when the group we’d been walking with stopped to make
camp, the unofficial leaders of the motley crew, a retired soldier, and a
baker asked for ‘a quiet word’ with the priest. If I hadn’t seen him turn the
monastery courtyard into a furnace I’d have been concerned for his safety.
As it was I just hoped the angles were right.
“People are afraid.” I overheard the baker say and saw the heads of his
crew nod in agreement.
“This is ridiculous,” the priest replied and proceeded to argue my case.
It was a spirited, but ultimately futile effort.
The debate went on long after suns’ set. I had to admire the priest’s
tenacity, but why he even bothered to argue with them was beyond me.
They’d made up their minds before they’d come over to speak to him, the
thing that made me chuckle was that, in this case, they were right. I was
part of the problem. Not that they knew it, they were just ignorant peasants
afraid of me because I didn’t look like them. I was dangerous to be around,
trouble in tooth and claw, and on some level, the mad old beggar had sensed
it.
In a purely practical way, we were better off without the rest of the
group. I knew that if I was hunting this road, I’d go for the slow and
helpless before anything that looked like me. Add to that the priest’s
explosive gifts and we were far more likely to travel unmolested by
brigands than a bunch of old folk, children, and merchants. The fools didn’t
know it, but they were arguing to divest themselves of the best defense they
had against demons and more mundane monsters.
When tempers began to fray, and voices grew louder, the priest walked
away. I could see that he was used to losing by the way his face fell so
easily into the sad little frown I’d seen so often in our brief association. It
was the same look I’d seen on his face when Blackbeard was about to close
his account. This seemingly habitual acceptance of inevitable failure,
despite all the power he could wield baffled me.
“I don’t know why you bothered,” I said as we set off, leaving the
camp of scared refugees behind us.
“Because it’s safer for everyone if we travel together,” he answered,
restoring my lack of faith in humanity. “And because their ignorance had to
be challenged, now more than ever.”
He had to go and spoil it.
“I’m not exactly a saint, you know.” I shook my left wrist, the silver
cuff gleamed.
He rubbed his chin with his stump. “No, perhaps not, but neither are
you a demon.”
I’m used to keeping a straight face, but I was sure I could feel the
prickle of a blush touch my cheeks. I blame the human part of me, it always
lets me down.
“Oi, wait,” someone behind us shouted. We stopped. I was surprised to
see the old tosspot who’d caused the trouble skipping along the road,
waving his spindly arms. I set off walking. The priest stayed where he was.
“I’m coming with you,” the beggar announced.
“I don’t think so.” I hunted around for a rock to throw at him.
 The priest shook his head. “Why would you want to come with us?
You all but accused my servant of being a demon.”
The beggar scratched his bony crotch and leered at us. “Better t’ run
with the wolves than the sheep, eh?”
“Oh, no you don’t.” I said but the priest waved me to silence.
“You may come with us.” He smiled benevolently at the old scrote.
“Perhaps when you get to know Breed better, you’ll revise your opinion.”
The old man slapped his thigh and danced on the spot. “I doubt it.”
“So do I,” I said. “Now fuck off.” I bared my fangs, but my aggression
didn’t impress him. The beggar was smart enough to know who was in
charge. He grinned back at me, his bloodshot eyes bright with mirth.
“D’you have a name?” the priest asked him.
“Tosspot,” I offered.
The beggar laughed and danced about some more. Like most hardened
pel users, he struggled to keep still. “Tosspot? Aye, I’ve tossed a few pots.”
He cackled. “Tossed in a few too. Tosspot, all right demon.” He winked at
me. “That’ll do.”
 9

When it became too dark for the priest and Tosspot to see, Tobias called a
halt near a roadside shrine dedicated to the Pantheon. The All-Seeing Eye,
the symbol that represented the dozens of officially sacred gods and
hundreds of honored saints was painted on a roughly carved stone that was
surrounded by flies, piles of rotting fruit, and dead flowers.
After the priest had prayed and cleaned up the shrine, we made camp,
or rather, I made camp. Tosspot and the priest wandered off in opposite
directions to void their bowels while I built a fire and prepared some food
for Tobias. I wasn’t hungry, I’d eaten my fill the night before at the
monastery, which would see me right for a day or so. Humans were
constantly eating, drinking, and shitting. It was a wonder they ever got
anything else done.
Tosspot came back first. I could smell him before his grimy little
monkey face emerged from the bracken. The fresh, smutty brown streaks on
his ragged breeches confirmed his complete lack of hygiene or self-respect.
“Go wash before you sit by this fire, you stinking cockroach,” I
growled. Humans struggle to growl and talk, I have no such problem. He
looked around for the priest, but he wasn’t back yet. The grin faded.
“There ain’t no rive—” he began.
I pointed in the direction of the stream that I could hear burbling in the
woods north of where we were camped. Grumbling, he trudged back into
the undergrowth. If I hadn’t been stricken by a severe case of fuck it, I
would have followed him in and drowned the disgusting old bastard.
When he returned, Tobias said a prayer and then without further
comment, ate the burnt bread and cheese I’d prepared. At a time like this I’d
clean my blades or wax my bow. I felt lost without them. When he finished,
the priest took out a notebook and pen. He cursed.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I’ve lost the nib.” He rummaged in his bags.
I laughed.
“Something amusing?” He gave up looking through his bag and
resorted to using a pencil for his scribbling.
 “I met a fellow who specializes in stealing nibs, at least, that’s the
story he told me. He was quite the rum cove.”
He looked up, fixed me with a questioning stare. “Do you know
anyone who makes an honest living?”
“Plenty. Why, priest, d’you want to meet some?”
“Are you implying that priests are dishonest?”
“Certainly not, master.” I cracked a smile.
“It doesn’t work on me, you know.” He closed the book.
“What doesn’t work on you?”
“Showing your fangs like that. I’m not intimidated or impressed.”
You fucking well would be if I wasn’t bound by a geas. The thought
and accompanying mental image of me ripping his throat out was
immediately followed by a spike of pain so sharp it made my eyes water.
The priest’s attitude immediately changed from scolding to concerned.
“Are you all right, Breed?” He moved over to me, rested his stump on my
shoulder. “That was my doing, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be angry at you.”
I blinked away the purple lights and almost laughed but managed to
catch myself. The idiot didn’t understand the nature of the bond as well as
he should. “No, I deserved it.” I said, as contrite as a beggarly cur.
“No, no you didn’t. I’m sorry. Sorry for everything.”
“No need, master.”
He looked pained. “Don’t call me master. Call me Tobias, or priest,
anything, but I am no one’s master.” That was the wisest thing he’d said all
day. I smiled, tight-lipped, jaw clenched. He sat next to his pile of bags and
picked up his notebook. That he felt guilty was good. It was a weakness I
could work to my own end which was to get as far from Appleton as
possible and as close to the tomb of the Hammer of the North as this fool
could take me.
“Your hair, it isn’t like human hair, is it?” he asked, keen to change the
subject.
“No, not really.” I resisted the urge to remark on his startling powers of
observation.
“Does blood flow to the end of each shaft? Only, I notice some of them
are pierced.”
“Almost to the end. They don’t bleed much when they’re torn.”
I got the feeling he was making notes about me, studying me like one
of those things kept in the jars of vinegar that moldered in the apothecary’s
window. A dull headache pulsed in the back of my skull.
He nodded and scribbled something in his book. “You have a third
eyelid?”
Again I resisted the urge to congratulate him. “Yes, very useful it is
too.”
“But no tail at all?”
“No, more’s the pity. Thoasa tails make excellent weapons and give
them superb balance.” I scratched my nethers, sat back and grinned.
“Anything else you want to know about?”
The tip of the pencil snapped on the page. He shut the notebook. “I,
er…”
The undergrowth stirred. I could smell Tosspot before he emerged,
spackled with loamy detritus, looking for all the world like a mummified
turd. He stank less of shit than he had, but the smell had been replaced by
another equally unwholesome aroma which explained the flush in his
cheeks and the length of time he’d been away. He reached for the bread I’d
left by the fire.
“Touch it, and I’ll break your arm.” I said. His hand froze mid-air. He
looked at Tobias who frowned at me before turning to the beggar.
“Please, take it, eat your fill,” Tobias said.
Tosspot snatched the bread and tore a chunk off.
Uncharacteristically for a pel addict, he put half back.
“Don’t feel that you need to ask if you want to eat anything, Breed,”
Tobias nodded towards the bread.
I looked at Tosspot gnawing on the chunk of bread with his blackened
teeth. “Not hungry, thanks. You eat it before it goes stale.” The priest
finished the bread by which time the suns’ red halos were being cut to
ribbons by the saw-tooth spikes of the treetops.

WE’D CAMPED near the road. Carts, wagons, and people on foot passed by late
into the night, all heading away from Appleton. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t need
to, which was handy because I didn’t trust that self-abuser Tosspot. I’d
work out watch shifts with the priest on the morrow if he still insisted on
letting the mad old goat travel with us.
 The priest had rolled himself up in a blanket. Tosspot curled up beside
the dying embers of the fire, his cheeks were dusted with ash making him
look like a penitent on pilgrimage.
“One o’ them maggots came up near Steel-Eye Square,” he said.
“Right under a big, old bull urux.” His rheumy eyes shone in the firelight.
“It ate right through it, came out its back and that old bull still alive.” He
shook his head, dislodging breadcrumbs from his matted beard. “Hole the
size o’ the suns right through it and it still standing, eyes wide as dinner
plates. Took an age afore it realized it was dead. Now that’s stupid, eh?”
“Speaking of stupid, how come you didn’t get eaten when they
attacked?” I asked.
He tapped the side of his rum swollen nose. “Could ask you the same,
eh?” He chuckled. “I’m quick, used to be really quick. Quick as you.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “No human is as quick as me.”
“Not now maybe, but once, a long time ago,” he said.
“Before you got a taste for pel and cheap booze?”
“Oh, aye, back in my glory days.” He hacked and spat into the fire.
“Back when the road was scattered with rose petals and every step was
marked by a ballad, back when we were heroes.”
I laughed. Deep in the forest, something howled.

WE’D WALKED for four days and had barely made it a hundred miles from
Appleton. At this rate, I’d die of old age before we even reached Valen. I
needed to put more distance between me, the Blades, and the Pearl. If
they’d a mind, Mother and Jing could afford to send an assassin to just
about anywhere in the Empire. I wasn’t the praying kind, but I very much
hoped Jing had been eaten by a spew maggot. It was simply too much to
hope that a giant, carnivorous demonspawn had done for Mother.
We came to an old, pre-Schism bridge where the road split north and
east. I knew it was pre-Schism because it was massive, well made, and
decorated with grim-faced, human warriors. Centuries of neglect and
robbery had taken its toll, and the once magnificent example of pre-Schism
architecture was slowly crumbling into the gushing torrent. Even in its
dilapidated state, it was far grander than anything I’d seen that had been
built after the war.
The priest informed me that we’d be heading east to Valen. The more
direct route was over the unimaginatively named Dragon Spine mountains
that ran from north to south. We could have taken the road north, through
the foothills and up as far as the coast. From there we could either follow
the coast east or take ship to Valen. The easiest, but longest route was the
one the priest decided to take. We’d take the road east, go around the
mountains before turning north to Valen. If I’d been on my own I’d have
gone over the mountains, but I was shackled to a one-handed priest and a
stray lunatic. The priest could blow the giblets out of just about anything
nasty we might encounter, but I still wished that I was carrying something
sharp and pointy instead of a pack full of books and a skillet. I ask you,
books instead of blades? Pointless. My comrades would, quite rightly, burst
their bladders laughing if they knew what I’d been reduced to.
That eve, as twilight dimmed the day and tinted the world in shades of
mauve, we came upon a village, and not a moment too soon. I had been
forced to walk at a snail’s gallop for hours while the priest blathered godly
nonsense at the capering madman. The endless sermonizing made me wish
I’d been born without ears.
According to the boundary stone, the village was called Little Lea. It
was little enough, but I couldn’t see a lea, just a dusty gash of road, and a
three-legged dog mooching around the sign. If it had been named
appropriately the place would have been called Little Shithole, which I’ll
grant was less lyrical than Little Lea but a touch more honest.
The inn wasn’t hard to find. Other than a scatter of one-storey
dwellings there were only a few other buildings of note. Standing back from
the road was what looked like the village hall. Near the hall was a run-down
guard tower that was marked by a tattered Imperial standard. Across the
road from the guard tower, down by the river, was a mill, and beside the
mill’s tailrace was a turf-roofed forge. The mill’s water wheel churned
monotonously, each revolution marking the passage of time with a sodden
creak. If I’d been given the choice of living a single day in Appleton or
somewhere like this for a hundred years, I’d choose Appleton in a heartbeat.
“There isn’t a temple,” the priest said like it mattered.
“There’s a shrine.” I chinned in the direction of a roadside shrine that
was hung with faded prayer ribbons and piled with tattered offerings. The
priest went over and knelt before the badly painted image of the All-Seeing
Eye. Tosspot pulled a broken pipe from his shirt and licked the sticky pel
residue from the bowl.
“You’re not going t’ pray? Beg the gods to save you from your
miserable existence?” I teased Tosspot, not just because I was bored, but
also because I didn’t like him.
“After you, Breed.” The idiot grin was replaced by a facial tic. “Don’t
suppose you’ve got any coin have you?”
He didn’t need to go on. He was an addict who spent every penny he
got on pel or gut-rot booze. I had what I’d stolen from the priest and under
normal circumstances wouldn’t have given him so much as the stink off my
shit, but perhaps if he got drunk the priest might cut him adrift. I tossed him
a penny.
Despite the uncontrollable twitching that afflicted him, he snatched the
coin from the air with the practiced deftness of the desperate. “Ah, yer an
upstanding cove, Breed.” He scuttled over to the inn, knuckles bleaching
around his prize.
The priest spent the next half hour with his head in the dirt before the
All-Seeing Eye. I spent it eyeing the traffic and getting the lie of the land
for want of something better to do. There seemed to be a lot of business
going on between the guard tower and the village hall, even though it was
the time of day when all respectable types should be sitting down to their
dinner.
Three uniformed greenshanks ambled back and forth between the hall
and the tower. I doubted that there would be many more of them stationed
here, perhaps two or three with maybe a captain or a sergeant. Although we
were on a main road, the village didn’t warrant any more protection than a
handful of greenshanks. If there hadn’t been an inn it wouldn’t have had an
outpost at all. Places like this usually deputized the locals to swell the
lurchers’ ranks when the need arose. I knew this from personal experience
of having to leg it once or twice from the odd posse of pitchfork-wielding
bumpkins when I’d pulled jobs out of town.
The priest eventually stopped praying and came over. “Thank you for
waiting, Breed. I sometimes lose myself in contemplation of the holy
scriptures.”
“It’s not like I have a choice, is it? If I wander too far, my brain’ll melt
and run out of my ears like tallow.” I spoke without thinking. He frowned, I
immediately regretted snapping. Not only did it hurt, but I had to win this
cull’s trust, and being sharp with him wasn’t going to keep him sweet.
“No. Quite.” He brushed past me and stomped towards the inn, head
down, shoulders hunched. I sank a fang into my tongue until I tasted sweet
iron. I did it to remind myself to stay focused. A year and a day. It wasn’t
long. If I was to get the hammer for the blasted demon or get hold of
enough gold to pay a sellspell to break the bond, I’d need to get on the
priest’s good side.
From the outside the inn looked like a dump. It was even less inspiring
on the inside. A string of half rotten, pipe-smoked hams was hanging above
the bar, out of reach of what would have to be extremely hungry patrons.
The cloying, sickly sweet smell of partially cured, partially rotten pig was
overlaid with the odor of stale beer, piss, pipe-smoke, pigeon shit, and dried
urux dung. It was the same olfactory tale told by every backwater tavern in
the Empire. Bubbling on the hearth was a large pot of mutton fat and turnip
stew. A dog was licking the oversized ladle propped in the inglenook. It was
all very homely and utterly wretched.
“We don’t serve your kind,” the one-eyed innkeeper barked as she
burnished a tankard with a spit rag. I looked around, as it was hard to tell
where her eye was aiming. Out of habit rather than anger I reached for the
ghosts of my blades. The priest strode over to the bar. Before the woman
could open her mouth again, he flipped a silver half-crown on the stained
counter.
“Don’t be ridiculous, that is my servant. I require a room and food, for
both of us.”
The barkeep frowned and rubbed harder at the tankard. She was
obviously thrown by the sureness of the priest’s demeanor, the absolute, ‘do
not question me’ tone of voice he’d produced from gods only knew where. I
was impressed, it seemed that the little pissweed had some orchids after all.
‘We don’t serve your kind’ wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before, even
in Appleton it was a common refrain and had lost its sting years ago. Under
normal circumstances, I’d either teach whoever said it some manners or, if
there were too many witnesses, I’d leave and return at a later date and rob
them blind. I liked to think of it as an arsehole tax. However, this was a
first. A human was speaking up for me. If it hadn’t been his fault that I was
here I’d have been touched.
 Placated by the coin, we were shown to a booth. While we waited for
our food and ale to arrive we were surreptitiously scrutinized by a handful
of bacon-faced and slack-jawed yokels. Happily, Tosspot was nowhere to be
seen.
Eventually, the barkeep came over and slid two plates of congealing
slop across the table, along with two tankards of grease-spotted ale. When
she saw me looking at her stitched up eyelid, she turned her head away. I
caught a whiff of something fishy with subtle undertones of overripe peach.
It was her. The lank, greasy hair, the pasty complexion livened by cheap
rouge. Her antipathy towards me made sense now.
I gave her the smallest of nods, an imperceptible acknowledgment that
said, her secret was safe with me, which it was, so long as she played fair.
She wasn’t warspawn, neither was she like me, a hybrid of two distinct
species. She was probably one of the ‘touched’. A poor cull spawned a little
too close to an old, Schism battleground who’d been warped before birth by
the poisonous magic that still polluted those places after seven hundred
years.
The shame of being touched meant good business for shankers who,
for a price, would remove a touched babe’s less than human feature with a
snip here and a stitch there and no one would be the wiser save dear old
mother and father. Eyestalks were a common Schism touch, so many a child
grew up one-eyed or blind, but to some doting parents it was thought better
to maim their children than have them called outcast.
Those parents who couldn’t afford the discreet services of a shanker
often tossed their ill-favored offspring into the nearest river rather than live
with the shame. Some rare few kept their children as they came. It was no
surprise that the innkeeper didn’t serve warspawn, she didn’t want anyone
with a sense of smell like mine to rumble her. That she could ‘pass’ for
human with just a few minor adjustments had probably saved her life. She
didn’t let on to me, she hurried away.
“What’s the matter?” Tobias asked.
“Nothing, except,” I chased a lump of gristle around my plate. “It’s
just that I’ve never been so far from home.” I looked him square in the face,
didn’t blink, didn’t blush. If there was one thing I could do well, other than
fight and steal, it was lie when I needed to. He maneuvered his bowl with
his stump and stirred the broth.
 He looked down. “I never intended this to happen. You must believe
me when I tell you that everything I do is because I have to. So much is at
stake, so much depends on me.”
“I understand,” I said, the bile rising in my gorge. “Fate has conspired
against us.” It was hard playing nice when all I wanted to do was grab him
by the back of the neck and drown him in his stew. A swift, blinding stab of
pain, so sharp it made my eyes water followed the murderous thought,
which was good. I’d never cried in my life, but soft cull wasn’t to know
that.
The priest put down his spoon and almost patted my arm with his
stump but paused mid-air before awkwardly withdrawing. “I promise, I
shall endeavor to make our time together as easy as I can. I’m not a tyrant,
unlike some.” He’d left something unsaid, but I didn’t dwell on it. I had the
fish on the hook.
Sometime in the early hours, I woke to find myself sitting on top of
Tosspot with my hand around his throat, about to smash his head in with a
chamber pot. Someone else was shouting. Sleep-fugged, I forced my brain
to work back from there.
I dimly recalled that the door had creaked open while I was sleeping
on a palliasse beside it. The priest had been snoring fitfully on the bed.
Someone had crept inside, and I’d instinctively grabbed their ankle and
dragged them to the floor. At the same time, I’d leaped on top of them and
picked up the first thing that came to hand, ready to beat them to death with
it. Then I woke up just in time to not kill Tosspot, which was regrettable.
“Sweet Saint Bart, Breed. Let him go,” the priest commanded.
Reluctantly, I stopped squeezing the old scrote’s neck and got off him.
“Knock next time,” I said and returned to my mattress. Tosspot made an
unnecessarily dramatic show of coughing and gasping for breath.
“If that’s how you greet a friend, I’d hate t’ see how you treat your
enemies,” he mewled.
“You’re no friend of mine,” I said. “What did you think you were
doing, sneaking around in the middle of the night?”
“I’ve been busy. I’ve been scouting the lay of the land.” He got up
close to the priest, and whispered breathily in the poor cove’s face, spittle
flying from the blackened stumps of his teeth. “I’ve been exploring the
criminal underworld, for your safety, mind, and this is the thanks I get?”
 I had to laugh at the idea that Little Lea could possibly have anything
even approaching a criminal underworld.
“Well, er, thank you,” the priest said while trying not to recoil from the
old sot’s mephitic breath. “But there really is no need and for Bart’s sake,
what’s your real name? I refuse to call you Tosspot any longer.”
“Rubin, your Holiness, and mark me, places like this can hold nasty
surprises for unwary travelers, eh?”
“Thank you for your concern, Rubin, but I don’t think we’re in any
danger here.”
“Twat,” I said. The priest looked shocked. I pointed at Tosspot. “I
meant him.”
Tosspot chuckled, breathed rum fumes and the stench of decay into the
air. “Ah, well, you’re right there, Holiness, but yon Breed might be, eh?”
“What do you mean?” the priest asked.
“This is a waste of time. You should just toss the old scrote out and let
us get back to sleep.” Tosspot’s presence interfered with my plans to soften
up the priest. They ignored me.
Tosspot cast a wary glance over his shoulder. “As I was about my
business earlier on, I happened across a couple of bene coves.”
“A couple of what?” The priest looked to me for clarification.
“Reliable types. Although I very much doubt it round here. Mark me,
he’ll have been pissed out of his skull the minute he left us.” I beat a few
lumps out of the mattress and lay down. “He’s probably been sleeping in a
ditch ’til now. You should have a word with old one-eye, you paid for
privacy.”
The priest waved me to silence. ‘Go on, Rubin, tell us what
happened?”
“Well, I went with these fellows to a humbler establishment, where the
price of vittles is more suited to my pocket.”
“He means a backroom bawdy hole where you’ll be lucky if the
bucket-brew doesn’t make you blind, or the owner doesn’t cut your throat
when you’re in your cups.”
The old sot scratched his orchids. “While I was there. I heard that
they’re fixing to try and hang one o’ them.” He chinned in my direction.
“On the morrow, so they say. They’re making out that the cove is a
demonspawn an’ has been bewitching livestock, curdling milk, and cursing
the locals. But my contact says that it’s all a set up to snatch a claim to
some land where calth’s been found. That’s cold work, if you ask me,
hanging a cove for the price of some rock, even if it’s a misbegotten, by-
blow like Breed here.” He looked expectantly at me.
I shrugged. “So?” I felt no bond of kinship with other warspawn just
because they were warspawn.
“So, I’m sayin’ people get a taste for this kind of thing, eh?” He
pointed a crooked finger at me. “You best be on yer uppers, less they nab
you for hexing their chickens, or whatever it is you demons do.”
“Hexing chickens? Not I, Tosspot. I’m more your beggar-strangling
type of demon.”
“That’s enough, Breed.” The priest turned to Tosspot. “Tell me exactly
what you heard, Rubin.”
It was a long night.
 10

The next morning, instead of leaving Little Shithole, the priest insisted that
we follow the crowd of locals to the village hall, which was being used as a
courtroom for the ‘trial’.
“So what are you going to do?” I asked the priest. “Demand they let
this cove go or you’ll burn them to a crisp with your sorcerous might?”
Tobias pulled up short and turned on me. I sensed a lecture coming.
“What I do is not sorcery. It is, as discovered by Saint Bartholomew,
the manipulation of latent energy contained within the angles and planes of
existence. And no, I am not going to threaten anyone. The Empirifex’s law
is all that is required to ensure justice is done,” he said without a whit of
irony.
“So it’s not sorcery, and Imperial law is the epitome of justice?”
“Correct.”
“My arse.”
“How dare you,” he spluttered. “You know nothing, nothing of the
enlightenment of Saint Bartholomew.”
If he hadn’t been capable of frying me in my own juices I would have
laughed in his face. “I know sorcery when I see it. I also know there’s
nothing as bent as Imperial law. Trust me, I’ve bribed a lot of greenshanks
and magistrates in my time.” A little voice in the back of my head was
quietly suggesting that I shut my piehole, but I couldn’t help myself. I was
annoyed that we weren’t leaving.
The priest was shaking. I could feel his anger raging below the surface.
“I am not a fucking sorcerer,” he said quietly.
And then I tumbled it. Curse me for the halfwit I was, but it took until
right then to realize that all this Scientician waffle was how he handled the
Paradox. Using powerful sorcery put him on his arse, but his delusional
belief in all this angle bollocks saved him from exploding or turning
himself into a pool of living slime when he overreached himself.
I recalled a story about a sorcerer who’d done just that some years
before. The story goes he’d been hired to kill Countess Orkazny, the
Empirifex’s cousin and favorite lover at the time. She’d come to Appleton
to inspect the calth mines. Apparently, the Grundvelt Separatists had sent
the sellspell, but as he was channeling enough power to wipe out half of
Appleton, he lost control and the Paradox got him. Rumor had it that the
Empirifex had the still-living slime he’d turned into poured down his co-
conspirators’ throats until they choked to death and that he kept what was
left in a jar. Mother laughed hysterically whenever she told the story.
Whatever the truth, it was time to heed the little voice.
“All right, all right, whatever you say, but Imperial law’s put a lot of
high-minded dissenters in the calth mines as well as rascally coves like
me.”
“They are nothing more than traitors and criminals,” he said, with little
real enthusiasm. Like everyone else, he knew the truth.
“Call ’em what you like. But if what Tosspot—”
“Rubin.” His jaw tightened. “His name is Rubin.”
“If what Rubin, says is true, you’ll need more than the law to spring
this cove. People have skinned their own grandsires for shares in calth
mines. There’s a lot of coin to be made from powder.”
“Enough. We’re going to the trial, and if I suspect there has been any
underhanded dealing, I shall step in, as is my right as a citizen of the
Empire.” He fixed me with a watery stare. Pain needled my brain. Proving
that just thinking about punching him into unconsciousness and dragging
him away before he got us hung was also against the rules of the geas. He
strode off towards the village hall.
“Aren’t they expecting you in Valen?” I called after him. He stopped,
turned, and narrowed his eyes at me. “Won’t your order be expecting you?”
I pressed hopefully. He looked like he was about to say something but
instead turned and marched resolutely towards the hall with Tosspot in tow.
“Miserable, whey-faced fuck,” I muttered, somewhat foolishly as it turned
out. When I recovered, I got up and followed them, mindful to direct my
curses at the gods rather than the priest.
The hall was an unimposing, double-height, one-room affair, tied
together by smoke-blackened beams that had probably been hoisted into
place by the ancestors of the locals now gathering beneath them. The
inheritors of this architectural marvel were elbowing and shoving each
other, fighting to get a place by the railing that partitioned the chamber.
After listening to the gossip in the gallery it seemed that, in the opinion
of the learned farmyard advocates, it was a stitch-up. Few seemed to care
because from what I could make out, the accused was a freak and an
outcast. ‘Ratface’, the alleged demonspawn, was by all accounts as good as
hung.
“Why are we here again?” I asked the priest, who’d also been ear-
wigging the general chatter. “I mean, I like a good hanging as much as the
next citizen of the Empire, but we’re supposed to be going to Valen. Saint
Bartholomew will be waiting.”
“Don’t be facetious, Breed,” the priest said as we pushed our way to
the front of the crowd.
“Aye, don’t be facetious, demon.” Tosspot deliberately spoke loud
enough to draw the attention of those nearest to us. Some potato-faced
locals glared at me. I glared right back at them. Some shuffled away, others
made the triangular sign of the holy eye. I made a silent vow to strangle
Tosspot as soon as I got him alone.
The accused was led into the courtroom by a bored-looking
greenshanks. Ratface, unlike the town, was well named. I got a good taste
of her smell as she was led past the gallery. She was probably no older than
eleven, pre-pubescent for certain. The long dress she was wearing made it
impossible to tell if she had a tail, but she certainly had the face, if not the
physique, of a mostly shaved rat.
Her eyes were small and dark and set either side of a long, broad nose
over a mouth of large teeth, and her enormous ears stuck out at right angles
to her head. Nobody in Appleton would have given her a second look. The
spectators crammed into the hall were all human and within the arbitrary
limits of what passed for ‘normal’. In Little Lea, the girl must have stood
out like a turd on a pillow.
“What kind of warspawn is she?” the priest whispered.
“I don’t think she is. She’s probably just what Tosspot said, a by-blow
of Schism magic, a lucky accident. Kids like her are usually done in when
they’re born. I s’pose Mummy and Daddy must have—”
“Hold your tongue,” the priest snapped. I again found myself reaching
for blades I wasn’t carrying and was immediately lashed by a crushing pain
for my troubles.
“Fuck’s sake.” I jammed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets in
a bid to crush the pain that was trying to rip its way out of the front of my
skull. “This relationship will not end well, priest,” I growled. A grumble ran
through the crowd and a space cleared around us. Tosspot giggled and
hopped around like a frog on a griddle.
 “All right, quiet down everyone, let’s get this over with,” said a self-
important little burgher as he pushed his way through the crowd. “I said,
shut up you lot.” He squeezed behind the bench and claimed the center
chair. There were ink stains on his lace-trimmed cuffs and fingers marking
him out as a nib-tickler. He had the overblown airs of an Imperial lackey
and was probably a tax collector or some other stripe of crown actuary.
He nodded to the greenshanks, who motioned for the girl to get into
the rusting cage that stood in the corner of the room. It had no doubt been
brought in to make the place look more like a courtroom although the
chickens pecking through the rushes undermined the authoritative grandeur
somewhat. Caging the girl seemed excessive, given she was less than five
feet tall. I could tell the greenshanks thought so too. He was looking
everywhere except at Ratface and an old woman who was giving him the
evils from the public gallery.
For her part, the girl seemed blissfully unaware of the danger she was
in. She sat on the stool provided, kicking her legs, dark eyes inquisitively
scanning the crowd. When her gaze fell on me, she smiled. I looked around
to see if anyone had noticed, which of course they had. The space around us
got a little wider, the stares a little more pointed. I would have killed for a
weapon, would probably have to before the day was over.
A couple of other worthies joined the nib-tickler on the bench. One
was evidently the miller, given the light dusting of flour on her best Gods’
Day smock. I guessed the other was the blacksmith as he stank of charcoal
and fire and had a wiry cast to his skinny frame from days spent pounding
iron.
“These are a fine bunch to judge if the girl’s demonspawn.” I said to
the priest. “A smith, a miller, and a money-grubbing coin-counter.” Tobias
didn’t answer, he was too busy scribbling in his notebook. Tosspot was
leering at anyone who happened to glance in his direction while scratching
his nethers. The earthy musk of the dung-dusted crowd was threaded with a
volatile mix of anger, excitement, and fear. Our little crew were making
quite the impression. Another couple of greenshanks muscled their way into
the room, rust-pocked halberds in hand. They closed the doors behind them
and hushed the crowd.
The three cronies on the bench put their heads together and had a quick
confabulation. When they’d finished nodding sagely at each other, the nib-
tickler rapped on the table. It was an unpleasant reminder of my own time
before the beak and set me very much against anything they might have to
say on point of principle.
“In view of the statements and evidence we’ve already received, it has
been decided by the council that we shall proceed directly to sentencing the
accused, Clary Bolliver, to, er, death by hanging, sentence to be carried out
immediately. Costs incurred in the prosecution of this case to be paid by the
family of the defendant. May the All-Seeing Eye have pity on her wretched
soul.” The miller elbowed him. “What? Oh. Case closed.”
“Well, that’s that. Shall we go?” I asked the priest.
Before he could answer the old woman who’d been glaring at the
guard screamed as though she’d been run through. The girl woke from her
daydream at that and thrust her scrawny arms through the bars in an effort
to reach the old woman who was likewise straining towards the girl.
Some of the crowd looked away, perhaps ashamed. A few looked
upset, but most were nodding, mouths set in troutish frowns of grim
approval. It seemed the good citizens of Little Lea were as quick as their
city-bred counterparts when it came to adorning the nevergreen tree. As
someone who lived in a rough old world, where justice was summary and
almost always fatal, I was unmoved by anyone’s plight save my own.
“Just a minute,” said the priest. The mouthy burgher tried to ignore
him, but Tobias ducked under the rail and strode over to the bench, bold as
you like. “Councilors, a moment of your time, if you please.”
The councilors looked at the greenshanks. The two by the door didn’t
move and the one by the cage had his hands full trying to keep the old
woman away from the bars.
“This is most irregular, er, Father,” the burgher said.
“I hope it is. I would hate to think that trying children for their lives is
a regular occurrence in Little Lea.”
“That, Father, is not a child. That is a demon,” the miller exclaimed
while making the warding sign of the eye.
“That remains to be seen.” The priest rested his stump on the table.
The gaze of all three of councilors flicked to where his hand should have
been. “I was led to believe that this was the first and only sitting of this
court, am I correct?” They nodded in unison. “In that case, and with the
greatest respect for your rank and office, I must draw your attention to the
fact that witness testimony must be given in any capital case, brought
anywhere in the Empire, as stated in Imperial law.”
 The nib-tickler pushed out his chest. “Ah, well, we’ve heard the
evidence informally, there seems little need to go over it.”
“Never the less, Imperial law states, unequivocally that you must.
Sergeant.” The priest marched over to the soldier by the cage. I would never
have guessed he had this much mettle in him. It was likely to get us killed,
but I had to admire his brass. “Fetch your commanding officer at once.”
“I must protest, Father.” The miller folded her arms. “Priest or not,
you’ve no right to come barging in here, laying down the law.”
The blacksmith, who had until this point kept his mouth shut, now
stuck his oar in. “Neither you nor yer robes carry any weight here, priest.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong on both counts.” The priest straightened up,
seemed to grow in stature. “As the first son of the Patrician house of
Vulsones, I am within my right to demand that this trial is conducted in
accordance with Imperial law. Furthermore, as an ordained brother of a
sacred order of the Pantheon, it is within my remit to act as defense counsel
for the accused. I take it nobody objects to Imperial law?” He looked at the
girl who was oblivious, but the old woman wasn’t.
“Please, save her. Save my granddaughter,” she begged.
“That’s settled then,” said Tobias in a tone of voice that would brook
no argument. “I need time to review the evidence and prepare a list of
witnesses, so I suggest a short adjournment. Shall we say until the
morrow?”
The nib-tickler looked at his colleagues. “I, er, no. I mean yes, that
would be fine, I think. Court adjourned?”

THE PRIEST’S little announcement made a marked and immediate impression on

the citizens of Little Lea, and well it might. Everyone had heard of House
Vulsones, one of the wealthiest noble houses in the Empire and a power in
the Senate. I looked at the priest in a whole new light, the hypocritical little
bastard.
By the time we returned to the inn with a bundle of court documents
our bags had already been moved to a better room. This one had a fire
burning merrily in the hearth, well-fitting shutters, and fresh rushes. No
sooner had the priest sat down than the captain of the guard was shown in
by the suddenly more deferential innkeeper. The captain was unshaven and
wearing a uniform made for a younger and leaner version of himself. The
silvery flick of an old dueling scar marked his stubble-roughed cheek.
He saluted. “Patrician Vulsones, my name is Nestor Reynard, acting
captain of the garrison.” He smelled of cheese and had recently splashed
himself with rosewater to try and mask the odor of stale sweat. It had failed.
“You are aware of the trial, acting Captain Reynard?” The change in
the priest’s demeanor was as remarkable as it was sudden. Even Tosspot
was stunned into silence. Tobias Vulsones had adopted the indolent
weariness of a noble being forced to deal with inferiors, as though breathing
the same air was an insult. I wasn’t sure if this was an act or if I was seeing
the real Tobias and the scholarly priest was the mask. Either way, it
occurred to me that I’d been gulled for the second time in recent weeks.
Reynard looked uncomfortable. “Yes, my lord, of course. These are
dark days, evil is—”
The priest cut him off. “Why weren’t you present for the hearing,
Captain Reynard?” Tobias faced the fire and clasped his stump behind his
back. This pose didn’t suit him, it looked contrived, but Reynard was too
busy staring at his boots to notice. “Indeed, why weren’t you sitting on the
jury, Captain? Surely, as a representative of the military, it’s your duty,
particularly in a capital case?”
As much as I liked seeing a greenshanks sweat, I hadn’t missed the
dagger-eyed stares from some of the locals when the priest had spoiled their
little party. He probably ought to throw the guardsman a bone, just in case
the yokels got a taste for hangings. Killing a priest, a thief, and a madman
probably wasn’t the worst of what went on in a grubby hole like Little Lea.
“Yes, you’re right, but I had other matters to attend to and, well, it
seemed a straightforward case.”
Tobias snorted. “That remains to be seen. I will, of course, give a full
report to the Knights Imperial as well as to the Imperial Magistrates when I
return to Valen. I’m an old friend of Commander Pretorius.”
He was a pale human to start with, but at the mention of the
commander of the knights, Reynard turned as white as a bled pig.
“Commander Pretorius? I see. Well, I came to let you know that the
garrison and I are at your service, my lord.”
The priest half turned from the fire, the flames cast his face in bronze,
and I could well imagine that profile on a coin. “That’s good to know,
Captain and I’m sure from now on everything to do with this trial will be
run in accordance with Imperial law.”
“Of course, my lord, I’ll see to it. Now, if you would excuse me, I
must organize some patrols. We’ve had reports that there have been attacks
on some of the local farmsteads.” Reynard looked pointedly at me. “They
say it’s demonspawn.”
I grinned. “They talk a lot of shit, greenshanks.”
“Greenshanks? Only criminals call guardsmen ‘greenshanks’.”
I waved my cuffed wrist at him.
He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his sword hilt. “Until
the morrow, Lord Vulsones.”
“Captain.” The priest nodded.
Reynard spun smartly on his heel as though trying to prove he still
could and marched out. When the latch dropped, the priest sagged into his
usual slouch-shouldered stance. He went over to the table and began sorting
through the court documents.
“You really shouldn’t antagonize the local law. I might need his
support,” Tobias muttered, his gaze fixed on the ink-stained pages.
“Me antagonize? If you hadn’t put your dainties in it there’d be no
need to worry about upsetting the local ironsides and we’d be on our way to
Valen, Lord Vulsones.”
“And an innocent girl would be dead. And why are you so keen to go
to Valen?” He’d dropped the patrician tone when the greenshanks left, but it
returned with a vengeance now.
“Why do you care so much?” I said, the force of his anger beating
down on me. “Innocent girls, boys, household pets, get hung every day.
Why is this little ratkin so special?”
He slammed his fist on the table. “She’s a child, damn it. She’s just a
child. And I will not ignore any injustice if it is in my power to prevent it.”
“And what if she really is a demonspawn, what then?”
“I do not believe there is such a thing.” He didn’t sound convinced to
me, whereas I knew for certain that demons and therefore demonspawn,
were very real. I just couldn’t argue the point too forcefully without getting
into dangerous waters, waters that flowed straight to the pyre. “You’re in
the minority then,” I said. “Because those spew maggots are infernal,
everybody knows it.”
 “A lot of mistakes were made during the Schism, but that was
centuries ago. Time has passed. We are what we do, not what we were
born.”
“Is that right, Patrician?” I grinned. “Even I know that which is born of
infernal magic is demonic, and that which was created by the Mage Lords
are warspawn. I have a soul, according to the Pantheon demonspawn are
soulless and damned.” I folded my arms. “Hey, I didn’t make the rules, your
lot did.”
The priest shook his head as though he was arguing with a child.
“There has been interbreeding and seven hundred demon free years since
the Schism. Everything has changed. What would you call yourself,
Breed?”
“Unlucky. But I’ll tell you this, I’m not infernal.”
“You show me your soul, Breed. Tell me in which organ it resides. I
have seen all manner of creature inside and out, and I have never yet seen a
soul.”
“I’m no theologian, but that sounds like heresy to me.”
“I am a Scientician, it is my job to question. Knowledge and learning
are divine gifts.” He sounded sickeningly sincere.
“It’s a good job that you’re a Vulsones,” I said. I’m not sure what kind
of look he gave me, something halfway between pained and angry.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean if you were a common cove you’d have talked your way to the
gallows long before now. I don’t know why you’re bothering with all this,
you could be living like a king.”
“If we let this girl die undefended, word will spread and every Schism-
touched, by-blow, everyone with so much as a snaggle tooth will end up
burned or hanged by ignorant peasants or those with axes to grind. You
know what people are like. They can be savage, particularly when they’re
afraid.”
I laughed. “Oh, I know all right. It strikes me that it’s us freaks who
should band together. It seems like you humans are the real danger, not us
monsters.”
“That is also another reason why I, a human, must stand up for this
girl. You’re speaking in jest, which, by the way, is an irritating habit, but
you don’t know just how many powerful factions are searching for an
excuse to wipe out everything they deem ‘unholy’ which to translate means
everything that isn’t human.”
His words washed over me, I was already bored with the conversation.
“You haven’t won yet, patrician. These yokels are keen to hang someone.
Tread carefully or it’ll be us.”
 11

At dawn, the priest dragged me over to the guard tower, so that he could
speak to the girl. The court was due to convene at ten, which was apparently
when milking finished. Heavy rain hammered home the promise of a
miserable day as the peasants gathered outside the hall. Despite the
inclement weather there looked to be more spectators today than there had
been yesterday. News of the priest’s antics must have spread to every den of
clod-hoppers for miles around.
Tosspot had disappeared the night before with a penny the priest gave
him and hadn’t returned. If the miserable old piss-sack kept leeching coin
off the priest we’d be as broke as a whorehouse pisspot before we got to
Valen.
Tobias knocked on the guard tower door and entered unchallenged.
Rain splashed into a bucket in the corner, socks and long johns steamed on
a line slung above the stove. It wasn’t exactly the best example of an
Imperial military outpost. An old greenshank was snoring in an armchair by
the stove. The grey-beard spasmed awake when the door creaked.
“Ah, I didn’t hear you. Come in, come in, Father.” He waved us in as
he buckled his sword belt on over his patched tunic. “Early morning shift’s
always the worst, can’t seem to keep my eyes open these days. If you’ve
come to see Captain Reynard, you’re too late. He’s already gone over to the
hall to, er, get things sorted.”
“Actually, I came to see Clary. If you wouldn’t mind?”
The guard shrugged and fished a ring of keys from his trouser pocket.
“Her Nan’s with her so watch out, she’s a mean old goat.”
“I’m sure she won’t object to me visiting. I’m here to help her
granddaughter.”
“Aye, so I’ve heard. You’re wasting your time, but I s’pose it’s yours
to spend as you see fit, Patrician. I’d leave well alone if I was you. A lot of
folks have an interest in Halla giving up her place.”
“Is Halla the grandmother?” Tobias asked.
The old guard nodded. “Aye. It’s this way, mind yer heads when we
get down there.” He led us out of the room and through a hall, at the end of
which was a short flight of steps leading down. A couple of off-duty
greenshanks gave us the once over as we passed. It was reassuring to know
that if the priest got himself locked up, busting him out would be child’s
play. I’d seen more secure chicken coops.
“There’s not been a hanging in…” The greenshanks paused as though
thinking while walking was a taxing matter. “Nine years. There isn’t a lot of
crime in Little Lea above a bit of cattle theft, rowdy drunks on Gods’ Day,
and the odd fight. That sort of thing, nothing serious. All this talk of demons
has just blown up out of nowhere, people using it as an excuse if you ask
me. Ah, here we are.”
“I heard you,” a trembling voice called from the darkness, thick with
emotion. I could taste the salt of tears. “You know what they’re after. They
just want my land, that’s what this is about. They’re threatening an innocent
child for the sake of what’s under my farm, the greedy, spineless bastards.”
The guard unlocked the door. “All right, Halla, that’s enough. The
father isn’t here to listen to your theories.”
“Actually, I’m very interested in what you have to say,” the priest
corrected, as he ducked around the guard and offered his hand to the
woman. She pushed the girl behind her and looked at Tobias like he’d
offered her a bag of eyeballs.
“If you’ve come to tell my girl to repent, you can be on your way.
She’s done nothing, d’you hear me? Nothing. Go tell that bastard Sandison
and his cronies.” She hugged the girl, who didn’t seem like she needed
comforting as she wasn’t giving off any odor of fear. The tang of tear salt
and anxiety that permeated the cell belonged to her grandmother.
The cell was more of a storeroom than a place of incarceration. It was
piled with sacks and barrels of supplies. A small cot bed had been crammed
into the corner.
“Leastways, we don’t have to worry that she’ll go hungry, she can just
help herself.” The greenshanks chuckled, nobody else laughed. “Right, er,
just knock when you want out.”
“Thank you. You might as well go with him, Breed, but don’t go far.”
“If they attack you, just scream and I’ll come running.” I winked at the
girl, who gave me a shy grin.
When we were back in the entrance hall the greenshanks put the kettle
on the stove. “Do you want a cup of chai?” he asked.
I looked around, surprised to find that he was talking to me. “There are
only two other guards here, the rest have gone on patrol. I’m too old for
running around in the wilderness. Did you say you wanted a drink?”
“Aye, thanks.” I didn’t, but it was such a novelty having a greenshanks
offer me anything other than a beating, I felt I had to accept. He shoved a
stool in my direction and poured a couple of mugs of chai that smelled like
it had been stewing for a week. I sat and took the offered drink.
“I fought all through the Spice Wars,” the greybeard said. “For the last
six months o’ the war my unit was in with a company of your lot,”
“My lot?” I didn’t think he meant Guild Blades.
“Aye. Thoasa, isn’t it? Although, I can tell you’re not just thoasa are
ya?”
For a horrible moment, I thought he was going to shout “Demon!” and
try to attack me with his kettle, but then I got what he actually meant. “Ah,
no. My mother’s human.”
To my surprise, he looked more intrigued than disgusted. “Human, eh?
That’s unusual. Thoasa are, well, they’re big folk, as you know. Your
mother must be quite a woman.”
If only you knew. “Aye, she’s a singular individual that’s for sure.”
“One o’ them liz, er, thoasa saved my life when our ship was rammed
by a Shen war galleon. I thought I was a goner. I was trapped below decks
when the mast fell, an’ the ship was going down fast. One o’ them lads
shifted it and swam me t’ shore. I’d broken my leg, see? No way would I
have made it on my own, not with the brachuri swarming about the wrecks
looking to pick off stragglers, the dirty sea scabs. See that.” He tugged up
his trouser leg to reveal a silver scar running down his grey fuzzed shin.
“Bone came right through.” I nodded appreciatively, as that seemed to be
what he wanted. To be honest, as scars went, it wasn’t that impressive.
I spent the next hour listening to him tell me how terrible the Spice
War had been and how much he missed it. I nodded when it seemed
appropriate and drank his awful chai. Eighteen years after the Spice War, I
was the beneficiary of his gratitude to the thoasa who saved his life. The
funny thing was, he could remember dozens of tedious little details about
the battle, but he didn’t know the name of the person who’d saved him.
When the priest called for the guard he sounded as angry as all hell. He
stormed out of the cellar and over to the door without saying a word. His
writing scrip was pinned under his left arm and he was carrying a fistful of
papers in his right. A wave of simmering rage rolled off him.
 “What’s up? She didn’t have a go at you, did she? I told you to shout if
she got nasty,” I said and tried not to laugh.
“Enough. A child’s life is in danger. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“No, not really.”
He looked pained as he stormed out like I’d just hoofed him in the nut-
sack. I caught up and we walked to the village hall in half-arsed silence. I
say half-arsed because priests, despite what you might think, aren’t very
good at silence. Preachifies like Tobias loved the sound of their own voices
and so the short walk was punctuated with huffs, tuts, and sighs— all signs
of the sermon he was aching to deliver. I could care less what he thought of
me, but I was annoyed at myself. I had once again managed to alienate the
person who could probably gain me access to Valen’s holy of holies and the
Hammer of the North’s thrice-damned tomb. I had to try and make amends.
“Thoasa just aren’t as…” I wanted to say soft. “As compassionate as
humans.”
He snorted. “You’re not a thoasa.”
This wasn’t working. Every time he opened his mouth I wanted to
punch him. “No, but I’m not a human either, thank the gods.” I muttered
through gritted teeth as hot barbs dug into my brain.

ACROSS FROM THE GAWPING MASSES, the three members of the council took their seats. They
were joined today by Reynard, who looked uncomfortable, buttoned up in
his patched and moth-eaten uniform.
The honest oak table they’d sat behind yesterday had been replaced by
a much grander piece of furniture. Today they sat behind an elaborate,
Shen-style monstrosity that had been inexpertly painted to look like leopard
wood. I’d lay money on it that the ugly thing didn’t purr when it was
polished. If whoever had donated it to the noble court could have afforded
the real thing they wouldn’t have been within a hundred miles of this dung-
burgh.
My money was on the nib-tickler, one Hubert Sandison. He’d been the
mouthpiece yesterday, though it would be interesting to see who was in
charge today now that Reynard was in attendance. Sandison looked
particularly smug and had gone to extra effort and dressed in what must
have passed for finery in the provinces. The garish ensemble of screaming
blue velvet and cheap foil braid made him look like a sack of expensive shit
tied with a bow. I didn’t like him. Not only did he smell wrong, possessed
as he was of a sour body odor, but he was a bully, and nobody likes bullies.
His gaze met mine, and he narrowed his eyes. I bared my fangs. He looked
away.
The priest had been given a small table near the council’s bench,
opposite the cage. He was busying himself sorting through the notes that
he’d made, his face a study in concentration. After another twenty minutes
or so the accused was escorted into the court. Her grandmother wasn’t
allowed to be with her, which the old woman complained about as she
pushed her way to the front of the crowd. The blacksmith gave her a polite
if embarrassed nod of acknowledgment. The girl didn’t seem to notice or
care what was going on.
Sandison turned to the greenshanks. “Er, right then, if you would be so
kind, Captain Reynard.”
The blacksmith looked pale and sweaty, the miller likewise. I focused
on them, tried to taste what they were feeling, but there was too much going
on to filter out their particular smells, especially as they were sitting next to
old sour sweat. Perhaps, like me, they were anticipating the priest giving
them a lecture that they’d never forget. He certainly looked like he meant
business. I folded my arms. I was looking forward to the show. And then
something familiar and altogether unwelcome brushed my elbow.
“Don’t turn around and don’t say anything.” The old greenshanks from
the guard tower whispered in my ear as he put the tip of a blade between
my elbow and my ribs. I didn’t move, I waited. The old guard had made the
mistake of announcing his presence and his plan. I just had to pick the right
moment to make him pay for it. My fingers tingled.
Captain Reynard stood up, tipped a nod to a couple of greenshanks
who pushed their way through the crowd and stepped up behind the priest
who was still going over his notes. When the crowd hushed, he looked up,
confused.
Reynard snatched a piece of paper from the desk and pointed at the
priest. “It has come to the court’s attention that this man is an impostor.
Guards, seize him.”
“What? How dare you. Let me go.” Tobias shouted as he was grabbed
by the greenshanks. In the one-sided struggle the table went flying. The neat
pile of notes scattered and swooped in slow, diving arcs across the floor. My
hair spines bristled.
Any minute now.
Reynard turned to Tobias. “You, sir, are an impostor, sent to aid the
demonic forces at work in this town by those who would see decent humans
thrown down. You are a traitor to your own kind.”
“That’s a damn lie.” Tobias said loud enough for the whole courtroom
to hear. “This is all because Halla found calthracite on her land and she
won’t sell it.”
On a signal from Reynard, one of the greenshanks punched the priest
in the gut to shut him up. It worked, Tobias doubled in pain as the wind was
knocked out of him. I was an island of stillness amid the jostling crowd as
partisan feelings were aired and scuffles broke out on all sides of the court.
The blacksmith stared resolutely at the table, the miller’s dusty face was
scarlet with guilt and Reynard nervously fingered the tarnished hilt of his
saber. Only the nib-tickler was grinning like the world wasn’t about to turn
to shit. He nudged Reynard.
“Clear the court,” Reynard ordered.
“No, not yet, you fool, call the witness.” Sandison hissed.
One of the greenshanks encouraged the crowd to get back with a few
swipes of his halberd, many fled the building. The priest sagged in the grip
of the other guard. The one behind me kept his hand steady and his blade
poised. Halla scrambled under the barrier and locked her hands on the bars
of the cage. Clary was paying attention to what was happening now. She
leaned close to her grandmother and whispered something in the old
woman’s ear.
“Bring in the witness,” said Reynard. The crowd surged like a wave in
a washtub. The greenshanks with the halberd barged past me. I didn’t turn
to see where he was going, I didn’t want to provoke the old bastard behind
me before I had to. With any luck, he’d fall asleep before he got the order to
finish me.
“This is a sham. Whoever you produce is a liar and you know it,” the
priest said to the council.
“You should have kept your nose out of our business,” said the miller.
The blacksmith’s jaw tightened but he kept his gaze fixed on the table.
A few minutes later the greenshanks came back. Even before I saw
him, I could smell Tosspot.
 “Why are you even bothering with this farce?” the priest asked. “We
all know the truth of the matter.”
“Silence.” Sandison slammed his fist on the table. “You are not the law
in this court. I, that is we are. You, sirrah, will hold your tongue or lose it.
Now, the witness will stand forward.”
Tosspot staggered before the bench. He was patently in his cups but,
with the fortitude of a well-seasoned sot, somehow managed to stay on his
feet after no doubt drinking enough gut-rot to kill a bull urux.
“What’s your name?” Sandison asked him.
Tosspot leered at me. “Tosspot.”
The miller and the blacksmith looked at each other, shared in a glance
the shame of a guilty conscience. Bloody amateurs.
“Hmm. As you say. Pray, tell the court what you told me.”
“I don’t remember telling anyone much of anything, but thanks for the
grog.”
“This very morning, you told me that this man.” He pointed to the
priest. “Was in league with demons.”
“No, I didn’t. You told me he was in league with demons, and I said I
wasn’t surprised.” Tosspot belched. I could smell the hot, gingery fire of
cheap brandy from across the room.
The priest folded his arms. “He’s your witness? A beggar who’d sell
his mother for a sniff of pel. Who are you trying to convince with this
ludicrous charade?” He raised his voice, no doubt for the benefit of the
locals who were pushing against the greenshanks’ halberd. They didn’t care
what he said, they had their own scores to settle.
The rat girl let out a low, keening wail, as though finally aware of the
danger she was in. Her grandmother tried to comfort her through the bars of
the cage.
“Now see what you’ve done? You gutless bastards.” Halla spat at the
council.
Sandison surged to his feet. Reynard clamped his hand on the pig-eyed
fool’s shoulder and pushed him back down. The piss-and-iron stink of
adrenaline-filled the room. The air sang with the promise of violence. Sharp
work was afoot.
Reynard looked at Sandison with undisguised contempt before turning
to his soldiers. “Clear this fucking room.”
 The guards shoved everyone out and barred the door. When it was
done, Reynard turned on the priest. “You’re right, my lord Vulsones, it was
a poor plan and badly executed. I’m quite embarrassed.” He sighed
apologetically and drew his sword. “How about this. When they were
unmasked, the impostor and his…” He cast a sidelong glance at me.
“Demonic minion attacked the council and the hapless witness. In the
ensuing battle, the brave guardsmen and women defeated the servants of
evil. Alas, they were unable to save the witness, who was struck a cowardly
blow by the demon. Is that more convincing, Vulsones? Oh, and by the way,
it was Commander Pretorius who had me sent to this venal little shithole in
the first place. She took a liking to my lover and wanted me out of the way.
Suffice it to say, I will not be sending her a report regarding this incident.”
“You mange-faced bastard,” said Halla. “I’ll tell her. If I’ve got to walk
to Valen, I’ll tell the world what you’ve done.”
Reynard dug the tip of his sword into the table, eliciting a gasp from
Sandison. “Hmm. You have a point.” He cleared his throat, “The brave
guardsmen and women defeated the servants of evil, including the old
witch, Halla Grenfyle and her monstrous get. There, that should do it.” He
focused a meaningful glance about six inches behind me. The sword point
that had been touching my elbow was withdrawn.
“Sorry,” the old greenshanks said.
“Don’t be,” I replied.
Thoasa have something akin to a second brain that controls the body
while the other brain, the one I oversaw, could relax, and think about just
how I was going to rip the heads off the smug puke-stockings who had
planned my demise.
Soldiers old or young make poor assassins. They tend to lack finesse
and in this case, speed. I spun. The guard’s blade thrust into empty air. I
grabbed his hand and crushed his fingers into the hilt of his knife and
twisted his wrist until it broke. He cried out, I relaxed my grip, and let the
blade fall from his useless fingers and into my free hand. I turned and
hurled it at the greenshanks who had hold of the priest. More through luck
than judgment, I hit him and not Tobias. The guard staggered, clutched his
ruined eye. Cackling like a madman, Tosspot somehow managed to avoid
being stabbed by Reynard, who seemed most perturbed by the old scrote’s
capering antics. I can’t say I blamed him.
 “Get her out of there!” I shouted at Halla. She didn’t need to be told
twice. Thanks to the general ineptitude of the greenshanks the cage wasn’t
locked.
The blacksmith kicked over the table and pulled a knife. The miller fell
off her chair in her haste to flee, although gods only knew where she was
thinking of going. Behind us, the only door was being guarded by the
greenshanks with the halberd, and she didn’t seem inclined to move, not
with half the town outside, hammering to get back in.
“You’ve made a proper arse of this, acting Captain,” I said, trying to
draw Reynard out. Scarlet with rage, he duly complied and leaped at me
while the blacksmith circled round to my right. The greenshanks who’d had
hold of the priest collapsed. The old greenshanks backed against the wall
behind the railing, cradling his mangled hand. In stories, the hero always
manages to fight on after sustaining horrific wounds. In reality, a smashed
wrist is more than enough to take the fight out of even the bravest cove,
particularly humans who break easily and have poor pain tolerance.
I grabbed the knife I’d sheathed in the downed greenshanks’ face in
plenty of time to meet Reynard’s clumsy lunge. Although I prefer to use
two blades I’m handy with one. I blocked and kicked him in the gut. He
folded over and kindly offered his neck. How could I refuse?
The miller screamed when I finished Reynard. Tobias was bellowing at
me to stop, but it was too late. I ignored the pain that was trying to push my
eyeballs out of my skull and ducked away from the blacksmith who leaped
at me, waving his knife with all the aplomb of a blacksmith unused to knife
fighting. I swayed back and stamped down on his knee. As he dropped I ran
him through. He curled around the blade and fell, mewling as he died.
“That’s enough, Breed.” Tobias grabbed my shoulder. I managed to
stop the blade an inch from his neck. To his credit, he didn’t flinch. “That.
Is. Enough,” he said. Almost killing my master caused an excruciating burst
of pain to flare in my skull and I hit the floor beside the blacksmith.
“Sweet Saint Bart, what have you done?” Tobias asked as though it
wasn’t obvious. The townsfolk were hammering at the door, Clary was
sobbing, as was the miller. Someone was choking on their own blood.
“I just saved your life, that’s what. Fuck, this really hurts. I should
have just let him stab me.”
Sandison mumbled something inaudible. During the scrap he hadn’t
moved a muscle. He’d just sat, rigid with fear, watching his world turn to
shit. Now, surrounded by the wreckage of his petty schemes he woke up to
the nightmare his greed had created. “I wasn’t going to let them hurt her,
Halla,” he bubbled. “I swear, I just wanted to scare you.”
Halla glared at him and hugged her sobbing granddaughter. I got to my
knees. “I’d shut up if I were you.” I said and, still seeing double, turned to
the guard with her back to the door. She shifted her grip on the halberd and
braced. I stood up and weighed the knife in my hand. Stunned or not, I
knew I could take a country greenshanks and so did she by the way she was
shaking. “You might want to step aside, greenshanks.”
“Best do it, Dana,” the old greenshanks said from where he’d slumped
against the wall. He turned to me, his voice thick with pain. “I knew your
kind was tough, I should have done you quick, without saying anything.”
“Next time, eh?” I answered. I felt anything but tough right then, but
they didn’t know that. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the priest.
The miller peered from behind the table, Sandison hunched into his
ornate chair. I tried to keep my eyes on them and the guard by the door.
“There is but one way you can redeem yourselves,” the priest said.
“Anything, just name it. Any penance, any recompense,” Sandison
spluttered, his gaze fixed on the still blinking head of Reynard that lay at his
feet.
Tobias raised his hand. “Just shut up and listen. I want you both to go
out there and confess your crimes to the people of this town, and then tell
them to disperse. You will then take yourselves over to the guard tower and
surrender to whoever is left in charge. I’ll send word about what has
happened to the nearest Imperial outpost. Do you understand?”
Sandison and the miller nodded emphatically and stumbled to the door.
I had to give it to the priest, despite being as pale as a fish belly, he was
remarkably unruffled by what had just happened. If only he had a legion of
Imperial knights behind him to shore up his words. In my experience
‘authority’ meant nothing without steel reinforcement. I just hoped the
yokels didn’t know that too.
The greenshanks unbarred the door. There was a sizable crowd waiting
outside, some had armed themselves with clubs and other makeshift
weapons. When they saw the councilors they backed off a few feet.
Sandison raised his hands and patted the air to still their chatter.
“The holy father…” he stammered. “Is a demon. Kill him, kill them
all!” he screamed and dived into the crowd. The greenshanks cursed and
tried to hold the crowd back, but their blood was up. They’d come for a
fight and one greenshanks wasn’t going to deter them. The miller hesitated
for a breath before running to join Sandison. I looked around for another
way out.
The few windows were high and small, too small to get everyone out
quickly. Even if we got out the villagers were just about bright enough to
run us down before we got very far. I could leg it on my own and leave the
others to their fate, but the thought of spending the rest of my short life in
blinding agony because I was bonded to a dead priest didn’t thrill me. The
crowd edged forward.
“Step aside,” Tobias ordered. He looked like he was about to pass out.
I stepped over to support him. “You can’t talk this mob down, let me
—”
He grabbed my shirt, sweat stood out like coffin nails on his pale
forehead. “The angles are right, Breed.”
I immediately backed towards Halla and the girl. The old greenshanks
caught on that something was about to happen and shoved his comrade out
of the doorway and back inside.
The crowd surged forward. Tobias went to meet them. The air turned
sharp and a sulfurous petrichor rose like a storm was about to break. The
priest raised his arms.
It was a strange feeling, being near to, but not the target of a huge
discharge of raw, magical energy. The first thing that happened, after a
heart-stopping moment of utter nothing, was that lightning arced from the
priest’s hands and leaped to the iron chandelier, showering the room with
sparks before lancing a dozen jagged forks into the crowd. The second thing
that happened was me being knocked on my arse by a percussive whump of
hot air.
Lightning leaped from one member of the mob to the next, binding
them in dazzling, azure chains. They jerked, spasmed and burned as the
wreath of fire incinerated their clothes and melted the flesh from their
charring bones. The acrid stench of storm clouds, combined with the fatty
stink of burning human made my eyes water. Seconds later, it was over.
Black, fire-trimmed flakes of crispy human floated into the sky before
gently drifting back down to earth as the intense heat dissipated. From what
I could see through the smoke, none of the mob had escaped, including the
two treacherous councilors. All that remained of Sandison was a leg that
was strangely untouched by the magical fire. I knew it was his as it was still
clad in a white stocking and a bright blue shoe. There was nothing left of
the miller. Like the rest of the mob, she’d been reduced to charcoaled dust.
A few errant flames idly licked at the doorframe, but the blast had been
extremely well focused.
“I see what you mean about those angles,” I said to the priest, but he
didn’t hear me, he was too busy fainting. I caught him before he kissed the
dirt and carried him like a babe in arms, over the cindered remains of our
attackers and out into the drizzle. The smell of death hung in the air, mixed
with the gloom of late summer rain that was bleeding from the heavens. I
looked up, let the water wash the ash from my face.
Although the sound was buried beneath the planishing hammer of rain,
I heard the distinctive clunk of a trigger being pulled, but by the time I
realized what it was, it was far too late.
My first and, as it turned out, only reaction was to drop the priest. A
moment later I was hit in the chest with the concentrated force of a charging
urux. The impact punched me off my feet, turned my ribs into jagged
splinters that sliced into my chest and shredded my heart and lungs. I
vomited a spray of blood.
I knew I’d hit the ground because all I could see was the sky. As I bled
out, I lost all feeling in my limbs, and my consciousness retreated to a tiny
point somewhere in the back of my skull. I looked out of the well of my
being, through the rain-blurred windows that were my eyes.
“That was a damned risky shot. You could have hit Tobias,” said
someone I couldn’t see. Whoever he was, he spoke like a toff, not unlike the
priest save that it entirely lacked his humility and was instead replete with
self-importance.
“No, it wasn’t,” another male voice answered. This one, by contrast,
spoke in a soft, breathy purr; precise, but lacking the indolence of the truly
noble. “He was never in any danger. I do this for a living and, if I may say
so, I am rather good at it.”
Annoyingly, they both remained beyond the scope of my dwindling
vision which was a pity as I was curious to see what my killers looked like.
“What in hell is it?” demanded the first. I assumed he was talking
about me.
“Dead is what it is. Why yes, it was a bloody good shot, now you
mention it,” the breathy one sniffed.
 “You want praise? I’m paying you a fortune, isn’t that enough?”
“Not really, no. I am an artiste. Coin pays the bills, but praise feeds my
soul.”
“What rot.” The toff laughed.
“You wound me, sir.”
“Don’t tempt me, Schiller. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, help me bind
Tobias.”
“With pleasure.” Breathy tittered. “We don’t want him coming round
and turning us into charcoal, do we?”
Someone nearby groaned. I guessed it was the priest. I knew it wasn’t
me because, I acknowledged with a surprising lack of rancor, I was a breath
away from being dead.
 12

After the initial excitement of dying, I learned something interesting.

Nothing happened. One minute I was bleeding out beneath a suitably
maudlin sky, and the next I was covered in dirt and someone was dragging
me from the ground by my ankles.
In between dying and resurrection, nothing had happened at all. There
hadn’t been any flames of hell, no divine rivers of wine, no twelve-cocked
thoasan love gods came to greet me, no holy winged vaginas, not even an
army of sacred golden newts to show me the way to the source of all life.
Just nothing. I suppose it could have been worse, but death was something
of a letdown.
I tried to struggle free of the iron grip around my ankles, but I couldn’t
move. Panic gripped me, my nose, mouth, and eyes were full of dirt. Before
I choked I was pulled from the ground like a turnip. Harsh daylight forced
tears from my eyes. Whoever had dragged me from the hole released me.
To my dismay, I found I still couldn’t move but my vision quickly cleared. I
spat out a mouthful of dirt, focused on my rescuer and immediately wished
I hadn’t. It was a corpse, or more accurately, one of the restless dead.
It wasn’t fresh, but it was still recognizably male. A noose was hanging
around its twisted neck, its shriveled muscles creaked like hawsers as it
grabbed me under the arms and hauled me over to a tree. Its empty eye
sockets wept grave dirt and grubs as it leaned over and propped me against
the trunk. And there was me thinking there was nothing worse than being
shot. It seemed that like life, death was full of unpleasant little surprises.
The corpse shuffled back, canted its head to one side and tried to smile
with its atrophied facial muscles. “Breeeeed,” it hissed. It spoke with
Shallunsard’s voice. “You are, without doubt, the most amusing creature I
have met in centuries.” The demon laughed.
I didn’t. Something to do with being shot to death had quite muted my
normally robust sense of humor. “I’m the only creature you’ve met in
centuries.” Air whistled through my shredded lungs. “Am I dead?”
The corpse nodded. “As good as, save that thing you term a soul has
not yet left your body.”
 I never thought I’d miss him, but I really wished the priest was here.
“Soo, I am, or I aren’t?”
“You am, but that can change.” The corpse demon plucked a grub from
its chest and stroked it with a rat-gnawed finger.
“Ah.” I sensed another deal looming. “What do you want?”
“That which is mine. You owe me a hammer, remember?”
“How could I forget, and why the corpse?”
“Why not? I could have come to you as a cloud of flies, a flock of
ravens, a gaggle of vengeful chickens, but none of those are much good at
digging stupid breeds out of graves.”
“If you’d come a day earlier, there wouldn’t have been any need to
dig.”
The demon squeezed the bug and flicked the remains in my face. “I
find your priestly friend rather irritating and besides, I don’t have time to
drop everything and rescue your pathetic carcass, I have civilizations to
destroy, cities to level, that kind of thing. The damned make perfectly able
minions.” He sketched a bow. “You don’t have to pay them, they don’t
answer back, perfect.”
“I’m still dead, though.”
“Don’t sulk, Breed, I can repair the damage, for a price.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Because I’m a demon?”
“Aye, that’ll be it. So, what do you want, other than a holy relic that
belonged to one of the greatest heroes of the Schism War.”
He growled at that and fire blazed in the empty eye sockets. “Someone
regarded by ignorant fools, as one of the greatest heroes of the Schism
War.”
“Whatever. Other than his blasted hammer, what else do you require of
me?”
“Your immortal soul.”
“Really?”
“No, of course not, stupid.” The fire faded. “Souls are ten a penny,
why would I waste a bargain for yours when there are people eager to give
them away for nothing? There are a lot of stupid, bitter people out there,
Breed. No, I want you to kill the priest.”
“If I kill the priest before my term of servitude is up, I’ll die a slow,
painful death. I’m not seeing anything in this deal for me.”
 The demon corpse’s eyes glowed blue. The cuff around my wrist
became ice cold and rimed with frost. A moment later, a hairline crack raced
across the polished surface. The glow in its eyes subsided. Just like that, the
bond was broken.
“There. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes, we have a deal, but I need him to get me into the tomb, that’s if
he’s still alive.”
“He’s alive. You may slay him when he’s no longer of use to you.”
“Right you are.”
The corpse attempted to frown, atrophied muscles creaked. “Ah,
Breed, your lack of scruples is heartening. If all mortals are as craven and
self-serving as you, the war will be over before the battle has begun.”
“You might as well send your spew maggots home now then because
I’m a paragon of loyalty and compassion compared to most.” I had no
intentions of killing the priest, at least not in the foreseeable future, and
certainly not at the behest of the demon. Shallunsard’s contempt irked me,
and for that reason alone I was going to thwart him. Mother was the only
person who could treat me like an idiot and get away with it.
“Are you ready?” the demon asked.
I grunted.
“Good. Now hold still, this is going to hurt.” The light in the corpse’s
eyeless sockets flared again. It reached a hand towards me. I wasn’t a
stranger to pain, but what happened next was a singular experience.
My ribs had been blasted into my heart and lungs. Now every tiny
splinter of bone was pulled from the substance of my pulverized organs
before knitting back into ribs, right before my eyes. Not only could I see the
demon’s infernal powers at work, but I could feel them, acutely. I felt every
torn vein slither through my ravaged flesh, every fiber of my shredded
vitals grow anew. When my lungs were whole again, I screamed to the limit
of my breath.
When it was over, the corpse demon lowered its arm. The light faded
from its eyes. I rolled around on the ground, reliving the agony of being
shot for about ten more minutes until it finally stopped hurting. My chest
was whole again, covered in a mass of scarred pink flesh and orange scales.
“Sweet salvation, did it have to hurt so much? My head feels like it’s
going to burst.”
 “You should thank me, Breed. Pain is life, only the dead feel nothing.
The headache will last until you are reunited with your master.”
“What? But you just. I thought you’d sorted that, I thought the bond
was broken.”
“It is, more or less. I have ensured that you won’t die and that you can
function, but a little pain will, I feel, lend a measure of urgency to the
performance of your task.”
“You bastard.”
“Demon.” He grinned. The corpse shambled off, its head lolling on its
broken neck.
Now that I could move again I saw that I was on the edge of a
neglected cemetery, overgrown with ivy and crooked saplings. It looked
like something that had belonged to a much more prosperous settlement
than Little Lea. Cracked tombstones and bleached wooden plaques poked
through thick clumps of whiptail grass and grey billows of grand dame's
mantle. Although there were no recent burials that I could see, it was
probably still used for suicides, murderers, and the occasional warspawn
who happened to die in the village.
The corpse stood a moment on the edge of its own grave, staring into
the unmarked pit as though contemplating the eternity it would spend
rotting in the ground. It turned to me, looked at me with its sightless eyes.
Its mouth opened and closed, it reached out to me in a silently pleading
gesture as it collapsed into the hole.

IT TOOK me a few attempts to stand up and gain full control of my leaden

limbs, but once the blood started flowing again, I let my nose lead me back
to Little Lea. It wasn’t a hard trail to follow, the smell of ozone and burnt
meat clung to the trees in clotted webs. I’m not one to dwell, not even on
my own death, so I didn’t.
When I reached the edge of the wood, I climbed a warty old fir and
took a look-see at the town. From my vantage, I could see a few people
milling uncertainly outside the village hall around the semi-circle of
blackened ground. Another group had gathered outside the guard tower. If
they were still alive, that was where Clary and Halla would probably be
holed up. As much as I never wanted to set foot in the miserable dung pit of
a village again, I felt invincible now that I knew Shallunsard was looking
out for me. I didn’t like the idea as such, but as I had more enemies than
friends, I was grateful for what help I could get and I was alive, and that
was good, particularly after experiencing the alternative. Thus, emboldened
and with a new-found zest for breathing, I headed for the village to look for
that soft cull Tobias.
I was spotted on the outskirts of town by a pig-eyed plow-boy. I waved
all friendly like and he shrieked and ran to his companions. Before I could
say ‘risen from the dead’ they scattered which was terribly rude but that’s
country folk for you. I headed over to the guard tower and knocked on the
door. “Let me in, it’s me.”
No answer.
I knocked again, louder this time. There was shuffling on the other side
and a spy hole opened a crack.
“You’re dead. I, I buried you,” the old greenshanks croaked.
“You were a bit premature there, but it’s the thought that counts. Now
let me in before the yokels grow some spine and come back.”
I heard snatches of muffled conversation before the bolts were thrown
and the door opened. I made sure my shirt was tied to cover my unnaturally
healed chest before I went inside. The greenshanks called Dana and the
greybeard were waiting with their halberds leveled. Halla and her
granddaughter were sitting by the stove. Everyone was giving me the fish
eye which came as no surprise.
“Is this it?” I asked. “Where’s Tosspot and the priest?”
“How are you standing?” Dana demanded. “You were dead, I saw you.
There was a hole in your chest the size of my fist.”
I sighed. “You have small fists, and you obviously don’t know
anything about warspawn. Thoasa can heal just about anything faster and
more efficiently than any other race.”
“Oh, aye? So, if I run you through you’ll be able to heal that will ya?”
She set her weapon.
“You, run me through? That’s a bit optimistic, don’t you think?”
“That’s enough, Dana,” Greybeard said. He looked tired and his hand
was heavily bandaged.
They all looked tired and confused, except for Clary. She was sitting
by the fire, swinging her legs, and gnawing a chunk of bread. Tosspot
ambled in from the other room clutching a brass-buttoned uniform jacket in
his grubby paws. “Can I borrow this?” he asked the greenshanks. “Only, yer
Captain won’t be needing it no more.”
“No, you damn well can’t. Put it back,” Greybeard snapped.
I snatched the jacket from Tosspot and put it on.
“Get your own, demo—” Tosspot began.
Short on patience due to the whole being shot to death incident, I
grabbed him by the throat. It would have been so easy to snap his scrawny
neck there and then, but I let him go. At least his drug and booze-addled
brain accepted without pause that I was back from the dead, and the sooner
I could move everyone away from that awkward topic the better.
“I need some weapons, preferably swords, and I need to know who
and where they took the priest.”
Greybeard squared up to me. “Now, just you wait a minute. Why
should I help you?”
“Because you’re outnumbered.” I gave both greenshanks my best,
killer stare. “And I’m in a very bad mood.” I hoped they understood how
sincere I was about that. As useless as human senses were, I hoped they
both had the wit to realize that I’d end them if they made a wrong move.
They relaxed. The woman put up her weapon. I nodded. “Excellent choice.
Now, what happened after I was k… shot?”
It turned out not a lot had happened after I went down. Greybeard kept
the girl, her grandmother, and Tosspot inside the village hall until the
ambushers had thrown Tobias in the back of a wagon and headed off north.
The leader of the crew of four sounded very much like the cove who’d
attacked the priest in Appleton, the one Father Benedict had called Marius.
When they’d left, the old greenshanks had quite rightly taken me for
dead. It was Halla who’d insisted they bury me in the unconsecrated
graveyard, given that I was a warspawn which was a lucky escape. The old
man thought thoasa should be burnt, as was their custom.
The only noteworthy information I could garner from the greenshanks’
and Halla’s accounts was that the four humans, one of whom had a
firelance, had headed north on the main road.
“Are you going after them?” Greybeard asked while I tried the two
swords he’d brought me. They were well balanced, standard issue short
swords. I sheathed them and buckled on the scabbards. It felt good to be
armed again, splitting headache aside.
 “Aye.”
“Well, good luck to ye, but I think you’re going to need more than a
couple of blades to deal with that crew.”
“You volunteering?”
He laughed. “Holy Eye, if I hadn’t promised to take Halla and Clary to
Middleton I might do just that. I don’t like what Reynard had us do, not one
bit, but I’m near retiring, see? I need my pension.” he shrugged.
“Next time then, although there is something you can do, as payment
for not killing you.” I grinned.
He frowned. “What?”
“Keep Tosspot here until after I’ve gone. I don’t need him following
me.”
Greybeard nodded. He looked relieved. “All right, I’ll do that for ye.
Anyway, I’ll need him to be a witness when I explain this mess to the area
commander. Although, I’ve no idea how I’m going to explain how you
came back from the dead.”
“I’d skim over that part if I was you.”
He scratched his chin. “Aye, maybe you’re right. So, what are you,
really?” Given that he was smiling I got the impression that he was more
curious than fearful, but I knew that no matter what I said, he’d make up his
own mind.
I shrugged. “Just another breed.”

IT WAS dark when I set off north. I ghosted the road, careful to stay in the trees
in case any of the denizens of Little Lea still fancied hanging someone. As
the ambushers were humans, I was counting on them resting up somewhere
after a few hours on the road. They might have even dared an inn this far
from real civilization and without any fear of pursuit. About twenty miles
from Little Lea, I came across such a place. There weren’t any carts outside,
just a few journeymen and women inside, huddled around their ale.
I asked the innkeeper if he’d seen my ‘friends’. Despite the heavier
than normal traffic on the road, he remembered them. They’d stopped
briefly and much to the innkeeper’s surprise had headed east, away from the
main road to Valen. He’d been glad to see the back of them on account of
their sick companion who’d stayed in the cart. The innkeeper suspected he
had the plague, or worse given how secretive they were about him and how
they wouldn’t let anybody near the cart.
I dropped him a couple of coppers from Tobias’s purse for his trouble.
I’d taken the money from the priest’s gear. I’d hidden the books in the old
graveyard, in the same hole as my rescuer. He could perhaps read them to
alleviate the boredom.
My head was pounding, but after a mug of ale and a bowl of
something hot, I felt refreshed and eager to track down my killers. I hoped
they were enjoying themselves, I hoped they were squeezing every ounce of
amusement from every single moment because these were the last few
hours they’d be spending this side of hell.
The tree cover and scrub became sparser the further east I went. The
ground lay in balding folds that rose into humps and hummocks crowned by
fangs of sword thorn bushes. The road dwindled to little more than a scratch
in the landscape. My headache was now a rhythmic pulse, a regular thud
that kept pace with every step.
I stalked the road, following the faint impression of cart tracks. After a
couple of hours, the ground took a sharp, upward sweep. The higher ground
had been scoured clean of greenery by rain, harsh sunslight, and freezing
winter frosts. It hadn’t always been a wasteland, I could see the ghostly
outlines of terraces glittering in the moonlight. Here and there the remains
of walls scarred the barren landscape, hinting at what had once been.
Another mile further on, with the road still climbing, I came across a cart.
Nearby, an urux stopped chewing a silvery grey shrub long enough to give
me an appraising glance before returning to its meal.
I let the shreds of a lazy headwind roll over my tongue. It had a
peculiar taste, a cross between acid and fire. It called to something in my
blood, something ancient. My hair spines bristled, the demon mark in my
palm itched. I crept over to the cart. It was empty, but the priest’s soapy
peachy smell clung to the boards. Five sets of footprints vanished over the
brow of the hill about twenty feet away. The urux hadn’t just escaped, its
harness had been unbuckled. Whatever they were planning it didn’t seem to
involve coming back this way.
Mindful that I might be close to my quarry, I crawled up to the crest of
the ridge. The ruffled breeze shifted, drenching me in the strange smell. It
was hard to decide if it was the denatured air or the sight that greeted me
that made me gasp.
I was on the lip of a vast crater. Level with the rim, the sightless eyes
of a huge stone face gazed through me to the west. The face was that of a
human woman which had been carved on a tall spire. The spire had snapped
across the neck, but it hadn’t fallen.
I blinked, unsure if my eyes were playing me false. But they weren’t.
The tip of the spire had started to fall, to separate along a jagged fissure, but
some force held it at an impossible angle. I couldn’t guess how long it had
hung suspended like that, but there it was, frozen in the gelid air,
surrounded by clouds of dust that glittered beneath a sky of serried stars. I
dragged my gaze away and peered into the depth of the crater. The face was
one of four on the pinnacle of a pyramidal building that looked like the
world had risen around it. The crater was littered with other similar, but
smaller structures. The civilization that had once flourished here was still
dying, caught in the moment of its destruction, probably during the Schism
War. The base of the giant stepped pyramid before me was lost in a well of
shadows two hundred feet below.
A frosty mist filled the crater, made ghosts of ruins and islands of
spires. As I looked more closely I could see shattered columns, porticoes,
and statuary hanging in the air around the pyramid and just like the face,
they weren’t falling. The core of the building was shot through with ragged
cracks. Chunks of masonry, some as small as a fist, others as big as an urux,
hung at odd angles up to a foot from the main structure, as though locked in
the first burst of an explosion. I had no idea if the pyramid had been a
palace or a temple. Whatever it was, every tiered level was intricately
carved with friezes depicting human figures dancing across the walls.
Fantastical winged beasts, the like of which I’d never seen, anchored every
corner of the wedge-shaped edifice.
Whatever force held the building in thrall didn’t seem to extend more
than a few feet beyond the main structure, but it was still unnerving to be so
close to something that was in the process of exploding, albeit extremely
slowly. That it was Schism-touched was beyond doubt, but I hadn’t a clue
why the ambushers would have brought the priest here. Five sets of
footprints plowed a trail down the ashen slope. Scree marked the places
where one or other of them had slipped. Far below, I spied a flicker of light
that might have been a campfire.
 “Demon,” someone behind me hissed.
Tosspot had crept up from downwind and, lucky for him, was beyond
the range of my blades. An inch closer and I’d have vented him.
He gave a rasping laugh as he squinted at my sword tip. To add to my
profound joy on seeing him, I noticed that he’d brought a friend. Clary gave
a shy wave. Cursing, I bundled them both away from the edge of the crater.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked. In truth, I was more annoyed
that he’d managed to sneak up on me than the fact they were here.
Clary stepped forward. “We’ve come to help.”
“You can’t. Go away, go home.”
She folded her arms. “No. We’re here to help Father Tobias.”
“I’ll kill that fucking greenshanks. You, take her home,” I said to
Tosspot. I should have known better than to waste my breath.
He folded his arms. “We’re here to help the priest, not you.”
I resisted the urge to slap the filthy little gobsnot. “Listen, the priest
needs your help like he needs a second arsehole. Now, go away.” Clary
giggled. Tosspot muttered. Neither of them made any attempt to leave.
“You can’t handle these coves alone. They’ve already killed you
once,” Tosspot said.
“Wounded. They wounded me.” I corrected. They both grinned. “And
they caught me by surprise. I can’t for one moment imagine what help you
think you’d be against a rough crew like these. Now get lost.”
“We can keep watch,” Clary said.
I was running out of time. A faint band of light was already bleaching
the horizon. “Just stay here.” I loomed over Tosspot. “I swear, if you follow
me, I’ll beat you to death with her.” The urux let out a massive fart. “Fuck’s
sake, even animals are mocking me now.” They both laughed. If I’d had any
reputation left worth keeping, I’d have killed them both and buried them in
a shallow grave.
 13

The steep slopes of the crater were knee-deep in soft dead earth. When I
reached the bottom, I avoided touching the unnaturally tilting slabs of stone
that were peeling away from the building. I didn’t want to wake them from
their slumber and remind them that they were supposed to be collapsing. As
I edged around the structure, I stepped over a fallen column and roused a
cluster of beetles the size of cats. They took to the air on iridescent wings.
I waited to see if their flight had drawn any unwanted attention. The
heavy blanket of silence fell again, marred only by the occasional, mournful
gust of wind. I continued to make my way round the ruin until I could see
the fire I’d spotted from above. Whoever had set it had gone, leaving a
couple of packs propped beside it. I was about to go over and search them
when the wind shifted, and I caught the faint whiff of something that I
couldn’t quite place but knew that I probably should. I pressed myself
against the wall and tasted the air. Amid the many strands of scent, one
stood out, but it took me a minute to recognize what it was. When I did, I
almost laughed. The stink of Calthracite was so common back home that I
almost ignored it out here, which could have proved fatal, again. I made a
note of where it was coming from, which if my nose led me right, was
somewhere above and to the right of me. I ducked back around the corner
out of any possible line of sight and started to climb. The instant my hands
touched the wall I knew why nothing grew down here. As well as being
freezing, the stone vibrated upon contact as though the pulse of my blood
had quickened some latent energy locked within. The intense, low-level
thrum made my fingers tingle.
I ignored the strange sensation and followed the trail of scent to its
source. The gunner was sitting cross-legged, overlooking the campsite. He
had his back to the building and a sleek-barreled firelance resting in the
crook of his arm. His shoulder-length, black hair was curled into a mass of
glossy ringlets, and he smelled of expensive perfume that was musky-sweet
and spicy. He was wearing an elegant, black velvet coat and breeches to
match. Silver buttons winked in the darkness. I climbed up to the next tier
and carefully inched along until I was directly above him. When I was in
position, I dug my feet into the stonework and lowered myself down until I
could feel the slight wash of body heat rising off his wiry frame. In one
swift movement, I grabbed the barrel of his gun and a fistful of his silky
tresses and yanked him off his arse.
He let out a high-pitched shriek and reached for the rapier sheathed at
his hip. I ripped the firelance from his grasp and bashed his head against the
wall before throwing him off the building. I should have been more careful,
the last thing I wanted to do was alert the other three, but this foppish
bastard was probably the one who’d shot me, and I was still a tad annoyed
about that.
The gunner lay groaning, face down in the dirt. I waited a while but
when nobody came rushing to his aid I jumped down. The footsteps I’d
seen led to what must have been a balcony but was now a ground-level
entrance into the pyramid.
The gunner rolled over and opened his entirely black and glittering
eyes. “Urgh. Holy Eye. Didn’t I kill you?”
I kicked him in the gut, doubled him over. “Not enough, puke-pail.
Although it was a damn good try, I’ll give you that.”
He rolled over, groaned some more before pushing himself up on his
elbow. “I aim to please if you’ll pardon the pun. I pray you, would you
allow a fellow to take a pinch, I’ve come over all queer.”
“What?”
“Snuff, old thing. Would you mind if I took a pinch of snuff?”
“Help yourself,” I said and checked that the lance was primed and
loaded.
The gunner sat up and reached inside his coat. A thread of blood
dripped from his pointy little nose onto his immaculate, white silk shirt.
I gave him the dead eye. “Finger and thumb, prickling, or you lose the
arm.” I had every intention of killing him as I felt it only fair to return the
compliment he’d paid me, but not before he’d answered a few questions
about his crew. He dabbed at his bloody nose with a lace cuff and, with
finger and thumb only, tugged a silver snuff-box from his coat pocket. “Tell
me about your friends and who hired you?”
He plucked a pinch and sniffed. His fingers were long, pale, and
slender and hardly looked strong enough to pull the trigger of the lance, let
alone lift the thing. “That’s better,” he said when he’d passed the point at
which he might sneeze. “I believe introductions are in order.” He made to
rise, I shook my head. He inclined his head and remained seated. “Schiller,
Sebastian Schiller, at your mercy, it would seem.”
There was a burr to his voice, not quite a buzz, but his entirely black
eyes and the cottony body odor lurking beneath the smell of perfume
marked him out as something other than merely human. I wasn’t sure what,
so I kept my distance.
“Breed,” I said.
He gave a tight-lipped smile. “Charmed, I’m sure. As to my comrades,
we’re honest mercenaries, hired to apprehend the patrician priest. That’s all
I know. Do you mind if I stand?”
“Lose the sword, same drill.”
He carefully unbuckled his sword belt and let the weapon drop. “If it’s
any consolation I only shot you with a third of a load.”
“Er, no, it’s not. Who hired you, what’s the job?”
“Cassia got me the job, she and I have worked together before. Father
Marius hired her, and she found Richter in some dive in Valen. As to why
he hired us, who knows? Perhaps they’re having theological differences.”
He shrugged elegantly. “I’m just doing what I was paid to do. You really
need to ask Marius, but you’ll have to be quick.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re off to Valen. There’s apparently an apportation device
inside.”
“They’re apporting? Why the hurry to get back to Valen?”
“Marius mentioned something about a synod meeting. Look, I honestly
don’t pay much attention to the man, he’s a terrible bore. Do you mind if I
take off my coat? I feel faint.”
“Very well. How come you’re not apporting with them?”
He took off his coat, folded it neatly, and laid it next to his sword. “I’m
not going back to Valen because I have business elsewhere.”
“Had business elsewhere. I don’t take kindly to people shooting me.”
As much as I was itching to see how he took to being shot, I didn’t want to
alert the others. I drew my sword.
The gunner smirked. “Snuff?” he said and threw the box at me.
Although I looked away and held my breath as the cloud of spicy dust
enveloped me, the distraction worked. With an impressive display of agility,
the gunner leaped into the air and stayed there.
Wings. That explained why he wanted to take his bloody coat off.
 As fine as silk, two wings unfurled as he leaped. I dropped my sword
and aimed at him by which time he was thirty feet up, gossamer wings
beating furiously. If I shot him the others would hear, but if I didn’t, he’d
get away and maybe ambush me again. The feather-boned bastard laughed.
He understood my dilemma.
“Don’t worry my scaly friend, I really do have to be elsewhere. I was
only contracted until daybreak. But I will want my lance back at some
point, so make sure to oil it regularly.” He flipped a salute and soared up
and out of the crater.
And that was my introduction to Sebastian Schiller, also known as the
Mosquito.
I watched him along the length of the barrel, but I didn’t pull the
trigger because if what Schiller said was true and they apported, I was
going to have a very bad headache for a very long time.
The Mosquito’s sword was a thing of beauty. A master-crafted weapon,
sharp as a needle and absolutely no good to me save as a toothpick. I
snapped it in lieu of its owner’s neck. After a quick search of the bags for
more calth powder and zanthe crystals, I set off to find the others. By the
time I’d tucked a few more loads into my belt the stars were fading into the
grey gloom of dawn. I hopped over the balcony, sidestepped an eternally
falling stone lintel and entered the building.
Daylight would have been cruel to this age-scraped ruin, but night
painted grand swags of shadow across the walls that lent the room an air of
poetic grandeur. As I explored further I discovered that the strange relic of
another age was a labyrinth of dark passageways and rooms. It was a
veritable kingdom of darkness and therefore home to me, a noble of the
Midnight Court.
I followed the trail of footprints down a broad flight of stairs and was
soon rewarded by the echo of voices winding up out of the darkness. I
counted a further ten subterranean levels before I found them. One of the
kidnappers, a bald cove who I took to be Richter, decided to make my task a
little easier by choosing the moment I came upon him to relieve himself
with his back to the stairwell. The first he knew that he was not alone was
the last he knew of anything. I snapped his neck and let the body lie where
it fell.
The doorway at the end of the corridor was flanked either side by
slowly crumbling statues. The chips of stone flaking off the granite warriors
were, like the building itself, falling over eons instead of seconds. My skin
tingled, the air was alive with magical energy. I stole a quick look inside the
room, ever mindful that the Mosquito might be behind me, waiting for his
chance to strike.
To my great relief, the first person I saw was Tobias and he was alive.
He was bound and gagged, sitting on the floor with his back to one of the
dozens of the dark glassy menhirs that ringed the room. The fangs of stone
were veined with gold and no two were alike. Tobias was glaring at the
bastard who’d tried to kill him back in Appleton.
A woman who must have been Cassia was pushing one of the stones. I
saw now that they were bedded into metal grooves that were set in the floor.
Bearing set in the grooves allowed the stones to be slid with relative ease
around a series of concentric circles.
“Now move the 4th of the 2nd to the meridian of Canuta,” the bearded
fuck ordered the woman. He was pacing and reading from a scroll. “Ah, no,
correction, move the 2nd of the 4th to the meridian of Canuta.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Of course, I’m sure.”
“You said that last time.”
“I know what I said last time. Just do what I say now. Where’s
Richter?”
“He went for a piss.”
“What, now? I need him in here.”
“When you have to go you have to go.”
“Just hurry up and move that and then get him in here. Or we’re going
without him.”
Tobias shook his head. He seemed to be laughing behind the gag,
something that did not go unnoticed. It earned him a hard slap across the
head from the man I guessed was Marius.
“I’m glad you think this is funny, brother. I wonder if you’ll be
laughing when father sees you. Cassia, go find Richter, the circle is almost
complete.”
The woman shot Marius a filthy look before she left the room
muttering to herself. “Move the keystones, Cassia, find Richter, shove a
broom up your arse and sweep the floor.”
She was still grumbling when I hit her in the face with the butt of the
firelance. There was an audible crack, her head snapped back, and her nose
exploded in a burst of crimson. I caught her before she fell and dumped her
beside Richter.
I checked that the zanthe crystal was secure in the firing claw and, just
to be on the safe side, poured another charge of calth down the barrel.
“Cassia! Cassia? There’s one more stone to align. Cassia where the—”
Marius didn’t finish his sentence because I stuck the barrel of the
firelance in his face as he stepped into the corridor. After this brief
introduction, I backed him into the room and prepared to spray his brains all
over the stones. I waved at Tobias and took careful aim.
The priest shook his head violently and yelled something through the
gag. I lowered the gun. Marius opened his mouth to say something. Just in
case he was a sorcerer I cracked him on the side of the head with the butt of
the firelance. He went down but was still conscious, and made to get up, so
I hit him again. This time he lay nice and quiet. Tobias frowned and
although I couldn’t make out what he was saying, he was unhappy about
something, despite having just been rescued. There was just no pleasing
some people.
“What?” I said to Tobias, knowing full well that he couldn’t answer. “I
didn’t want him to do to me what you did to those villagers now did I?” I
went over to where he was sitting in the innermost ring of stones. The air
was different here, it stank of blood and steel and felt heavy as though a
storm was about to break. I untied his hands. He had a black eye but seemed
no worse for his ordeal. Now that I’d found him, my headache vanished.
He scowled at me. “Marius said they’d killed you.” He got up and
went over to Marius.
“You’re welcome. No, please, don’t mention it. Oh, you didn’t.”
“He said they shot and killed you and yet here you are like nothing
happened.” He rolled Marius over. The side of his face was swollen but he
was alive and moaning, more’s the pity.
“They lied to you. So, why are they after you, priest?” I asked in a bid
to change the subject.
“Nothing. A misunderstanding.” He turned to me. “Who the hell are
you, Breed?”
We stood there for a long time, weighing the lies we were telling each
other against the truths we were keeping to ourselves.
“I met the gunner, Schiller. He said he used a light load so that he
didn’t catch you in the blast and so that he could get extra range. He shot
me, just not enough.” Satisfied that my story was convincing, I leaned on
the firelance and waited for him to spill.
“Marius is a priest of the Order of the Sanguine Shadow and a fellow
member of the Synod. Our respective orders had a theological dispute.”
I waited some more.
The priest flipped Marius on his front, bound his hands behind him
and, with a deal of relish, gagged the semi-conscious man. “There’s a
prophecy that says the demons will return. This much was accepted by all,
and indeed, seems to be happening as predicted. Some factions within the
Synod are using the prophecy to push for all non-humans to be removed
from the Empire. It’s a populist tactic, designed to win votes.”
I shrugged. “It’s not the first time. The ‘Send Them to Shen’ campaign
reached Appleton. Bunch of crackpots, nobody paid them any heed.”
“This is worse, much worse.”
“Tell me later. Right now, we better get going. I don’t know if
Schiller’s still hanging around.” I made to leave but Tobias grabbed my
arm.
“No, we’re going back through the angle gate.” He gestured to the
stones. I didn’t see any gate, just four concentric rings of six-foot-tall slices
of stone set in steel and marked by symbols.
“Ah. yes, this is the apportation device,” I said as though I knew what I
was talking about.
“Oh, you’re familiar with the concept? The magic is pre-Schism. Saint
Bartholomew understood that there was a vast web of interconnected—”
“Yes, I’m sure he did, he was clearly a very clever fellow. But do you
have to use it? I’ve heard some old Schism magic isn’t safe.”
“It isn’t, and I do, I’m afraid. I need to get back and deal with the
trouble Marius and his faction are trying to foment. There’s no time to
waste.”
“How many can go through?” I asked, hoping the answer was two.
“As many as can fit within the inner ring, a dozen or so in this case.
Why?”
“Just wait here, I’ve got to go pick a few things up.”
AN HOUR LATER, just as the suns were rising, I returned with Tosspot and Clary.
“What are they doing here?” Tobias asked. Marius and the woman
were conscious, bound and gagged and propped against the wall by the
door. They glared venomously at me. I resisted the urge to kick them as I
passed.
“Because some aching-heart holy man thought he could make the
world a better place by adopting any waif and stray that crossed his path,
without any thought to what might happen to them in the future. Do you
want me to turn them loose? I can dump ’em back on the highway for the
wolves if you like.”
Tosspot reached out to touch one of the stones, but Clary slapped his
hand away. “We had to hide from the Dandyman,” she said in the matter-of-
fact way children spoke. “He killed the urux and sucked its blood, but I’m
good at hiding, aren’t I, Rubin?”
Tosspot nodded. “Yes, Clary, very good.”
Tobias looked like he’d just received a blessing from the angel of guilt.
“We can’t leave them. I just have to make sure I get the angles right with
this thing.”
I’d already decided they were coming with us, but I let him think the
decision was his. “As you wish. So, where will this thing take us? Only, I’d
rather not appear in the middle of Valen’s high street.”
Tobias grinned. “Don’t worry, Breed that won’t happen.”
 14

I’d never been able to apport. Mother is a master of that particular

sorcerous art, but all I could do was boil water and make light. It’s the
thoasa in me, warspawn can’t use magic. That I could cast any spells at all
was an aberration, and a testament to what excellent tuition and sound,
regular beatings can achieve.
This was something different to what Mother did. This was an
apportation device, a sorcerous machine from the time of the Schism.
Looking at the gleaming slices of calthracite crystal it was hard to imagine a
world where these things were common, and my sire’s ancestors didn’t
exist. For all that their palaces were grand, their civilization mighty, and
their magic powerful, I couldn’t help thinking that it must have been a dull
world with only humans around.
Schiller hadn’t shown his face again, but I kept a weather eye out for
him, just in case and set Tosspot to keep watch over Marius and Cassia.
We’d had to truss them up because, apparently, it would be barbaric to slit
their throats. Tobias set to work adjusting the stones, taking copious notes,
and doing a lot of muttering and head-scratching. Clary seemed happy to sit
and watch what was going on.
“Is it nearly ready?” I asked. I was bored and more than a little
disturbed by being in a building that was collapsing around us really slowly,
even dust particles caught by our turbulence drifted across the room like
threads of smoke. “I said, is it ready?”
The priest hurled his notebook across the room.
“I’ll take that as a no then.”
“I just.” He sighed, rubbed his head with his stump. “If I’ve
miscalculated I could send us miles, even continents off course, or worse,
send us somewhere that no longer exists.”
I waved away his insecurity. “Don’t worry, you’re good at all this
angle stuff. It’ll be fine, I’m sure, I’ve got a good feeling about this.” Right
then I was feeling supremely confident of my ability to survive anything
having escaped death’s mean grasp once. I was also eager to be in Valen
and one step closer to the Hammer of the North’s tomb.
“That’s easy for you to say, but if I get an equation wrong…”
 “Your head will explode. Yes, I know all about the Paradox of Power,
or whatever you’ve decided to call it. You’ll be fine.”
He stopped what he was doing, the look on his face hardened. “Marius
and the others were adamant that they’d killed you. How did you survive,
Breed?”
I sighed. “Not this again.”
“How?”
“Why does it matter, sorcerer? Just be glad that I did.”
Marius gave the mercenary a knowing look. Damn the man, but he
was enjoying this.
“Don’t you understand? They don’t want to hurt me, Breed. It’s you
and your kind they want to destroy.”
“Yes, I got that impression when they shot me, but, and correct me if
I’m wrong, didn’t he have a knife at your throat the first time I saw you?
This cove just has a taste for killing.”
“Marius and his faction want to be rid of people like you and Clary; all
warspawn, all Schism-touched. The demons’ return was prophesied, and he
and his cronies are seeking to make capital from it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I laughed half-heartedly.
“Which part, Breed? Do you dispute that demonic forces are at work?
Is that even possible after what you’ve seen?” He folded his arms and gave
me a measured look.
The urge to slap him was once again upon me. Given his abilities, I
refrained. “Yes, I do. I think it’s a steaming pile of urux shit.”
“I have proof that it isn’t.” He cast a triumphant glance at Marius, who
was shouting through his gag and kicking his heels like an angry child. The
mercenary elbowed him in the ribs.
“Go on,” I said, dreading what Tobias was going to say. My palm
itched.
“The prophecy,” he said.
I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
“The one I found while researching the life of Saint Bartholomew.”
“You need to get out more.”
He poked me in the chest with his stump. “This is serious, Breed. You
know what you saw in Appleton. It is happening, the demons have
returned.”
“A few big maggots don’t prove anything.”
 “The prophecy I found was written by the Red Witch herself.”
I pretended to stifle a yawn.
He gave me a look laced with fury. “It speaks of a time when the
demons will return, and it infers that the warspawn will aid them.”
“Might I remind you of my earlier comment with regards to urux shit?
Warspawn were made to fight against demons, not with them.” I ignored the
nagging little voice that suggested my association with Shallunsard could
be construed as aiding demons. That the Red Witch might have scryed my
malefaction, might have seen me, sent a shiver down my spine.
“Indeed, they were, but the wording of the prophecy is ambiguous and
has been used by some within the Synod to make political capital.”
“By ‘some’ you mean this cocksnot?” I pointed the lance at Marius,
who tried to hide behind a disgruntled-looking mercenary.
“Lower the weapon.” Tobias sighed. “Marius is a greedy halfwit, but
the blame for this mess lies with me.” He scratched his close-cropped pate.
“At first, I only discovered part of the prophecy. I shouldn’t have told the
Synod anything until I’d found the whole of it. I should have known it
would be used for base, political gain.” He tucked his stump into his sleeve.
“I was just so excited. So few texts survive from the time of the Schism,
and it was written and signed by the Red Witch.”
“I understand, I do.” I tried not to sound too pleased that he’d failed to
connect me with the infernal disaster that had befallen Appleton. “Why,
only last month a colleague and I were lamenting the lack of good books.”
The conversation I’d had with Wulf had gone more along the lines of what
was better to wipe one’s arse upon. We decided that thin-leafed books of
poetic whimsy and fanciful tales were much nicer than dry old texts, but
weighty tomes stuffed with history, philosophy and other fantasies were
much more absorbent. It seemed that a lot of old shit soaked up a lot of shit.
“I’ve been terribly naïve, to the detriment of all,” said the priest.
Marius sniggered. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll let Breed shoot you.” Marius
stopped laughing. “Come, Breed, walk with me.”
It rankled that I had to pretend that I was still bound to the soapy cull,
but I had to tickle this fish carefully. I still needed him, and he could turn
me to cinders without breaking a sweat, so I followed him from the
chamber.
“I knew the manuscript was incomplete, but the Synod immediately
debated what I’d found, as though that was the whole of it, despite my
protestations.”
“Well, that’s all very unfortunate, but why are you telling me? Why
aren’t you back in Valen arguing with the Synod or, you know, turning them
into a smoking pile of charcoal?”
He scowled. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. I couldn’t go
back until I’d found the missing part and I did, in our chapter house in
Appleton, just before I met you. I sent word back to Valen to try to halt the
Synod vote until I got back. That was my second mistake.” He leaned
against the wall, his gaze drifting to the cooling carcass of Richter. “Seems
everything I do turns sour. Maybe father’s right, maybe I am cursed.”
“Sorry?”
“Never mind. Suffice it to say, I told someone I thought I could trust
and he told his son.”
“What does the second part say?”
“That we will be saved by a warspawn.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. You should go back and tell the arch
mumblers in the Synod.”
“I’ll most likely be arrested before I get to the Synod. I was accused of
theft of the original document, a total fabrication.”
“You’re a Vulsones, who’d dare swear falsely against you? Who’d
dare swear against you at all, come to that?”
“My father.”
“Why would? Ah. He’s the one you told, the one who betrayed you.”
“Aye, to Marius and his faction.”
“Marius isn’t just a religious ‘brother’ is he?”
“No, he’s my actual brother, not that there’s much love lost between
us.”
I had to laugh. These so-called nobles were no better than us sewer-
dwellers when it came down to it. They just smelled sweeter. “Do you want
me to kill him? I’m an only child and it’s never done me any harm.”
“No, absolutely not. I forbid it.”
“He was fixing to kill you back in Appleton, or have you forgotten?”
“No, he wasn’t, he was just threatening me. He wanted the part of the
prophecy that I’d tracked down to our monastery in Appleton.”
“Did he get it?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
 “I sent it to our father for safekeeping before my brother arrived.”
“Oh.”
“Quite. Father sent Marius to keep me out of the way until after the
Synod votes.”
“Why not sit on you out here?”
“Because Marius wanted to get back for the Synod meeting. The leader
of Marius’s order is going to stand for Eklesiasti. If she wins, she’ll make
sure that warspawn are banished from the Empire.”
“Oh.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
I shrugged. “Oh, shit?”
It took another hour of scribbling, handwringing and pushing stones
back and forth before myself, Clary and Tosspot were invited to join Tobias
on the central platform within the rings of stones.
“Remember, Breed, just shoot the stone. Do not shoot my brother.”
After a long and tiresome debate, the priest had agreed that I could
destroy one of the stones to stop Marius following us when he eventually
got free. I played along to keep him sweet. Death and the demon had freed
me from servitude to the priest, and now I needed the priest’s help to free
me from the demon.
I turned to Tosspot and Clary. “You two sure you want to come?” I
wasn’t overly bothered what they decided. A big city like Valen had rich
enough pickings to keep a couple of coves like those two alive. Clary
nodded.
“Got to see the city, demon, got to see the city one last time.” Tosspot
coughed. He looked in worse shape than the restless dead Shallunsard had
possessed. His skin was sallow and drawn as tight as rawhide over the
fleshless planes of his face. I wasn’t surprised he was keen to go to Valen, it
had been days since he’d had any pel or drink.
“Is everyone ready?” the priest asked. I nodded. He gave me one of his
sad-and-disappointed smiles and raised his hands. “Remember what I said,
Breed.”
“Trust me.” I pretended to aim at one of the stones. As soon as the
priest turned his attention to casting the spell, I aimed up on Marius.
Luckily for him, the shock of apportation caused me to miss. When the
spell was cast, it felt like I was being dragged backwards into the teeth of a
calthracite grinder. Through the ghostly sandstorm of a disintegrating
world, I saw the flash blaze from the lance’s muzzle and a million, shining
points of light erupt in another place and time.
By the time the roaring echo of the shot died, we were somewhere
else. The scintillating air turned black and jarringly solid. For a moment it
felt like I’d just stepped into my skin and it didn’t quite fit. I decided that
apportation by device was the most unpleasant thing I’d experienced other
than being killed.
I was about to step forward when I sensed something in front of me. I
tucked the lance under my arm and cast a light spell. The pale globe grew
into a ball of diffuse light which revealed a jumble of stones that had
partially fallen and jammed against each other to form a low roof of jagged
angles. Unlike the one we’d just left, this room had not been warped by
Schism magic and had fallen wholly into time’s withering grasp. The rings
of stones had survived but crumbling masonry crowded around them like a
pack of hungry dogs. It was pure luck that we hadn’t apported into rubble. I
took a breath, tasted fresh air.
“Dark in here, innit?” Tosspot giggled.
Tobias leaned heavily on one of the stones.
“Sit down before you fall,” I said to him.
Tobias sat. “Where did the light come from?”
“Me. I think I see a way out.” I ducked past the jutting blocks and set
off towards a paler patch of darkness that I could see in the distance. “Stay
here and keep quiet while I take a look.”
The taste of fresh air grew stronger, the kiss of a breeze brushed my
skin and stirred cobwebs that draped the shadowed exit. Cracked and at a
rakish angle, a carved bloodstone door lintel still held, but the rich veins of
scarlet had bled from the stone and streaked the canted uprights with rusty
tears. I loaded the firelance. Priming the pan and ramming a charge home
was easy, though it took a few attempts to lock the zanthe crystal into the
tiny claw. The weapon wasn’t designed with hands like mine in mind.
A locked iron grille sliced daylight into rust-framed rectangles. We
weren’t in a city, we were in a cemetery and an old one at that. I smashed
the lock off with the butt of the firelance and took a look-see outside. The
cemetery had been built on a steep-sided valley. Ancient tombs jostled for
space and climbed in tiers one upon another. Some had been robbed of
bloodstone and gold-veined marble, others were rigged with ropes and
blocks, ready for dismantling but the thieving tackle had been abandoned
decades ago and left to rot. Down below on the road, an old cart was laid on
its side like a dead drunk, its axle crushed under the weight of broken
statuary.
It was a typical human cemetery. Mausoleums thrust spires to the sky,
oversized porticos sheltered flattering statues of the wealthy dead.
Warspawn don’t go in for this kind of thing. It seems we weren’t bred to
think overmuch about how we’d look or what people would think of us
when we were dead, which is handy as most warspawn in the Empire are
dirt-poor.
The ghostly outline of the disused road snaked out of the valley. The
spires of the necropolis walled the world from view, but I guessed we must
have been near a big city, given the size of this place and the smell of
sewage and wood smoke that rolled down the valley on a lusty breeze.
“The cemetery was built on the site of old Valen, part of it anyway,”
Tobias said when he got his wind back and joined me by the entrance. “I
thought we’d come out near the Halls of State, but of course, they weren’t
built until after the War.”
“How far is it to the new city?” I asked.
He half smiled. “That sounds so odd. Er, a little under an hour on foot,
I’d say. I must confess, I’ve never walked here.” The priest leaned against a
wall, he was still as pale as pastry that had been rolled too thin.
“The suns are setting. We should stay here the night,” I suggested. “We
can decide our next move on the morrow.”
“The morrow. Yes, good idea.” Tobias slid down the wall. “In the old
days, they had six dedicated technicians to control translocation.” He threw
up.
I stepped back. “I can see why.”

I SENT Clary and Tosspot to collect firewood while I found us a nice tomb to
hole up in. I chose a grand, old mausoleum that still had its heavy bronze
door hanging from a single hinge leaving just enough of a gap for me to
crawl inside. According to the name engraved on the lintel, the occupant
was a merchant called Amari Geran. His massive, bloodstone sarcophagus
stood in the center of the empty chamber. A person-sized hole had been
chiseled in the side causing the veins of liquid scarlet ore to bleed out. I had
a shufti inside, just to make sure the occupant wasn’t the animated kind
waiting to jump out and surprise us. He wasn’t. Amari’s bones lay scattered
amid shreds of faded grave clothes. His coffin had been smashed open and
his remains roughly plundered for what gold and gems his family had
decided to donate to the grave-robbers. The wind whistled under the bronze
door, but it would serve us well enough. I half carried, half dragged the
priest inside Amari’s grand, corpse crib and propped him against the
sarcophagus.
“Tell me about the demon,” he asked without preamble when he came
round.
I poked around the tomb, affected a casual air of disinterest. “Which
one would that be? I’ve known a few in my time.”
“Listen, Breed, there comes a time in everyone’s life when they must
make a choice. For some few, the choice they make can affect hundreds,
sometimes thousands of peoples’ lives.”
I picked dirt from under my claws with one of the greenshanks’ blades.
“Have you ever considered that they might not give a shit? Have you
considered that option? They might think, ‘Fuck everyone else, as they have
fucked me over the years.’ They might be so used to being crapped on that
they cannot ever imagine a circumstance where they would give a flock of
flying-monkey arseholes about anyone, other than perhaps a tiny handful of
people. Even then, not enough to stir their conscience above not actually
stabbing those lucky few to death for a bent penny piece.”
“I can only imagine the life you’ve had and how difficult it’s been.” He
propped himself up on his elbow. His breath smelled of peaches. “You have
a choice. I’ve read the prophecy. I’ve seen the mark on your hand.”
“What mark? What are you talking about?”
He beckoned me closer. I went over, knelt beside him. “That night in
Appleton, when you saved me, that’s when I saw it.” He lowered his voice.
“I knew then that you and I were meant to meet. It took me a while to find
the right official to bribe, but eventually, I had you released into my care.”
I had to laugh at that. “Released into your care? Funny, I thought you
had me bound to you as a slave.”
“The bond goes both ways.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
 “Well, all right, it doesn’t, but it was the only way I could think of to
get you out. I had to pay a lot of money, there were other interested parties
who wanted you to go to the mines and die there.”
I stabbed my blade into the crack between flagstones. “Well, I’ve quite
literally died for you since then, so I think that more than makes up for your
misguided attempt to ‘help’ me. And for your information, I wouldn’t have
spent longer than a week in the mines.”
Exhausted, he leaned back against the sarcophagus. “No, probably not.
Not with the bounty on your head. Don’t worry, I paid that too.”
This was the first I’d heard about an actual bounty, although I should
have guessed there would be one. “How much was it?” I asked, my
professional pride getting the better of me.
“Five hundred crowns, plus one hundred for the inconvenience and
hurt caused.”
I laughed. Five hundred was a good price. Such a high bounty
wouldn’t do my reputation any harm at all. “‘Inconvenience and hurt.’ Pork
Chop has a sense of humor, I’ll give him that.”
“It wasn’t Jing, it was someone called Mother Blake. Apparently, she’s
the head of another den of thieving murderers. I dread to think what you
must have done to gain her enmity, but it’s not too late to change, Breed.”
Right at that moment I found a whorl of sandy grit on the floor to be
the most fascinating thing in the world. I ignored the priest’s prattle in favor
of studying how the tiny peak curved so precisely that it might have been
cut by a scalpel blade instead of the breeze that snaked inside the tomb and
drew patterns in the dust. It was quite remarkable. “Five hundred’s a good
price,” I said and meant it. “I know a fistful of coves who’d do me for free.”
“Only a fistful?” Tobias smiled. “Tell me about the demon.”
After his latest revelation, I was more than happy to shift the topic of
conversation away from bounties and who’d issued them. “It’s called
Shallunsard. It tricked me into freeing it, and for my trouble I got a mark in
my palm to dog me the rest of my days. There you have it. The simple,
embarrassing truth. Happy now?” I knew my patter was sweet. I could
blend truth and lies with the skill of a master alchemist when I had to.
The priest thought about it a good while before nodding. He looked
disappointed. I didn’t give a shit. Wrapped in our own thoughts the only
sound in the tomb was the wind. Eventually, the priest broke the silence.
“Let me tell you about the prophecy.”
 “Actually, it’s six hundred, which is a really good price. She must give
a damn to put that much up.” The more I thought about what Mother had
done, the less bad it seemed. Tobias cleared his throat. I looked up. “Yes.
Sorry. The prophecy. Please, tell me a story.”
“You can be very irritating sometimes.”
“It’s been mentioned. Do go on.”
“The manuscript I discovered spoke of a time when the demons and
their infernal minions will return. I believe this is happening now. Some of
my colleagues in the Synod have interpreted the wording of the Red
Witch’s prophecy to mean that warspawn are among the ranks of the
infernal. Particularly one paragraph that says warspawn will aid the
demons. I think it refers to one warspawn, not all warspawn.” He paused as
though waiting for me to confirm what we were both thinking. I didn’t, I
kept my mouth shut. He shook his head. “I think that part refers to you.”
“Now wait a minute, I didn’t plan on freeing the demon. It tricked
me.”
“I believe you,” he said, which surprised me. “Gods help me, but
regarding this, I believe you.” He waved his stump at me. “Do not think I
extend that faith to every word that falls out of your mouth.”
I laughed. “Fair enough. Now, supposing Shallunsard and his cronies
are planning on laying waste to civilization again. Surely, having warspawn
fighting for the humans makes more sense than kicking them out of the
Empire?”
“Those who own calthracite mines disagree, for obvious reasons.
People like my father. He’s backing the imbecilic racial purists out of greed.
It’s sickening, and he is not alone.”
“Well, nothing we can do then, is there?” I was still thinking about the
bounty Mother had put on my head, trying to angle the cold deed in a light
that showed she cared about me, in her own twisted way. It wasn’t easy. As
for the prophecy stuff, Tobias was talking about, I gave not one shit for
what a bunch of robe wearing, knife-tongued coves in the Synod were
plotting. I wanted nothing to do with the schemes of princes.
“Is that all you have to say?” He looked shocked.
“What do you want me to say? I’m not the official representative of all
warspawn, you know. I speak for one, me. So it’ll go badly for the
warspawn, nothing new in that is there? Some will live, some will die, life
will go on.”
 “I don’t understand you, Breed.”
“That much is obvious.”
“Listen,” He leaned close. “The second part of the prophecy, the part I
found in Appleton, said that a warspawn will lead the fight against the
infernal forces. One who is cursed by demons and blessed by gods.” He
looked at me expectantly.
“I’m only half what you’re after. Sorry, priest, but I’ve not been
blessed by any gods.”
He shook his head. “I prayed, Breed. I sought the guidance of Saint
Bartholomew. When I was in Appleton I prayed for a sign, and you came.”
Now I felt sorry for him. “It’s just coincidence. I’m not who you’re
looking for.”
“It also says, ‘Only the one who has been blessed and cursed shall
wield the hammer of the North’. We can find out if you’re the one and at the
same time silence the malcontents in the Synod.”
I was instantly converted. “Sorry, what was that you say? The who can
do what with the what?”
“According to the parchment I found in our library in Appleton, only
one blessed by the gods can wield the hammer. You must have heard of the
Hammer of the North?”
“Of course I have. Despite appearances, I don’t live under a rock.”
“Good. Now listen. I have a plan, it’s very simple, but if it works, it
will prove that the prophecy is genuine and not even my father would dare
gainsay the gods. We can stop this travesty before it goes any further.”
“Let me guess, we find the hammer, I wield it and we show the Synod,
thus verifying the prophecy?”
“I told you it was simple.” He beamed, the ever-present furrow in his
brow softened.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What’s in it for me?” I tried to
sound cool about it.
“You get to be a hero, demon,” said Tosspot as he crawled through the
gap under the door.
“Aren’t you dead yet?”
“Not yet.” Tosspot’s red-rimmed eyes shone like beetle backs in the
narrow slice of sunslight. “Got to see the city one more time. See the Hall
o’ Heroes.”
 15

At dawn of the next day, the priest went alone to the city to contact his
order. I climbed one of the tombs to keep watch on the road and wait for his
return while Tosspot and Clary busied themselves hunting rock rats for the
pot. Nailed above the rusting cemetery gates was a makeshift sign
promising harsh penalties for anyone other than those entering with rightful
business. The sign was as old as the bones that lay scattered about the place,
scavenged by dogs and rats from the plundered tombs of the ancient great
and good.
It occurred to me that I spent a lot of time in cemeteries these days. I
wasn’t sure if it was a step up or down from sewers. What was a step up,
was owning a firelance.
From my vantage point, crouched between the turrets of one of the
larger mausoleums, I could see the walls of Valen to the east. Slick and
shining grey against an iron sky, they were imposing even from a distance.
A highway skirted the cemetery, but further west I could see the faint
outlines of other, long-abandoned roads leading from nowhere to nowhere,
stretching across the scrubby fields that were studded with the plowed
rubble of old Valen.
It started to rain again, but I was as mindful as a tyrant’s wet-nurse
about the care of the firelance and made sure to keep the barrel and the pan
covered with an oiled cloth that Schiller had thoughtfully left with his gear.
Until recently, I’d thought there was some skill in using one of these beasts,
but truth was any fool could do it, as I had so ably proved. An army
equipped with firelances would be devastating. And whoever supplied the
calth powder and zanthe crystals to that army would be rich indeed. All you
needed was a nice, bloody war, and now thanks to me that looked likely.
I also realized that as villains went, Mother was an amateur compared
to the powerbrokers in the Synod and the Senate. I looked to the south
where storm clouds were gathering and thought of Shallunsard. I was sure
that I could hear the distant growl of thunder or perhaps it was the sound of
an army of demonspawn baying for blood and vengeance.
It was late in the afternoon when Tobias wandered into view. He was
leading a jacanta. Like urux, the scaly beasts of burden were slow and
dependable but about half the size, and far more tractable. The jac trotted
along, saddlebags bouncing. I sighted Tobias down the barrel, just for
practice and waited until I was sure he hadn’t been followed before hopping
across tombs back to our temporary home. We were not alone in the ruins,
wild dogs, human flotsam, and plump rock rats eyed us suspiciously from
the shadows but wisely kept their distance.
“Ah, Breed there you are.” Tobias tossed me a brown robe when I got
back. It was much like the one he was wearing and those that Tosspot and
Clary were examining.
The two of them were laughing at the garments. They’d formed an
inexplicable friendship in the short time they’d known each other, Tosspot
entertained Clary by making up nonsense songs and she made sure he ate
and drank. It kept them out of my spines, something for which I was
grateful.
“It might be a little tight across the shoulders, but it should be long
enough,” the priest said as I eyed the garment doubtfully.
“You’ve seen your people then?” I asked and tried on the robe. It was
tight and didn’t cover my feet. “Do you have any thoasa acolytes? Only my
feet are a dead giveaway that I’m not human.”
“And they stink,” Tosspot added. Clary laughed.
“You could wear a necklace of urux arseholes and not smell any worse
for it, you old turd-mangler.” I snapped. The three of them sniggered. “I’m
glad I amuse you all. What’s your plan, priest?”
“We take Clary and Rubin to the mission house, and I’ll speak with the
order, after which I imagine you and I will be able to go to the Hall of
Heroes and the tomb of the Hammer.”
“That’s it? They’re just going to let us in, let us open the tomb, nick his
hammer, and walk out again? If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds a little
optimistic.”
“Why wouldn’t they let us in? The hall is open to all citizens of the
Empire,” he grinned.
“What, that really is your plan? I was joking. It won’t work.”
“Have a little faith, Breed.”
“No amount of praying ever sprang a lock.”
“A debatable point. Just trust me when I tell you that the matter is in
hand. Now, first things first, we need to get into the city.” He scowled,
stepped back, and rubbed his chin with his stump.
 “What is it?” I inspected myself, keen to discover why he looked like
he was trying to shit a porcupine. “What’s wrong? Is it the color? Doesn’t
brown go with orange? What is it?”
“Although I’m sure there aren’t any restrictions, I’ve never met any
warspawn in the order and, well, you’re right, your feet are very distinctive.
Your hair we can hide beneath the cowl, your hands are human enough to
pass in gloves. Hmm, but then there’s your feet. Can you wear shoes?”
“You ever met a thoasan cobbler?”
The priest sighed. “We need to think of something else.”
And so, it came to pass that the three of them traveled to the city
dressed as members of the Order of Saint Bartholomew and I got to lead the
jacanta, dressed in my own worn breeches and shirt, silver cuff on display
to show that I was bondservant to a parcel of fools. My beautiful firelance,
my swords, and the stolen jacket had been wrapped in the robe that didn’t
fit me and strapped to the jac.
“It smells bad,” Clary said as we approached the towering gates of
Valen which were flanked by two carved reliefs of gods with the bodies of
lions and eagle wings fifty feet wide, spread across the implacable walls.
The gods, one male, one female, gazed at each other across the copper-
clad gates that outshone the suns when the clouds fleetingly parted. Towers
as big as castles anchored the hundred-foot-high walls which were patrolled
by entire companies of spear-wielding knights.
Before we reached the gates, we passed through a tented encampment
that must have been as big as Appleton. Clary was right, it smelled, but no
worse than any city on a summer’s day. As a born thief, I knew that where
there was shit, there was gold, and by the smell of it there was a lot of
wealth in Valen. On the hour, the gates were slowly pulled open by two
teams of four urux. The All-Seeing Eye etched into the gates gazed down on
us and a hundred other travelers who were waiting to enter.
I wasn’t convinced that the main gate was the best way to enter the
city, given that the priest’s enemies were looking for him, but he assured me
it was safer than trying to sneak in through the sewers or over the walls that
he said were heavily guarded and warded by sorcery.
Once we got through the outer gates, we were funneled along a walled
road that was also heavily patrolled. At the end of the road there was a
second set of gates, plainly decorated, but equally sturdy, and two ramps
leading into a city the like of which I’d never seen.
 One ramp rose fifty feet above the ground and widened into squares
and avenues which were supported by massive towers and arching columns
that stretched above and below the walkways. The other ramp sloped gently
down into the shady, stone and steel underground of the city. Iron grilles
spanned the spaces between the higher roads and frilled the edges of the
raised plazas. The grilles allowed light and air to filter down and no doubt
stopped careless citizens and heavy debris falling into the busy undercity. It
was the most incredible thing I’d ever seen. Sure, it lacked the beauty of
pre-Schism architecture, but the ingenuity and scale were impressive.
When Tobias and the others shuffled past the guard at the ramps the
priest offered a benediction. The guard nodded and smiled politely until she
saw me. As I passed, she eyeballed the cuff and her expression hardened but
she waved me through after the others.
“Durstan the Third was afraid that if his feet ever touched the ground
he’d turn to stone, so he had those areas of the city he frequented raised
up,” the priest said, anticipating my question.
It struck me as odd how madness and power seemed to go hand in
hand at all levels of society. “Makes you wonder how there ever came to be
a Durstan the Fourth.” I mused aloud.
Tobias shot me a wry smile. “He killed his father.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me? I take it the poor folk live down
below?”
Tobias gave me a pointed look. “No, we kill all the poor folk and use
their bodies for fuel.”
“I hear patricians burn better, all that fat.”
He laughed. “Some of the less well-off live down there, aye, but it’s
also where the markets are. We have to stable the jac here, they’re not
allowed on the highways.”
“What about our gear?” I asked.
Tobias grinned and took the jacanta to a stable that was just beside the
gate, where he exchanged it for a token. I then became the pack animal, like
a dozen other poor culls waiting by the gate, only they were getting paid for
their labor. When I was loaded with our belongings we took the high ramp
into the city. As we walked, I looked down through the grille to see a whole
other city stretched out beneath us. The stink rising from the depths was
intense, not just of filth but of animals, spices, and smoke from a hundred
ovens. My nose started to run, beset as it was by so many new aromas.
 The highways that linked open plazas and elegant courtyards and were
thronged with culls and coves of every stripe. The only animals that were
allowed were defanged uxatzi. The docile giants made slow progress
around the city, pulling huge covered wagons. Due to a lack of animal
traffic and several public latrines, the streets were amazingly clean. There
were even culls going around with carts whose sole purpose seemed to be
shoveling up the uxatzi dung and trundling it away.
When a wagon slowly rolled past us, I could hear music and laughter
coming from inside. Sweet-smelling smoke curled from a copper chimney
poking through the wagon’s rear wall. The six-legged uxatzi pulling it was
brightly painted, its capped horns were garlanded with silk and hung with
silver bells.
“What the hell are they?” I asked as we followed the beast into a
massive plaza studded with squat towers.
“They’re stair towers. They’re for access as well as support.”
“No, I mean the wagons. What’s in them?”
He smiled, clearly amused by my ignorance. “Taverns, chai houses,
gambling dens, and brothels that cater to every taste. It’s best to avoid those
with black silk tied to the uxatzi’s horns unless you like pain.”
I laughed. “Pain’s more an occupational hazard than a pleasure.”
I’d just about stopped sneezing by the time we were halfway across the
plaza as my nose became accustomed to the host of new and exotic smells.
The eastern section of the city was dominated by the palace of the
Empirifex that rose above Valen like a gilded mountain. Tame dagori glided
in lazy circles around the highest levels of the palace, their gossamer wings
shimmered crimson and azure, their ululating song rang out across the city.
Tobias led us north. As we traveled, I realized Valen wasn’t just on two
levels but here and there the ramps dipped into wide basins and open
marketplaces, and where the city feathered out at the edges, neat streets of
modest dwellings sheltered beneath the mighty walls.
Upper and lower city came together in split-level markets and gardens.
Tall, skinny trees speared out of brick-walled valleys, eager to reach
sunslight. Their upward sweeping limbs were hung with lanterns and signs
proclaiming the type of goods being sold below.
From what I could tell, the different markets specialized in one type of
merchandise, from silks to spices, meat to livestock. One of the ramps we
took dipped into a flower market where vendors sold their wares from
houses on stilts that lined the road. Polished mirrors reflected light onto
terraced gardens that were crammed with potted plants and watered by
small, shallow pools.
I was drunk on the smells, blinded by the profusion of colors and
shapes of what seemed like every flower that had ever bloomed.
Intoxicated, I floated along on an ocean of perfumes too numerous to
unpick one from another.
It seemed that all of life existed in Valen, every shade of cull and cove
strutted like kings and queens, knowing they lived in the greatest city in the
world. I felt like a shadow, lost amid the sheer bullish exuberance. I was
convinced the dips must swank about with gilded fingers from the sheer
bump and crush of wealth brisking along the ramps and streets that were
awash with the riches of the Empire.
A hobbling cove scurried along beneath the gaze of ordinary citizens.
She tipped me a nod and made the sign of downturned horns with the
fingers of her right hand. I hid the same gesture in a casual brush of road
dust from my leg, also using my right hand, thus ensuring it was a friendly
gesture both ways. There was no crime in a cove passing through another
gang’s manor, the crime was working it without permission or without
giving the local chief their due.
I had bigger fish to fry than dipping silks and, to be honest, I was a
little irked that I’d been taken for a common bung-nipper. I’d mastered the
art of picking pockets and moved up the slippery pole of criminality almost
before I was weaned.

IT WAS SUNS’ set when the priest led us down a quiet side ramp. Until then I’d
have thought it was a major thoroughfare, but in Valen, the clean-swept
avenue lined with slender trees was little more than a back alley. A dark
arch wrapped itself around the end of the road, where I could see robed
figures coming and going.
We passed beneath it and into a gated courtyard where a fountain
topped by a slime-covered statue of Saint Bartholomew burbled in the
center. On the far side was a mansion house that I guessed must be the
order’s headquarters. A skinny priestess with a nose like a ship’s prow
paced the steps of the building. Tobias waved to her. She smiled and
beckoned us over, all the while casting nervous glances behind us.
“So, these are your friends,” she said, and enthusiastically hugged
Tobias. She gave me, Clary, and Tosspot the sly-eyed once-over and said
‘friends’ like she was talking about cock lice. When she let him go she
turned to us. “I’m so very pleased to meet you all. Toby has told me all
about you.”
“Never mind, eh?” I said. It was a joke, but she looked at me like I’d
just threatened to strangle her.
Tobias took her by the elbow. “Ignore Breed, Sister Kyra. That’s what
passes for a sense of humor in Appleton.”
“Oh, I see.” She forced a laugh and brushed a swag of light brown hair
away from her face. I don’t know how humans put up with the stuff. If I had
hair like that flopping all over the place I’d shave my head. Sister Kyra was
obviously very fond of her tresses and her appearance in general. Rather
than rough homespun, her robes were silk. Expensive but subtle gold and
diamond studs sparkled in her earlobes. The yardstick pendant around her
neck was also gold. It seemed the Order of Saint Bartholomew attracted a
better class of cull than your average cult.
“Can I pee in there too?” Clary asked. “I’m bursting.” Everyone
looked round to see Tosspot pissing in the fountain.
Sister Kyra gave Tobias a look that was composed of equal measures
of horror and bewilderment.
“Best hold your water for a bit, Clary,” I said.
When Tosspot finished pissing, we were taken inside where a ruddy-
faced housekeeper appeared and took Clary off with the promise of
somewhere to pee and a slice of fruit pie. Tosspot wandered off on his own,
trailed by a fearful-looking acolyte.
Tobias and I were led into a large office that was so elegantly
appointed it looked decidedly plain. The building itself was the grandest I’d
ever been in, either by invite or to rob, although drab compared to many
we’d passed to get here. A silk rug had been placed on the floor, right where
everyone could walk on it, and indeed bald patches marred the scrolling leaf
design in several places.
The vast desk was oak and carved with such skill that it must have
taken years. The walls were paneled, the sideboard dressed in silver ewers
and goblets of plain but solid manufacture. The silver statue of Saint Bart
standing on a plinth in the corner had sapphire eyes and I’d bet my arse the
yardstick in his hand was made of gold. I tried not to drool.
Kyra politely guided Tobias towards one of the windows that looked
out onto the courtyard. They bowed their heads together in whispered
conversation. I could hear every word, but feigned indifference.
“Are you sure, Tobias? Are you sure this is the one? So much is at
stake, it doesn’t look, I mean this isn’t what I expected.”
“I’m as sure as I can be, Kyra. The question is, are you sure you want
to get involved?”
There was more nervous laughter. “Of course, I support you, it’s just
that if Augustra finds out about what we’re planning she’ll stop it, and that
will be the end of us, possibly the whole order. The Empirifex favors the
Sanguine Shadow. He apparently admires their devotion, and red is his
current favorite color.”
“He admires them today, who knows what the morrow will bring?”
Until I met Tobias I’d never heard of the Order of the Sanguine
Shadow, or the Scienticians of Saint Bartholomew come to that. There were
so many religious cults and sects, so many gods and saints in the Pantheon
it was hard to keep up, even if you tried, which I didn’t. Every Empirifex
since before the Schism had elevated friends and favorites to the status of
saint or demi-god, it was a time-honored reward for arse-kissing. I believed
in the All-Seeing Eye of the Universe, uncaring, unblinking, just watching
and keeping its own counsel, but that was as far as my beliefs stretched.
“If Breed can use the Hammer, we will have irrefutable proof that the
prophecy is true and Augustra’s support will evaporate. Not even the
Empirifex himself could deny such evidence. There are those in the Senate
who’ll stand with us.”
“Hmm, that’s true. Augustra has made some powerful enemies, just a
pity your father isn’t one of them.”
“I blame Marius for that, but I’ll deal with them when the time
comes.”
“As you say. At least finding the hammer isn’t going to be a problem.”
Sister Kyra turned and looked at me, probably to make sure I hadn’t taken a
shit on the carpet. I smiled brightly. She blanched, forced a thin-lipped
smile of her own and looked away. “Are you sure you want to do this by
stealth, Toby? Perhaps we should speak to our friends in the Synod and do
this openly and with permission?”
 “No. The Sanguines are too strong at the moment. They’d vote down
any legitimate attempt and then we’d never get near the tomb. Once we
have it, it’ll be too late for anyone to argue.”
Oh, but their schemes were dull. They were mice trying to run with
dog rats. I had the strong feeling that it would end badly for them, not least
because as soon as I had my claws on the hammer, I was gone.
“Breed?” the priest called. I didn’t need to feign surprise, I’d stopped
listening to their prattle and was instead planning on how I was going to get
out of Valen once I had the weapon. My plan involved robbing them blind
in order to pay a sellspell to break what was left of the geas binding us. I
was already taking an audit of the goods I’d liberate to fund my escape. For
once, everything was going my way. I went over and bowed to the woman.
She smiled but couldn’t quite stop herself taking a half step back and
wrinkling her nose.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Breed. May Saint Bartholomew bless you
and keep you in the right angle of his wisdom.”
“Thank ye kindly, Holy Mother. I hope I’m worthy of his grace.”
Tobias narrowed his eyes. “This is serious, Breed. The fate of all
warspawn may depend on you succeeding in this task.”
“What do you want me to do?”
They looked at each other, their faces knitted into patterns of worry as
they worked up the courage to ask me to do that which I already intended to
do.
“As we’ve already discussed, we want you to steal the Hammer of the
North’s Hammer,” Tobias said.
I nodded with, I hoped, just the right level of contemplative anxiety
painted on my face even though it was all I could do not to burst out
laughing. “Well, priest, you know I don’t go in for all this prophecy stuff.
It’s…” I was tempted to say, ‘too clever for me’ but I knew that wouldn’t
wash with him anymore. “Suffice it to say, there comes a time in everyone’s
life when they have to make a choice. Count me in.”
That was it, I’d cracked him. The lock on his trust sprang open like the
arms of all heaven’s whores. Tobias smiled. There might even have been a
tear in the soapy cull’s eye. He thought he’d saved me, and so he had, just
not the way he imagined.
Sister Kyra was obviously not one to be left out and ran over to the
statue of Saint Bart and flung herself on her knees. “Saint Bartholomew has
shown us the way. We will prevail, we will not bow down before tyrants.
We will stand against both men and demons in His Holy name. No matter
the obstacles, no matter the dark road we must travel, we stand in the right
angle of his love. Praise be to Saint Bartholomew.”

SISTER KYRA SPENT an hour or so explaining at me in laborious detail why it was

going to be necessary to break into the Hall of Heroes, instead of gaining
permission to rob the tomb of one of the Empire’s most revered heroes. She
and Tobias then excused themselves and I was shown to another well-
appointed chamber where a bath, a bed, and a table of food were waiting for
me.
As soon as the acolyte left, I set off to find where Tobias and Sister
Pain-in-the-arse had gone. It was dark now, the windows were shuttered,
the corridors dimly lit, and mostly empty as good prayer-mongers were
early-to-bed types.
Tobias and Kyra didn’t look like they were going to bed when they
left. They had the look of sneaking coves about them. Deep recessed
doorways and alcoves full of maudlin statues of Saint Bart were perfect
shady nooks for me to duck into as I followed the silken thread of Tobias’s
scent. The ghostly skein led me down to a chapel that was buried in the
bowels of the mission house.
I say ‘chapel’, it looked more like a workshop with pews. A knot of
brown-clad figures, Tobias and Kyra amongst them were gathered at the far
end of the room. Before each pew was a workbench. While they talked, the
priests measured and sawed, hammered, and welded metal, wood, and
leather components for sculptures that spun with flywheels and turned with
cogs. Interlocking plates of copper, brass, wood, and steel wove abstract
angles that vexed my eye as I tried to follow their intricate movements.
Sister Kyra’s workbench erupted with light. I ducked, unsure of what
was happening. A chorus of ‘praise be to Saint Bartholomew’ followed. The
light died, and Kyra stepped forward and bowed before the semi-circle of
workbenches. Another of the priests’ machines emitted a low droning hum
and more praise was offered. Tobias’s machine vented tiny jets of flame,
and lightning chased across the surface of a polished steel ball suspended at
the apex of his pyramidal creation. After they’d all done their party piece, I
decided that Tobias’s show and mastery was the best.
I wasn’t sure, but I think they were praying and honing their magical
skills while strengthening their resistance to the Paradox of Power. After
watching a repeat of the elaborate and somewhat ridiculous ritual, I slipped
out of the chapel workshop, no wiser than when I’d entered.

BACK IN MY room I stripped off my filthy and threadbare clothing, snagged a

chunk of meat and climbed into the bath. I lay in the pleasantly cool water
until my scales softened and I was able to clean a month's worth of grime
from under my claws and out of the roots of my hair spines. The room
smelled of camphor and cedar, redolent of temple incense. A mournful
chorus of religious singing echoed along the hallway.
I felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that I was going to double-cross
Tobias at the earliest opportunity. A plaster Saint Bart gazed sadly at me
from a cobweb-draped shelf as though it knew what I was planning. Time
passed, and I dozed off. Sometime later, I was woken by a knock at the
door. Tobias entered. I got out and dried myself with the robe that was too
short.
He froze by the doorway, looked anywhere but at me. “Oh. I, er.” He
closed the door. “Kyra and I have just spoken with the senior members of
the order. We have their blessing to go ahead.”
“That’s wonderful.” I stretched, I was tired but relaxed. The bed
looked torturously soft, but the deep pile carpet felt just perfect for a quick
nap.
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this, Breed? I realize you
only have my word that any of this is true.”
“I trust you, priest,” I smiled. “And you can trust me when I say this is
as important to me as it is to you.”
He looked up, blushed, and looked down again. “I’m certain that the
Empirifex will not look unkindly on anyone who brings him one of the
greatest weapons from the Age of Heroes.”
“Why hasn’t anyone dug it up before now? The Hall of Heroes must
be stuffed with magical weapons.”
 “Dear gods. You’re talking about the greatest heroes of the Empire.
You can’t just plunder their graves for treasure.”
“You’ve lost me, isn’t that exactly what we’re planning to do?”
“No. Well, yes, in a way but it’s not the same as theft. It’s
complicated.”
“You’re telling me, because from where I’m standing it looks like
theft, or is it only stealing when someone like me does it?”
He rubbed his head. “Of course not, but there are circumstances when
such actions are necessary.”
“Feeding your family is necessary, but poor culls still swing for it.”
“Will you do it, or not?”
“I said I would, didn’t I? When do you and your friends want me to do
it?”
“Tonight. The Synod is meeting in two days. I want us to be there to
tell them about the prophecy and to present you with the Hammer’s
hammer.”
Highly bloody unlikely. I smiled. “As you wish.”
 16

I can’t say that I expected much but ‘the plan’ was less than reassuring. It
involved Sister Kyra using some trusted contact to bribe a couple of guards
to look the other way while we sneaked into the hall. Tobias assured me that
there was nothing to worry about which, naturally, caused me worry.
Apparently, there was no need to break in and absolutely no need to kill
anyone. We were going to be let in through a side door and, more
importantly, the tomb itself would be left unlocked for us.
I wasn’t convinced, but I kept my own counsel and went along with it.
I was a sharp cove, well able to improvise should the job go topsy. So long
as I could get within strike of the hammer I’d work the rest out on the fly.
As a kindness, I’d tell the demon that I’d done for the priest when I handed
over the drubber. I figured once he had what he was after, he’d be too busy
to hunt down either me or the priest. In truth, I didn’t care. I just wanted to
lose the mark and go to ground.
The Hall of Heroes was south of the order’s mission house. I didn’t see
Clary or Tosspot before we left but I knew they’d fare well as they were
both more savvy than the sop-souled preachifiers I’d left them with. The
priest and I set out alone and headed along a road that snaked away from
the spectacular heart of the city out to a broad, spoon-shaped valley. This
time I was wearing a robe that covered my feet. Although older, the
buildings we passed were even more lavishly decorated than those I’d
already seen, lavish but tasteless. Many were lit up by great flaming torches
that burned the night to amber and sheened the sandy facades in shades of
bronze. Tobias explained in hushed tones that this was the administrative
district and that most of the offices of state were located here amid parks
and temples dedicated to some of the more prominent gods of the Pantheon.
Night seemed hardly less busy than day in Valen. So, cowls up and
heads down, we hurried on until we reached a square on the other side of
which stood the Hall of Heroes. Beyond the hall, the lip of the valley swept
up to a grand parade of buttressed mansions, their shuttered windows
picked out by faint rectangles of rosy gold. The Hall itself was laid out like
a gigantic, seven-spoked wheel. A magnificent rotunda with a copper-tiled
dome formed the hub. If I hadn’t had such a pressing need to get inside and
rob it, I might have spent a minute or two being awed. The size alone was
intimidating, made a body feel small, insignificant. That humans lavished
such wealth on the dead while beggars huddled in doorways said more
about their contrary nature than anything. No poem, song, or tale could
better sum them up than follies such as this.
“Each of the seven spokes is a chapel dedicated to one of the heroes of
the Schism War,” Tobias informed me as we skirted the square. “Their
tombs are in their chapels, except the Red Witch. No one knows where she
was buried.”
“Or cares, I’ll wager,” I muttered under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Lead on.”
We passed the main entrance as we made our way around the building.
Standing triumphantly on the necks of fallen demons, a pair of giant basalt
heroes flanked the bronze doors. The plaza outside of the hall was deserted.
One of the knights standing guard tapped out her pipe on a dead demon’s
horn, the other leaned against the sandaled foot of a giant warrior queen.
Tongues of torchlight licked at the smooth contours of giant shoulders and
gilded the manes of heroically flowing hair.
“This way,” the priest whispered.
“You don’t need to come with me,” I offered hopefully. “Just tell me
where the tomb is, and I’ll be in and out before anyone knows.”
The priest shook his head and hurried off along a side street dripping
with vines. “The guard we bribed knows to expect two of us. One alone
would arouse suspicion.”
I suspected that the real reason he was coming was that he and his
friends didn’t trust me. I wasn’t offended, they were right to be suspicious.
“Over here, hurry,” he said unnecessarily. I was sticking to him like a
louse on a dog until I had that hammer.
I adjusted the shoulder strap of the firelance. The long barrel lay
comfortably snug between my shoulders under the robe. Tobias had tried to
insist that I leave it, but there was no way I was going to trust it to the care
of the priests. Truth be told, I was looking forward to using it again. He
wouldn’t understand that. He had power at his fingertips, or maybe he did
know that for coves like me, barking irons leveled the field.
The vine-draped street tapered out behind the Hall of Heroes.
Surprisingly, there were no high walls or spearpoint railings. A simple
cobbled path led through a grove of lemon trees to the rear of the hall. The
nearest chapel, one of the seven spokes, rose fifty feet above the street. Just
below the roof, soft light embellished a narrow strip of stained glass that ran
the length of both sides of the chapel. The walls were covered with
flamboyant carvings in basalt and marble.
I think Tobias was trying to sneak, but the soft cull couldn’t lift his feet
clear of the ground for more than two steps. His scuffing gait was erratic,
the way his shoulder brushed the wall irritating. He was not the person I
would have chosen as a lamplight comrade. A small side door was nestled
into the wall of the chapel, just before the point where the spoke met the
hub of the atrium building. A city guard was loitering nearby and stepped
forward when she saw us.
“Who goes there?” she asked.
“The night watch,” Tobias replied.
Without saying another word, she shouldered her spear and marched
off around the building. Tobias tried the door. As promised, it was unlocked.
The atrium was lit by a fire bowl held aloft in the middle of the
chamber by a quartet of thirty-foot-tall angelic beings. Its radiance was
reflected off the painted dome and spread fingers of gold into the
surrounding chapels. Rather than illuminate, the wavering firelight merely
served to add variance to the depth of shade that bathed the hall.
This chapel, if the frescos painted on the walls were anything to go by,
was dedicated to a flaxen-haired sorceress. She was shooting ice spears
from her fingertips, cutting down swathes of demonic hoards that looked
more than a little like me. As far as I could see, the only non-humans
represented in the sprawling frescos that covered the walls were the hordes
of demonspawn. The side of good was entirely human.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Tobias whispered.
“Words fail me.”
Hugging the walls, we crept into the atrium.
“There are no guards within the hall and all the priests and visitors
have left by now. The guard won’t return for an hour,” Tobias whispered.
The Hammer’s chapel was directly opposite the entrance to the hall. I
walked on the balls of my feet, but now and then Tobias scuffed the marble.
It sounded loud to me, but he didn’t seem to notice. His shoulders were
hunched, and his head was down. I could tell he was cowed by this place,
overawed by its sanctity. I could smell his fear but there was no going back
now whether he wanted to or not.

AN OPENWORK IRON screen separated the chapel from the atrium. Inside, the walls
were painted with the heroic deeds of a hammer-wielding man-god.
Swathed in furs, the golden-haired, square-jawed hero was smiting vicious
demons with his overly large hammer.
He looked familiar, probably because he looked like every picture of
every hero I’d ever seen. All that was brave and noble was lovingly
reproduced in the image of the giant. It meant nothing to me, but Tobias
bowed his head and said a quick prayer as we passed.
The entrance to the crypt was at the far end of the chapel. Beneath the
murals were rows of verdigrised plaques bearing the names of fallen
warriors who I assume our hero had led to their glorious deaths. The tomb
door was set in the plinth of another giant, black basalt statue. It portrayed
the Hammer smiting a horned and scaly demon with his stupidly large
weapon. I waited for Tobias to open it, while I kept an eye out. Minutes
passed without a key being turned.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I can’t do it.”
I went over. “What do you mean you can’t?”
“I thought this was the right thing to do, but I’m not sure it is.” He
looked at me with eyes brimful of accusation.
“Come on, priest, spit it out.”
“I can’t trust you, Breed. What if you betray us?”
“You incinerate me with your holy, fucking calculation of smiting
that’s what.” I didn’t want to hurt him, but I wasn’t going to let him stop
me, not now that I was so close. I folded my arms, mostly to stop myself
strangling him. “Now listen to me, patrician. We either get on and do this,
or you work out how you’re going to explain to your friends why you let
them and everyone else down.”
“This is sacrilege.”
“Only if you decide it is.” I don’t know why I said that. It didn’t mean
anything, I was just trying to distract him from over-thinking or I’d have to
knock him out. For some reason, the empty words struck a chord with him
and he opened the door. The sound reverberated through the building. I took
off the robe, unslung the firelance, and shoved the hesitant priest inside
before quickly and quietly closing the door behind us.
It wasn’t as dark as I’d expected it would be inside the tomb. Glow
stones the size of my fist had been embedded in the walls and bathed the
flight of stairs in an eerie, grey-blue light. We descended cautiously with me
in the lead. The air was cold and tasted of dust but again it wasn’t as stale as
I’d imagined it would be. There were also the faint ghosts of other smells
down here and the steps were swept clean.
“People have been down here recently.”
Tobias nodded. “Yes, the tomb is maintained by priests of the Order of
the Hammer.”
“Ah, of course. I should have guessed there’d be a sacred order of
tomb sweepers.”
“Just shut up, Breed. Now is not the time for levity.”
“Who said I was joking?”
The stairs came out in a chamber lined either side with statues of the
Hammer in a variety of heroic poses. In the middle of the floor was a
massive catafalque atop which was the hero’s effigy. I shouldered the lance,
grabbed the edge and started to push.
Tobias slapped his stump on my hand. “Breed, for gods’ sake, wait.”
I shrugged him off. This wasn’t the first tomb I’d robbed and although
the covers were heavy, if you were strong enough, or had enough leverage
to lift the male lid out of the female box they slid easily. I lifted and pushed.
It growled, stone ground against stone. The priest started praying. When I’d
turned it almost entirely at a right angle I stopped. Dust tickled my nostrils.
I looked inside, expecting to see the Hammer of the North. Other than a
rusted suit of armor, the sarcophagus was empty.
“He’s not here.” Surprise turned to dread as I searched amid the armor
and rotting furs for the hammer. “The hammer’s not here either.” I couldn’t
believe it. I searched again, in case I’d somehow failed to spot a body and a
dirty great hammer.
Nothing.
The priest grabbed my arm. I shrugged him off. “It’s not here.” I
slumped against the edge of the tomb.
 “It’s not your fault, Breed. I should have guessed this might happen.”
He muttered something under his breath and a ball of golden light bloomed
in his palm.
“I might as well climb in and close the fucking lid,” I muttered. As
well as still being indebted to Shallunsard, a small part of me was
disappointed that the Hammer wasn’t there. I admit it, I was curious about
the prophecy. I’d not paid much heed to the priest’s insane ideas, but for a
brief spell, I’d let myself believe that I might have been part of something
important. Mother was right, I was an idiot. “Come on, let’s get out of
here.”
After he’d had a good rummage, I put the lid back on the sarcophagus.
To say I was disconsolate was an understatement of epic proportions. I still
had time left before the demon came after me, but no blasted idea where I
might find the damned hammer.
“I wonder if he’s ever been here,” the priest mused as we made to
leave the tomb.
“Does it matter?”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t, not anymore.”
We retraced our footsteps through the hall to the side door. I let the
priest go ahead of me, while I considered my next move. As he reached for
the door handle I caught a whiff of body odor and heard shuffling from
outside. It was more than one person. I grabbed Tobias and tried to pull him
back as I unslung the firelance. Both were mistakes. I should have just run.
The door was blown off its hinges and the hall lit up. The priest
staggered, I shoved him out of my way and leveled the firelance at the door
a heartbeat before a blast of magical energy hurled us across the chapel.
I hit the wall like a wet rag. Tobias hadn’t been in the direct line of the
blast, but I heard him wheeze like broken bellows when he landed. Dozens
of armored knights swarmed through the door, their shouts reverberated
around the chapel, the clamor of their armor bounced off the walls. I’d
managed to keep hold of the firelance and once I’d stopped seeing stars I
got to my knees and took aim at the first knight I laid eyes on.
“Drop the lance, demonspawn, or I’ll blow you back to hell,” a woman
standing in the doorway called out.
I switched targets to her. “Then you’ll be coming with me, fustilugs.”
The knights put themselves between us. This was going to get messy.
 “No, Breed,” Tobias pleaded. “It’s over, drop it. Don’t give her an
excuse. Surrender, live to fight another day.”
I looked at the priest, saw a broken man. I don’t know why, but I did as
he asked and dropped the lance even though I was sure that he was being a
mite optimistic about the whole ‘living’ thing. My assumption appeared to
be correct as, when I dropped the lance, the knights piled me. In the process
of binding my hands behind my back, I was kicked with rib-breaking gusto.
The woman, who until now had been little more than a silhouette, came
forward into the light. She was wearing crimson that perfectly matched her
hair and the stripe of color painted across her eyes. It was not her
appearance that gained my rapt if watery-eyed attention but the hammer
slung over her shoulder.
“Looking for this?” She tapped the dusty shaft with henna-reddened
fingers. “Well, Tobias, you are in a spot, aren’t you? Having heard rumor of
your villainous plan to steal this holy artifact, I gained permission of the
Senate, your father included, to take it into safekeeping and help the knight
captain here apprehend you, should the rumor prove true.” She walked over
to the priest who was being held at spear point by the nervous knights.
“Surely, a Vulsones has enough personal wealth that you don’t need to steal
our nation’s treasures to pay your order’s debts?”
Tobias looked as angry as I’d seen him and yet he didn’t turn her into a
smoking pile of ash. “You know damn well that’s a lie. I know Marius told
you about the prophecy.”
The wench rubbed her chin as she paced around him. “Now, which
prophecy would that be, Toby? There are so many, I lose track. Your father
is going to be very disappointed.”
“Please, Augustra there’s more at stake here than winning the approval
of the Senate. Thousands of lives are at stake.”
“Oh, please, Tobias, enough prattle I pray you. All this, being right and
saving the day has given me a terrible headache. You’ll have chance to say
your piece when you go before the Synod. I’m sure they can’t wait to hear
why you desecrated our holiest shrine. Until then, the captain here will
escort you to the temple of the Sanguine Shadow.” She indicated one of the
knights with slightly more gold embroidery on his cloak than his fellows.
“And unlike your soft-headed brother who came crawling back this
morning, I’ll make damn sure you don’t escape.” She turned to the knight-
captain. “Gag him and bind him with the chains I brought and be careful, he
may look like an imbecile, but he is not entirely without power.”
“There’s no need for that, Augustra. I give you my word as a Vulsones
that I won’t try to escape.”
She laughed too hard. “I don’t trust the rest of your family, so why the
hell would I trust you? Bind him, and in the name of all that is holy, don’t
forget the gag. I can’t bear to listen to him for another minute, let alone the
next few days.”
“Yes, Holy Mother.” The knight saluted. “What shall we do with this?”
He head-tossed in my direction. There was no actual malice in the look he
gave me, just bored contempt.
The woman, however, gave me a look brimming with hate.
“Throw it in the dungeons.”
 17

Tobias was bound in warded chains and gagged before being carted off by
the red-clad bitch who had my hammer. Shortly thereafter, I was dragged
from the hall and thrown in the back of a prison wagon. I didn’t resist, I was
grateful for the chance to lie down as every breath I drew elicited a stabbing
pain in my side that told me all was not as it should be in my giblet sack.
The journey to the lock-up gave me time to consider just how deep I
was in the arsepickle. I concluded that I was up to my eyes in the nasty
stuff. And thus began the recriminations, the wishful thinking, the torture of
examining paths not taken, and the indignant self-pity of a life-long
recidivist. Time flies when you’re feeling sorry for yourself and before long
the wagon stopped. The knights were nothing if not consistent and I was
dragged from the wagon with the same casual brutality as I was thrown in
it.
Upon first sight, I had high hopes that my lockup lodgings would be of
a higher standard than I was used to, but the prison’s dramatically theatrical
façade belied its joyless interior.
Whilst being promised all manner of unpleasantness, I was dragged
inside and hauled past the nice airy cells where wealthy coves could
languish in comfort and taken down to the lightless dungeon. Even with my
hands bound I know how to protect my vulnerables from casual jibs and
culps, but no amount of acrobatics can shield a body from a concerted effort
to give it a damn good kicking.
The tepid contents of a slop bucket brought me round after I so rudely
fell unconscious before the knights had finished trying to kick the tar out of
me. The poor fellows quite wore themselves out giving me the beating of
my life, not to mention the hours it was going to take some unfortunate cull
to clean all that blood off their nice, shiny armor. I don’t remember losing
consciousness again, I just remember thinking I was going to die and how,
on balance, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
As it turns out, I didn’t die. I only wished I had. I woke up some time
later in a cell. There was no light to give me a clue as to the time of day, but
the blood on my face had dried to a tight crust, so I guessed some hours had
passed since the beating. My head felt lumpy and swollen. I managed to
prise my right eye open, but the left remained resolutely closed.
There was enough chain between the manacles that I was able to bring
my swollen hands from behind my back to in front of me. After feeling my
way through this latest collection of cuts and bruises, I surveyed my
domain.
The cell was no more than eight feet long by five feet wide and about
five feet high. Knights occasionally peered through the slit in the door to
assure me that I wouldn’t be in here long. They were very pleased to inform
me that the pyre was already being built on which they would burn my
partially strangled body after my guts had been torn out. That they were
going to such efforts for a humble cove like me was rather flattering, and
given how rough I felt, almost welcome.
As well as my ribs, my right hand was particularly painful due to being
stamped on, but still, it just about worked. The knights had done more than
enough to maim or even kill a human, but even half thoasa are made of
tougher stuff. Even so, every time I moved a couple of ribs grated against
each other. As I sat in pain and near pitch blackness, contemplating my
grisly fate, a fly buzzed close to my ear. I swatted at it. “You can fuck off
too.”
Someone banged on the door. “Keep it down, you fucking animal,” he
shouted. “I’ll flay your fucking hide if I’ve got to come in there.”
Tempting though it was to tell him what I told the fly, I refrained. I’d
had my fill of pain for the day and quietly fell into an exhausted and
dreamless sleep.

I AWOKE to the sound of the fly buzzing near my face. I opened my eye to see
that the end wall of the cell was covered in flies, thousands of them. How
they’d managed to get in here was a mystery as there wasn’t a window and
the peephole in the door was closed. Perplexing though that was, what was
really strange was their behavior.
The only one making noise was the one that was buzzing around my
head. The rest were hardly moving at all. It was as though they were being
deliberately quiet. Confused, I watched the glittering black mass crawl
across the wall. I coughed up a lump of something slimy that I hoped
wasn’t lung. I don’t know who the bigger idiot was, Tobias for trusting
Kyra, or me for trusting him. I should have known better. There was only
one person I’d ever been able to trust and that was me, and even then I quite
often let myself down.
As if I wasn’t sore enough, my palm began to itch. As I watched the
flies an idea slowly wormed its way into my brain. I dismissed it, it was
stupid, desperate and stupid. The itching grew more intense. I tore off my
glove and had a good scratch. I could just make out the dark outline of the
demon’s sigil embedded in my flesh. I looked at the flies on the wall. I
looked at my palm. I laughed.
The flies had formed the same pattern as the sigil.
I crawled over to the wall. “Shallunsard, is that you?” I whispered. Of
course, flies being flies, they didn’t respond. “What the fuck am I doing?
I’m talking to flies.” I punched the wall, crushing a cluster of the bloated
corpse-pillagers into the brick. The rest didn’t move, didn’t take to the air in
an angry fizzing cloud of black like normal insects should. The wall was
stained with blood and mashed bodies, broken wings glittered like
diamonds in my hand. The idea, half-formed and utterly insane, wriggled
deeper into my brain. I crushed all the flies forming Shallunsard’s sigil and
waited.
After half an hour of staring at the bloody mess nothing had happened.
In desperation, I concentrated on the pattern of smashed bodies and poured
what little sorcerous energy I possessed into the bloody sigil.
Nothing.
Disgusted by my foolishness, I crawled away from the wall. At least
there was nobody around to see my descent into madness. I rolled over in a
bid to find some way to lie that didn’t hurt and as I did, I saw it.
The sigil was still on the wall, but the wall wasn’t where, or what it
should have been. A portion of it had opened like a door, but one that was
so thin it could only be seen from a sidelong angle. In the darkness the
break was all but invisible and had I not laid down, I might not have seen it
at all.
“That angle’s right.” I chuckled until I coughed and then crawled
through the gap.
I DON’T KNOW who decided where I’d end up. Perhaps it was me, perhaps it was
the demon or perhaps it was just chance. I didn’t care. I fell out of the cell
into familiar territory. The perfume of the sewer filled my nostrils as I sank
up to my elbows in the thick sediment of a sewage channel. I scrabbled
back and managed to stop myself falling face first into the flow.
I was on a tiled walkway, a glazed tiled walkway at that. I guessed that
I must be in Valen’s sewers. I looked at the wall that I’d just fallen through.
It didn’t appear to be different to any other section of wall. I touched it, just
to make sure it was solid. I didn’t want to be followed by the guards
because I certainly couldn’t run or fight. I tasted iron, felt a rib dig into my
giblets. I probably couldn’t even walk.
“That isn’t good.” My voice was a whisper. I lay back to try and ease
the pain. As if that wasn’t bad enough, something nearby growled, low and
threatening. Whatever it was, it sounded big. I tried to get up, but that
simple act was now beyond me. Falling through the wall had pushed the
broken rib deeper into my vitals and I was feeling it acutely.
Fuck it, I thought. I was tired. I decided to lie there and wait for
whatever it was to try its luck. I could probably still deliver a nasty bite if
the beastie came too close. The growling turned to snuffling and was soon
accompanied by the click-skitter of claws on tiles. As it drew closer I got a
noseful of its scent, the unmistakable aroma of wet dog rat. I’d escaped
hanging, drawing, and burning, only to be eaten alive by rodents.
Something sniffed my hair. I opened my eye and saw twitching
whiskers, a wet, brown nose and a pair of huge yellow fangs swam into
view. This is it. I thought, and then a familiar face loomed out of the
darkness behind it.
“Breed!” Clary exclaimed.
Content that I was among friends, I relinquished my grip on
consciousness.
I WASN’T sure if I was dead or dreaming, or both. After my previous experience
I was reasonably sure that the dead didn’t dream, but then there are
probably as many ways of being dead as there are of being alive. I felt like I
was floating on a river of velvet, drifting through underground grottos lit by
exotic, spongiform blooms of fungi. Something was dragging me, guiding
me through miles of passageways and tunnels. Warm brown eyes stared
down at me and a soft, wet nose sniffed my face.
“Breed, wake up,” Clary said, too brightly and too loud.
I coughed blood into my mouth, tried to sit up, failed.
“Stay, stay,” Clary ordered. I was in no position to argue with an
eleven-year-old, so I stayed put.
“Clary’s right. Don’t try to get up. I’ve sent for a healer. Rowan will
fix you up or kill you. Hopefully, it won’t be the latter, but I make no
promises on her behalf.”
That little nugget of information didn’t perturb me overmuch, I’d
grown inured to death threats. I did find the flash lad who’d spoken
intriguing, even in my battered state. I say ‘lad’. It was hard to tell if it was
a boy who looked like a rat, or a rat that looked like a boy.
Whatever he was, he wasn’t your average Schism-touched cull.
Hovering behind Clary the boy rat was wearing fine breeches, silk
stockings, silver-buckled patent shoes, a white linen shirt, and an
embroidered silk waistcoat. That I felt so wretched but still noticed his
finery was a testament to the skill of his tailor. His fur was sleek and dark,
his tail as thick as my arm, and restlessly active. His front teeth were long,
but nowhere near as long as those of the biggest dog rat I’d ever seen,
which was sitting at his feet, eyeing me like I was the main course of a
Gods’ Day dinner.
“Where?” I managed to say in between gasping breaths.
The boy rat came over with the dog rat padding at his heel like a
faithful hound. “You’re in my home in Nightside. I am Leopold, the Duke
of East Point.”
“Clary, priest, Rubin?”
“Rubin, is it now, eh, demon?” Tosspot cackled.
I hadn’t noticed him until he spoke. The mangy old sot was sitting on a
watermarked silk divan, stroking a fat, white rat that was sleeping on his
knee.
 “Bet you’re wondering how we got here, eh? How you got here.” He
took a pull on his pel pipe.
I nodded.
“Not sure I should tell you.” He chuckled again. The rat on his knee
stirred and draped the tip of its tail over its nose.
Drawing breath and trying to talk was like trying to suck an egg
through a penny whistle. I lay back and focused on breathing.
“You’re no fun today, Breed,” Tosspot muttered, sulkily. “When you
and priesty boy went off gallivanting, me and Clary were in the kitchen of
the big house, weren’t we, Clary?”
“Yes, Rubin, we were. We were told to help with the washing up.
Which I thought unfair and so I curdled their milk, a whole churn.” She
laughed, and Leo laughed with her.
Tosspot’s eyes lit up. “You’d been gone a spell when we heard a right
ruckus. Knights kicked the doors in, the demon-dodgers were all yelling
and crying.” He grew animated, the rat on his knee woke up and started
preening. “Me and Clary sneaked out the back and into the sewers.”
“Into my domain.” Leopold bowed.
“Heard you got arrested for trying to steal something and was all set to
be hanged.” Tosspot coughed. “How did you get out of that?”
“Apported.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “How long since me and Tobias set
off?” I had no idea how much time had passed since our ill-starred venture.
“Two nights ago,” Clary said. I noticed she was making eyes at rat boy
and that he was giving her coy come-hithers in return. “We came down here
and Leo found us and took us in.”
The Duke of Wherever bowed. “It was the least I could do.”
“The Synod must have met,” I said. Tobias had failed and if I wasn’t
much mistaken, I was dying, again.
The next hour or so I spent fighting to breathe as the right side of my
chest swelled like a dead pig’s belly. I discovered that if I lay perfectly still,
it only hurt a lot instead of too much, which was a relief because I hate
crying like a babe in front of strangers. At least the couch on which I was
expiring was comfortable. The room was windowless as was only to be
expected but had surprisingly good ventilation and was brightly lit by
dozens of beeswax candles. Unlike Mother’s lair, Duke Leo’s audience
chamber was elegantly appointed. No expense was being spared for my
death watch, but I can’t say I was grateful.
 I must have dozed off again but woke in the sure knowledge that
Rowan had arrived. The air in the room had turned crisp and smelled of
frost-rimed loam, flint, and ghostberries. I opened my eye and tried to
balance what one sense told me against the evidence of another and I
couldn’t. It smelled like an autumn morning in the mountains and yet I was
most definitely in the sewers of Valen, staring at a myth made real.
I’d seen some strange things in my time but nothing like Rowan. It
wasn’t that her appearance was outlandish. Compared to coves like Ludo
she was positively ordinary. It was more that Rowan appeared to be made
of the unreal fabric from which dreams are woven. Her presence served to
highlight how tawdry the world was, how lacking. Tall and slender, she had
a pair of violet eyes, translucent skin, and hair like fine strands of spun
glass that absorbed and reflected the colors in the room. She was wearing a
long coat over breeches and a linen shirt and vest. The first thing she did
was tip Leo a polite nod. The second was to look at me like most people
looked at me before rushing across the room faster than a thought,
whereupon she grabbed my hand and tore off my glove. The world around
us receded into shadow. If she was going to kill me, there wasn’t a damn
thing I could do to stop her. Rowan was an Annurashi. Just as the humans
had made warspawn, the Annurashi had made them, or so they said.
She held my face and stared into my eyes. Up close, I saw that hers
were flecked with gold and silver and her pupils were purple and far from
round. Her breath was as fresh and sweet as snow dusted apples. Why it
would almost be a pleasure being killed by her.
“Did you choose this?” she asked. Her voice was many-layered, it
reminded me of Ludo and was utterly compelling.
I knew my continued existence depended not only on giving the right
answer but an honest one, two things that didn’t often go together in my
world.
“No,” I croaked. “Tricked.”
She didn’t take her eyes off mine while I talked. My jaw throbbed
where she had it clamped in her bony, four-jointed fingers, but I didn’t have
the breath or guts to complain. I heard the distinct sound of a blade being
sheathed as she let me go.
The most disconcerting thing that happened next wasn’t having an
Annurashi tending to my wounds, nor was it the way she mixed sorcery
with actual doctoring which was just confusing. It was when she stuck a
long, hollow needle into my swollen chest and the air whistled out. The
pain in my lung lessened immediately. It didn’t vanish altogether, but I
could breathe easier. She hovered her hand over my chest. Her eyes shone
with a cold, blue light and the offending rib wriggled out of my lung and
realigned itself. It was disconcertingly similar to the way Shallunsard had
brought me back from the dead and just like then, it hurt like hell.
Without another word or second glance, the Annurashi packed up her
things and went over to talk to Leo, who’d been loitering near Clary while
the Annurashi worked. His faithful giant rat was cowering in the corner of
the room. I had to give it to the Duke, he showed remarkable composure
when dealing with Rowan. After a brief conversation, he clicked his heels
and bowed. She acknowledged it with the slightest of nods.
“Keep your head down, Leo,” the annurashi counseled. “Trouble is
coming. I’m going to go and speak to the other Dukes. You need to
prepare.” She flicked a bladed glance in my direction.
“Yes, I know. Take care, Rowan, and thank you,” Leopold said to the
closing door.
I felt better than I had done in hours, if somewhat drained. My eyes
started to close and then my palm began to burn as though I’d stuck my
hand in a fire. I rolled over and tried to smother the intense pain but only
succeeded in falling off the couch. The giant dog rat yapped. A dozen of its
kin bounded into the room. I thought of Wulf and wondered how long I’d
last.
Death by dog rat was averted by the Duke who calmed them with a
wave. Clary and Tosspot actually looked concerned. I looked at my hand.
Overlaying the demon mark was another sigil. Unlike Shallunsard’s which
was as black as squid ink, this one was pale, silvery grey. The two did not
sit well together and as I looked, actually seemed to be writhing under the
skin like eye fly larvae, fighting for dominance.
“I am so sick of pain.” I gritted my teeth and repeatedly slammed my
open hand against the floor, trying to beat the pain away.
Tosspot came over. His pipe was hanging out of the corner of his
mouth. As usual, he was scratching his nethers. “Best stop all this mucking
about, demon and get some shut-eye if you’re going to rescue priesty boy.”
“Who said I was going to rescue him?”
“I did.” Clary beamed. She was cuddling the fat white rat. “I asked
Leo to save you, so you could save Father Tobias because he saved me.
That’s fair, isn’t it?”
Leo gazed fondly at Clary. “I think so.”
I didn’t need to ask what was in it for Duke Rat Boy. The soppy way
Clary was looking at him spoke volumes. I crawled back on the couch and
buried my face in a cushion. As I said, I hate strangers seeing me cry.

CLARY TOLD me it was morning when she woke me by sticking a bowl of stew
under my nose. I ate the lot and asked for more, I was starving. While she
went to see what she could find, Duke Leo turned up. He was reading a
letter. He smiled.
“She’s too young for tumbling,” I said without thinking.
The Duke’s smile faded. His tail twitched. “What do you take me for?
Some foppish cull who’d tup a bud like Clary?”
“I don’t know anything about you. All I’m saying is she’s a nipper.” I
got up, stretched my legs. The dog rat growled.
“And all you need to know is that I’m the nib of this manor, and a
gentleman,” Leo replied, polite and threatening in the same breath.
Those big dark rat eyes were unreadable, but that twitching tail and
tone of voice told me I was on dangerous ground. I put my attack of
concern down to the lingering effects of the geas and wondered how anyone
with integrity ever survived long enough to go grey. Maybe they didn’t.
Maybe all old folk were selfish bastards and, as the saying goes, the good
all die young. I tipped him a nod, his due as a prince of the Midnight Court.
“Point taken, Duke.”
He inclined his head. His tail curled around the missive and tucked it
into his waistcoat. The giant dog rat set about grooming, so I fancied his
master wasn’t planning to do me a mischief, not now at least.
“Tell me, Breed, how old are you?”
Seemed a mite personal as questions go, but this was his manor. “I
don’t know, twenty? Something like that.”
He nodded. “The oldest thoasa I ever met was thirty-five.”
I snorted. “I’ll be happy if I live that long.”
“And not a little surprised, I’ll wager.” He gave a knowing smile.
“Doesn’t it bother you that your species is so short-lived?”
 I shrugged. “Thoasa aren’t much given to introspection, and anyway,
I’m only half thoasa.” I was all too aware of the short lifespan of thoasa. It
was the price they paid for their incredible strength, speed, and stamina.
Thirty-five was actually five years older than any thoasa I’d ever met, or
indeed had heard of.
“So how is it you know an Annurashi?” I asked, intent on steering the
questions away from my mortality.
“Rowan? It is more that Rowan knows me, knows everyone with
pretentions in Nightside Valen, and a fair number in Dayside too.”
“I didn’t think they bothered with mortals.”
“I don’t think they do as a rule.” He snorted. “Nor can I blame them.
My guess is that Rowan is an ambassador for her kind. The Annurashi’s
eyes and ears in the Empire, here to keep an eye out in case anyone starts
another Schism War, or releases a demon, that kind of thing.” He gave me a
pointed look.
I laughed.
Clary came back with a full pot of stew, and I ate until my stomach felt
like it was going to burst. She’d changed out of her filthy homespun and
was now wearing a peach gown embroidered with pearls. Her hair, such as
it was, had been expertly curled and tied with a bow. She seemed more than
pleased with her transformation from country peasant to fashionable young
lady and took every chance to flounce and swish her skirts. I found my
gloves under the couch. I was tempted to beg a clean shirt, but there didn’t
seem much point. I was about to get all unnecessary with the base culls
who’d taken Tobias and my hammer.
Duke Leo excused himself on an urgent matter of business and Tosspot
had wandered off somewhere, probably on the hunt for more drugs. This
left me and Clary kicking our heels. After listening to the girl prattle
breathlessly about how wonderful Leopold was and how marvelous his
domain, I asked her to show me around, something she was only too happy
to do. I cared not one whit about how pretty everything was, I needed to
know how to get out of here quickly should the need arise.
I THOUGHT I knew sewers until I found myself wandering the halls of Nightside
Valen. The place was enormous, labyrinthine, built over centuries on many
subterranean levels. From what I could see, each previously buried
incarnation of the city became part of the fabric of Nightside. The whole
history of Imperial civilization was here, layered in a dozen slices, hundreds
of years thick.
Barrel vaulted halls were lit by antique glowstone chandeliers and
waterfalls cascaded beneath suspended bridges. Nature, as well as magic
and ingenuity had also been harnessed, and glowing fungi clung to the
inside of colored glass domes, lighting side streets and alleyways. Other,
wilder varieties clambered unfettered up the walls, their luminous polyps
hanging like fat lanterns above the denizens of Nightside as they went about
their daily lives in much the same way as those above ground. It was a
whole other city beneath the dayside streets of Valen. The two had to
interact, nothing this big could go unnoticed and I guessed a lot of money
flowed between greasy palms at both ends of the pipe.
“I need some cutlery, Clary.”
“Knifes and forks? What do you want them for?”
“What? Ah, forgive me, I mean blades. I forget you don’t know what
most kinchin coves ought.”
“Come again?”
“You weren’t born in the shadow of the nevergreen tree.” She gave me
a blank look. “You’re not a cove like me, leastways, you weren’t.”
She chuckled and skipped across one of the swinging bridges that
spanned a foaming underground river. “You’d be surprised. I’ve done a bit
o’sharp and shady work in my time.”
“Oh, aye? And what nefarious deeds should we credit your slate
with?”
“Hexes mostly, only on them what wronged me, mind you. My ma
taught me manners and some fine dark tricks before the fever got her.”
Despite the gloom hanging over me about the priest, the demon, and
everything else, Clary’s confession was the funniest thing I’d heard in
weeks.
“So all that cunning work they were accusing you of in Little Lea?”
“I done it.” She dipped a curtsey. “Anyone who messed with my gran,
I fixed ’em. I killed their cattle, poisoned their wells, and curdled their milk.
They deserved it though, they’d been after gran’s land for years, ever since
she found calth in the stream.”
“So why did you come with us? Why not stay to look after your gran?”
“Father Tobias solved all our problems, didn’t he? Burnt ’em all up in
a nice, tidy pile. Gran said I needed to broaden my horizons, so here I am,
and a good thing too, eh? Saved your life.”
It was a good job my ribs had been mended because I just about broke
another laughing. Culls passing by looked at me like I was moon-touched,
but their censuring stares only served to make me laugh more. I managed to
stop eventually before I did myself another injury.
After scouting out a few boltholes and rat runs, I returned to Leopold’s
mansion which was located in the heart of his domain. Compared to this
Darkling Court, Mother was a peasant, a country squire at best. And I
thought she was the queen of the world.
When we got back, Leopold was waiting for us in what I now knew
wasn’t his audience chamber but was, in fact, a modest side room. The
Duke was deep in conversation with an arch rogue if ever I saw one.
The cove looked and smelled human, he was tall for their kind, broad
in the back, narrow in the waist and wearing dark, shadow friendly clothing.
His soft soled boots were made for climbing or sneaking rather than
marching, giving a hint to the type of trade he practiced, as did the hooded
cloak he was wearing. It was traditional attire, favored by many a
bladesman and woman who fancied themselves a night-blessed bravo. This
one certainly did. When he turned around I saw that he was wearing a brace
of knives bandoliered across his chest and a matched longsword and dagger
sheathed at his hip. The only thing missing was a sign around his neck
saying, ‘I am a rogue’. Going on what he looked like, he was either very
good at his job or very bad.
“So, this is Breed.” He was well-spoken, but there was a hint of an
accent under the judgmental sneer. He gave me a cursory once-over. His
cold grey peepers were nailed deep into a hard, lean face. He folded his
arms. “I don’t know, Leo.”
“Please, Cyrus. I wouldn’t ask, but the priest is dear to someone who is
dear to me.” He was pleading, but the Duke’s tail swished lazily. Despite
his words, the lad was confident of the outcome, making me think this was
a show for my benefit.
 The hooded man rubbed his bristle-sprinkled chin. “The monastery
will be heavily guarded, and even if we get in this Tobias is most likely
dead already.”
“Nevertheless, I would like you to try, Cyrus.”
“I wouldn’t,” I said, as now seemed to be the time to offer opinions.
“No offense. But I work alone.”
They both looked like a turd had just recited poetry and then carried on
their conversation, more quietly this time.
“I’m going to look for Rubin. I’ll see you later, Breed,” Clary said. She
cupped her hand to her mouth and whispered, “Leo’s only trying to help, he
doesn’t want you getting caught by the Imperials again.” She smiled as
though that little bit of wisdom would make me feel better and then left, but
not before stopping to drop a coy bow to the Duke. The fat white rat
followed her out. The big dog rat remained at its master’s heel, smoothing
the hair on its tail. It glared at me, which was actually quite heartening. At
least something was taking me seriously, even if it was only an overgrown
rodent.
“Then it’s settled. Cyrus will help you find the priest. Are we all
agreed?” Leopold looked at me. “Breed?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Cyrus eyed me disdainfully. “No, you don’t.”
I was impressed. The cove managed to pack a lot of contempt into few
words. If he wasn’t so matey with rat boy I’d have said that he didn’t like
warspawn or the schism touched but given their obvious friendship, I
surmised it was just me he wasn’t keen on for some reason.
Duke Leopold stepped in and smoothed the ruffled air before things
got all unnecessary. “I think it would be best if Cyrus went with you. He
knows the city better than anyone.”
The only thing I was assured of was that Cyrus wasn’t coming along to
help me or the priest. He was coming to either quietly kill me or, at best,
keep an eye on me. The Duke didn’t trust me running around his manor
without an escort, I understood that. I also understood that he might have
paid Cyrus to vent me somewhere nice and quiet, where Clary would never
find out about it. If I was someone like him, in charge of a fief with a
reputation to maintain and peace to keep, I’d want a trouble causer like me
out of the way, I got that. I just wasn’t going along with it.
“Could I borrow a couple of blades? Only, I mislaid mine.”
 Cyrus snorted. “You won’t need blades while you’re with me.”
I ignored him. The duke’s tail swished thoughtfully. He smelled of
rosewater and just a hint of mousy sweat, but only a hint, the lad was a cool
cove.
“Of course,” he said. “And perhaps a change of clothes?” He wrinkled
his nose. “Those are rather distinctive. If you have to go abroad in Dayside
it’s best not to give the clanks a reason to stop you, especially now. As you
know from firsthand experience, Imperial knights hit first and then hit
again, just to make sure.”
“Yeah, thanks. I take it the Sanguines won the vote in the Synod?”
Cyrus and Duke Leo exchanged knowing looks. I’d bet my shirt that
they had a stake in this business. That they seemed surprised that I did was
just another indication of how stupid they thought I was. I decided not to
attempt to disavow them. I’d take the easy road and play the idiot, see if I
could work their underestimation to my advantage.
“Aye, they did, in the main. They verified the legitimacy of a rather
awkward piece of prophecy, which in turn has led the Senate to consider
drafting new laws.” Leopold’s tail flicked angrily from side to side, belying
the placid expression on his face and the calmness in those dark eyes.
“They have yet to be voted on, but there seems little doubt they’ll be
passed. How do, what do you know about the Synod and the Order of the
Sanguine Shadow?”
I shrugged. “Just what the priest used to babble on about. In truth, I
didn’t pay much heed. He talked too much for my liking.”
I was given a couple of cheap old knives and a pair of breeches and a
shirt. The clothes were dark grey and made of soft leather. They were also
the finest clothes I’d ever worn. For the first time in weeks, I actually felt
good, which was due in no small part to the Annurashi’s healing. I was still
weak, but I could see out of both eyes, my various aches had diminished,
and my lung felt almost as good as new. I didn’t know what significance the
new mark in my palm had, or how kindly Shallunsard would take to being
usurped, but I could tell him what I told her, with the same confidence. I
didn’t ask for what she did to me.
 18

Leo and Clary bade me farewell before scampering off somewhere,

leaving me alone with Cyrus. I wasn’t sure what to make of this garlanded
wolf. He looked too much the bravo for me to take him seriously. What I
couldn’t dispute was the map he owned detailing the main routes through
Nightside and the sneaky sewer entrances and exits up to Dayside Valen.
From snatches of conversation I’d pieced together, and a few casual
questions here and there, I’d found out that Nightside was divided into four
quarters, each ruled by a duke. Like above ground, the dukes sat in council
and made citywide decisions together.
“Are you paying attention?” Cyrus snapped. It was a fair call. I hadn’t
been paying much heed while he droned on about patrols and rock falls, and
all the usual, petty inconveniences that seemed to worry humans.
“Of course,” I replied.
He grunted. “Good, because I won’t be going over this again.”
“Pity. You have such a lovely speaking voice.” I have to say, he was
quick for a human. To be fair to myself, I was still recovering from my
injuries, but credit where it’s due, he was on me like a fly on shit as soon as
the words left my lips. Without giving the slightest indication that he was
going to move, he did, and I was pinned to the table with a blade across my
throat before I could say— “Fuck, you’re quick.”
“I am.” He assured me. “And while we’re about the truth saying, let
me tell you this, I do not like you.” He pressed the knife a fraction harder
against my throat. “You traffic with demons, and like the cold-blooded,
fucking lizard that you are, you don’t give a damn about anyone but
yourself. Worst of all, for you, is that you have brought trouble to the house
of my friend, which really pisses me off.” The pressure on my throat
increased a notch. He held the blade there for an uncomfortably long time
before letting me up. “Now don’t speak unless I tell you to because I find
your lisping voice irritating, and if you so much as look at me askance I will
end you. Is that clear?”
I might be a touch on the impetuous side, but contrary to popular
opinion, I’m not a complete lackwit. I nodded and promised myself that
before this game was up, I’d close this shitstain’s account.
 According to my new best friend, the plan was to avoid the sewers by
going up through a storm drain that fed into the underground river which
ran through Nightside. Apparently, the main sewer routes in and out of
Nightside were being more heavily patrolled by the clanks since the
attempted robbery at the Hall of Heroes. This was said with emphasis as if I
might have forgotten I was the idiot who’d made a turnip out of what
should have been a peach of a job.
He told me that the storm drains had an inlet near the Sanguine
Shadow’s monastery, but that it was difficult to get through. Again, I kept
my mouth shut and didn’t express my doubts as to the veracity of his claim,
or its lack of importance to anyone save a soft, human pus-sack like him.
I was informed that once we were inside the monastery, we’d still have
to locate Tobias if he was there and alive. How I’d managed to survive all
these years without Cyrus there to point out the blindingly obvious was a
mystery. One useful piece of information he offered was about the woman
who’d stolen the hammer and thrown me and the priest across the Hall of
Heroes. Her name was Augustra Octarius. She was the leader of the
Sanguine Shadow and as of three days ago, the favorite to become the next
Eklesiastis of the Pantheon. As much as I needed the damn hammer, I
wasn’t looking forward to dancing with her again.
After finishing the threat peppered briefing, Cyrus led me into the
bowels of Leopold’s sprawling holding. The more I saw of Nightside, the
more I was convinced that it could only exist with the knowledge and
approval of those above ground. There was no doubt the cement that bound
the two was gold, which made me wonder whose side the royalty of
Nightside would stand on should war come to the city, particularly as
Leopold was touched. It made me curious about his fellow dukes. I caught
myself. I was starting to think like a schemer and that never went well from
what I’d seen.
The gutterhaunt led us to some smugglers’ tunnels. The rough-hewn
passageways smelled of urine and seeping water but were dimly lit by a few
cracked and covered glowstones. The floor was smooth and firmly
compacted from the passing of many feet over many years. In dingier side
tunnels, I glimpsed the ghostly outline of barrels and sacks and lurking
amongst them the bright beady eyes of dog rats and the occasional splatter
of luminous fungus. Cyrus moved confidently and quietly. I was reasonably
confident that I could beat him in a fistfight but blade to blade might be
interesting. He didn’t talk much, save to point out holes, low ceilings, or
how noisy I was, which was bollocks. For the most part, we walked in near
silence. I still had a headache but felt better to be up and moving, even if it
was with someone who might try to kill me at any moment. In fact, it was
that aspect of our otherwise dull trip that kept me awake. The question was,
did I wait until he made his move, or pre-empt him?
The cove was carrying enough blades to open a shop, and his assault
upon my person told me that he knew how to use them. He even smelled
mean, his scent being comprised mainly of meat, hard liquor, and blade oil.
I felt better than I had, but I wasn’t at my best by any means, and my head
was a constant aching reminder that I needed to find Tobias. I’d have to
give killing this cove some thought and in the meantime, keep my guard up.
About an hour into our little excursion, I heard the unmistakable sound of
rushing water.
“Almost there,” he said and lengthened his stride.
A little further on, the tunnel widened to a crescent-shaped ledge. The
ground had been worn away by the water pouring from a drain above us
and into the underground river that flowed below. Cyrus stood on the edge,
hands on his hips, watching me with measured disdain from beneath his
hood.
“Over here, Breed,” he said like I might decide to go somewhere else.
Dutifully I went and stood beside him.
“I take it we’re climbing up there?”
He sniffed. “Aye.” He pointed to the outlet of the drain some twenty
feet above us. “We need to—”
Without over-thinking the deed, I straight-armed him off the ledge. I
got the impression he turned his head, but the hooded cloak cut down his
peripheral vision so that he didn’t see me move until it was too late. He
grappled with air ropes as he plunged into the muscular torrent and
vanished.
“Threaten me, will you?” I demanded of the raging water. It didn’t
answer.
Had I been inclined to feel a crumb of guilt over settling Cyrus’s
account, the climb up the wet wall and into the drain would have rid me of
it. A few feet beyond the opening the tunnel was sealed by a grille and had
been for about a century if the rust was anything to go by. I checked for
cunning levers or false locks, even had a quick feel with magic to see if
there was a glamor cast upon it, but no. Unless you were very thin or made
of water, it was a dead end, and would have been my dead end, had I not
beaten the cunny-bucket to the kill.
Relieved, annoyed and soaked, I climbed down and sat on the ledge. I
had to go back, but I couldn’t return to Duke Leo, given he was the one
who’d probably paid the late and unlamented Cyrus to scratch me. As I
pondered my next move, I heard soft footsteps in the tunnel behind me. I
leaped to my feet, blades in hand. Of all those I imagined it might have
been, Tosspot wasn’t one of them.
Even though he’d bathed and was wearing clean linen, he still looked
grubby, the grime he’d accumulated over years had been tattooed into his
pel-poisoned flesh.
“Got yourself lost, eh, Breed?” He grinned his brown toothed grin.
“Have you been following me?”
“I was following both of you. You lost your friend as well as your way,
eh? Very careless.”
“Fuck off, Tosspot. I’m not in the mood.”
“Don’t weep, demon. I know the way out.” He skipped on the spot.
“Know the way t’the Shadow house. That’s where you’re after, ain’t it?
Need t’ find the good father, eh?”
His appearance and offer of help was a little too timely. I tasted the air,
just to make sure it really was him and not some sharp cove cloaked by a
spell. It was Tosspot all right. No mere demon could replicate the frowsty
stink of self-abuse that clung to the dirty old cull.
That he was here did not sit well with me, and neither did his claim to
have followed me and Cyrus without either of us spotting him.
Unfortunately, time was prancing on like a homebound urux and I needed to
find the priest.
“Show me, and be warned, I’m in a killing mood, so you cross me at
your peril.”
He laughed and skipped along the tunnel. Again, I got the distinct
impression that I wasn’t being taken seriously. We doubled back to the last
branching passage. It turned out that Cyrus hadn’t led us far wrong. Perhaps
he’d intended to do for me then find the priest himself. Tosspot turned off
the main path and through a side tunnel to where a fissure had cracked the
roof in a much earlier collapse.
 “So how did you know this was here?” I asked, nosy as a lurcher.
Tosspot smiled, got out his pel pipe and licked the sticky residue from the
bowl.
“I bin exploring, having a look-see while you were playing with
fairies.”
“Eh? You mean the Annurashi? I’d love to hear you call her that to her
face.”
Tosspot capered like a drunken puppeteer was yanking his dangle.
“You’re moving up in the world, Breed. Up, up you go.” He flapped his
spindly arms. “I’m going to find Clary, get her to cadge me some pel from
her mousy dimber damber.”
“Aye, you do that. Oh, and Rubin.” He stopped, spun on his heel and
eyed me suspiciously. “Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me, eh?”
He just laughed and skipped out of the tunnel. I chimneyed up the
fissure and along a narrow crawl space that had been hacked out of the
rock. The old lunatic hadn’t played me false, the tunnel came out on the
other side of the grilled storm drain. From there on it was only a matter of
wading through relatively clean runoff water that flowed ankle-deep along
the outlet. I say relatively clean, I still had to dodge the occasional floating
island of fatty and decaying agglomeration, but I felt more at home here
than I did wandering around Nightside or Dayside Valen.
It was dark when I crawled out of the drain. As Cyrus promised, it
came out beside the monastery which was surrounded by a culvert
overflowing with trailing vines of red viper’s tongue. I could hear singing
coming from the building. It was the usual loud, pompous dirge favored by
religious culls although the singing was nowhere near as pompous as the
temple itself which was a gilt-edged nightmare.
The whole edifice had been painted a lurid shade of red. It was so
screamingly bright that even at night it hurt my eyes to look at it. But that
wasn’t the worst thing about it. Oh, my no. Some demented genius had
decided to imbed spells into the walls, which wasn’t unheard of except
these spells weren’t wards. The monumental waste of money had been
spent on a purely decorative effect and I use the term ‘decorative’ loosely. I
watched as every few seconds, deep red shadows rippled around the
building. It was horribly, tastelessly literal.
Like a competent glazier, I quickly spotted an open casement. Satisfied
that I was unobserved, I scaled the wall and took a look-see inside. As
befitted an order dedicated to a shadow, the prayer room was dark and joy
of joys, it was also empty. I hopped inside as another ripple of shadow
crossed the building.
Getting inside was always going to be the easiest part of this venture.
Finding the hammer was the tricksy bit. It might take all night to search the
place room by room, so I resolved to lay hands upon one of the
sanctimonious little arseweevils and persuade them to tell me where it was
being kept. I was about to go hunting when I heard footsteps coming
towards the door. I dived behind the altar as the door opened and a couple
of gospellers bumbled in.
“That went really well, didn’t it?” His voice was strained like he was
carrying something.
“You think so? I thought the choir was off tonight and Prenam’s
sermon was the same one he gave last week.”
“Was it?”
“Aye. Don’t you remember? He quoted Chankuk the Venerable’s
speech to the masses at the slaughter of Riven Eye Gorge.”
“I don’t think he did.”
“He did, I’m telling you, he just swapped a few paragraphs around.”
“Well, I liked it. Yay, I say unto thee that rivers shall choke on the
corpses of our enemies and we shall know glory.”
“You missed a line.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did. After the rivers shall choke on the corpses, there’s a bit about
flowing with blood.”
“Not in Prenam’s version.” I’d heard enough.
They’d brought a lamp with them but it was small and cast more
shadows than light and so I risked a peek from behind the altar to check
where they were before I made my move. There were two of them stacking
books on a shelf. I leaped from my hiding place, grabbed one by the neck
and bashed his head against a wall. The other I punched in the mouth before
he had a chance to shout. The one I was holding went limp, but the other
was staggering about, moaning and clutching his face. I let go of the
unconscious one, drew a knife, and slapped the moaner on the pate.
“Shut your yap or I’ll vent you,” I said. That got his attention and very
wisely he did just that. I slid the door bolt and gestured for him to sit.
“Right, you, where’s Augustra stashed my fucking hammer?”
 “I, I don’t know.”
I slapped him on the head again, a little harder this time. “Don’t tell me
you don’t know, or I’ll clip those shells from either side of your head as
they are apparently a waste of skin and I hate waste. Course, I’ll have to cut
out your tongue first, just to keep the noise down.”
“Shekeepsthehammerinherstudy,” he blurted. Tears smeared his red
eye make-up and ran down either side of his snot-bubbling nose.
“Slow down.” I slapped him again.
“Her study. Third floor, big door at the end of the hallway, you can’t
miss it.”
“Good lad. Best close your eyes, eh?”
Blubbering, he closed his eyes and fell to his knees. “Please, don’t k
—”
I laid him out with a punch and stripped his robe before divesting the
other cull of his garb. I put on the one that looked to be the closest fit and
tore the other into strips which I used to bind the pair of them. As usual, my
feet stuck out of the bottom of the robe, but it was blessedly dark in the
hallway, and I managed to reach the stairwell without bumping into anyone
else. All the noise seemed to be coming from the lower levels. The air in
here was thick with the smell of incense laced with pel and the underlying
odor of unwashed human.
I crept up the stairs, beneath the painted arrogance of gilt-framed
hierarchs who stared down disapprovingly from the walls. My feet sank
into a carpet, so luxurious it felt like I was walking on clouds, the walls
were likewise draped in a fortune of red silk.
If the intention had been to make the place look imposing it had failed.
It looked more like a high-class brothel than a temple. Of course, I didn’t
know much about the order of the Sanguine Shadow. It might very well
have been one of those sects where to fuck is to pray, in which case it had
struck a reasonable balance. The Pantheon had hundreds of cults, all
competing for patronage and membership. Each had their own unique twist,
but the sex and drug cults were always popular.
A splinter of light squeezed from under an imposing door at the end of
the hallway. I drew my blades and hoped Augustra wasn’t in. Alas, I was
out of luck. A woman’s throaty laughter rang out.
I listened at the door. There was no way I was going to rush her. Like
Tobias, she was a sorcerer, and like him, she could burn me down to the nub
before I got within a yard of her. I sheathed my blades and had a look
through the keyhole.
Standing against the glare of a roaring fire was Augustra. She was
wearing a loose red robe and had a dildo strapped around her nethers. More
importantly, above her on the mantelpiece was the Hammer’s hammer.
“Just sign the confession and I’ll stop. Unless you don’t want me to?”
She smiled at someone I couldn’t quite see. I angled myself and managed to
see that the unfortunate cull she was talking to was bent over a table. His
brown, homespun robe was pulled up around his waist and his drawers were
bunched around his ankles. I heard chains rattle and gagged shouting. My
headache vanished in an instant. It was Tobias. I’d forgotten all about the
poor cull.
Augustra adjusted her borrowed member. “Still won’t? Then you leave
me no choice.”
There was more muffled shouting.
“Don’t blame me. Your father said he’d kill me if you have so much as
a bruise when I hand you over, but I must have that confession. You see my
problem?”
He shouted almost intelligible curses. I could see he was shaking,
straining against his bonds.
Augustra laughed. “And you a priest. What would Saint Bartholomew
think? Now, where were we?” She walked over and squared her hips behind
him.
It was an ornate door, heavy, highly decorated, inlaid with shell and
polished bone. Funny, the things you notice in those rare moments of
absolute clarity. As well as beautifully decorated, the door was also
unlocked. It took me just three quiet strides to reach her. I didn’t bother to
announce my presence, swear any oaths, or make any promises, I just
snapped her neck.
I stepped over the body and pulled the priest’s robe down. He was
chained to a table. A sheet of parchment was crumpled beneath his stump
and a quill lay beside it. Ink was splattered all over his hand and sleeve and
had soaked into the table top, clouding the bright inlay.
The chains might have been marked with a ward against sorcery, but
they weren’t proof against me smashing the lock off with a hammer that
happened to be lying close at hand. I say a hammer because as soon as I
picked it up I knew it wasn’t the hammer.
 Now I’d freed him the priest tore the gag from his mouth and steadied
himself against the table. His gaze fell on the body of Augustra.
“Oh, Breed.”
I girded myself for the inevitable admonishment, but it didn’t come.
“Is she dead?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “You’re too late. The Synod voted. The Senate will
follow…”
“Not now,” I said. He was trembling and what little color he possessed
had bled from his face leaving it a pallid mask. “We need to get out of
here.”
“They told me you were dead.” He stared at the body.
“What, again? You really need to stop listening to them.” I tossed the
hammer, across the room.
Tobias looked horrified. “What are you doing?”
“It isn’t the hammer.”
“It’s clearly the hammer,” the priest insisted.
“It’s clearly a hammer, but it’s not the hammer.”
“Of course, it’s the fucking hammer. I’ve had to listen to Augustra
telling me about how she opened the tomb and took it. It has to be the
hammer.”
He was shaking and furious, but not because of the hammer. He was
bundling all his rage together because he was in shock. The thoasa in me
had never felt what he was going through, the human half had a vague idea.
Nether part had the desire or patience to deal with his pain right now. “My
guess is that the Hammer and his hammer were never in that tomb,” I said
and took a shufty out the door.
His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “And you’re an expert now, are
you?” His fist was clenched, the air charged.
“You’ve been hurt, you’re itching for a fight, I understand, but you’re
looking in the wrong place. The hurt will pass.”
“You seem to know an awful lot all of a sudden. Has your demon been
educating you?”
“A demon, aye, but not the one you think. Mother Blake trades in flesh
as much as any other commodity. They come in all shapes, ages, and sizes,
bound for the brothels, many are unwilling. I’ve met a lot of people like
Augustra.”
 “I knew you were despicable.”
“That’s enough.” I was trying to be understanding, but he was asking
for a punch. “I stayed away from that part of the business. Mother says it’s a
weakness of character, says I wasn’t well rounded, but then, she talks shit.”
“You might not have participated, but you knew it was happening.”
He seemed determined to pick a fight, to vent his rage. I didn’t blame
him, I just didn’t want it to be with me. “So does anyone with eyes in their
head. We all live in the same fucking world, just about. The difference is
that some of you sail above the shit and some of us have no choice but to
wade through it.”
He ran his hand over his stubbly head. He was struggling to make eye
contact as though he was embarrassed or ashamed. I didn’t think it would
do any good to tell him that there was no need. We both knew he hadn’t
done anything wrong, but that didn’t matter right now, so I held my tongue.
“How do you know this isn’t the real hammer?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I just know it isn’t.”
“How? Where does this insight come from? How do you know?” Pain
was fueling his anger, never a good thing for a sorcerer, or those around
them.
“I don’t have the answer, Tobias, I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t fair.”
I shrugged. “No. It isn’t fair and there’s no justice, I know, and now so
do you. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Tobias said a prayer over Augustra. I opened the door a crack just in
time to see a handful of red-robed figures coming up the stairs. Closing it
quickly, I signaled to Tobias. He looked at me but didn’t seem to be taking
anything in.
“We can’t go that way.” I braced a chair behind the door. “We’ll have
to go out the window.”
“Allow me.” Tobias raised his hands, the air crackled.
“You sure the angles are right?” I asked.
“Fuck the angles.” Before I had a chance to try and calm him down, he
blew the wall out.
I’ll give him this, he didn’t believe in half-measures. As he crumpled, I
scooped him up and slung him over my shoulder. A light drizzle misted the
air, damping down the clouds of dust rising from the rubble. I scrambled
out of the gaping hole and climbed down what was left of the outside of the
building. When my feet hit the cobbles, I ran like a dragon was chasing me.

“SWEET SALVATION, I didn’t expect that to happen,” the priest said when he came to.
I’d legged it as far from the Sanguines’ temple as I could, avoiding
busy thoroughfares until I found a derelict house tucked at the end of a
quiet, residential street. I broke in and hid in the cellar with my unconscious
charge. It would do for now, but we couldn’t stay here. Given what we’d
just done, the clanks would tear the city apart to find us.
“You killed Augustra.” Happily, there was no hint of recrimination in
his voice, he was just trying to recall what had happened. Being slightly
fuddled wasn’t a bad thing for him right now. Being raped was hard to bear
so perhaps it was best that his memory was hazy.
“I did, and you blew a massive hole in their temple.”
“Oh. Yes. I did, didn’t I? They will not forgive either act. We’re in
trouble, Breed.”
I laughed. “For a change. I think a trip abroad might be in order,
somewhere like Shen, perhaps?”
“None of this would have happened if they hadn’t been so damn
greedy.” He put his head in his hand.
I decided that I wasn’t going to abandon him just yet. No matter what
my next move would be, I was going to need coin and Tobias was my best
chance of getting it without going on the rob. Given my somewhat strained
relationship with Duke Leo, it was probably best to avoid robbery as all
fences were bound to be affiliated. Though I hated to admit it, I was running
out of room to maneuver and gaining enemies with every stride. The only
useful ally I had was the demon, but I’d be damned if I asked him for help.
“You should get a message to your friends in the order.”
He shook his head. “No, absolutely not.”
“Unless you’re planning on swimming to Shen, we’re going to need
coin.”
“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet, but I cannot go to the
order. They’re in enough trouble because of me. I won’t endanger them
further.”
 This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “They’ll probably do much better
now that Augustra isn’t on their backs. You said it yourself, your brother’s a
halfwit. And Sister Kyra will be desperate to know what’s happened to
you.” I thought that sounded rather good as persuasive arguments went. The
priest shook his head again. There was just no pleasing some people.
“I don’t know if I can trust her. Someone told Augustra our plans, it
could have been her, and why do you care?”
“I won’t dignify that with an answer.” I couldn’t, the truth was, I didn’t
care. I just needed money.
“I’m sorry, Breed. I’m sorry about everything. I’ll get word to Kyra,
somehow.”
‘Somehow’ involved me swapping clothes with Tobias and sending
him off to find a bakery.
I waited anxiously for him to return while wearing his scratchy, too-
small robe. He was a thin-shouldered cull and no mistake. He came back
with a loaf of fresh bread.
“Did you do what I said?” I asked.
“Yes, yes.”
“Nobody saw you? Nobody asked any questions or saw what you
did?”
“Gods, Breed. Paying a baker’s boy to deliver a loaf of bread is not
beyond me. Do you want your clothes back?”
“Yes, I bloody do. You put the note inside the loaf, right?”
“I’m not even going to answer that.” We exchanged clothes. As before,
he didn’t know where to look while we dressed. I didn’t give a shit, a
body’s a body, clothed or naked but humans, like arrachids, have some
strange ideas when it comes to modesty.
We waited out the day in the temporary sanctuary of the cellar. It was
raining outside and if a search was being mounted they hadn’t made it this
far yet. The street was quiet save for the usual sounds of children shouting
and wailing and neighbors passing the time of day. While we shared the
bread, I told him about what had happened after we were caught. I didn’t
tell him about the flies and the demon sigil, instead of that I told him I’d
escaped into the sewers after overcoming one of the clanks. I did tell him
about the Annurashi which was a mistake.
“How stupid can you be, Breed?”
 The shock of his ordeal seemed to be wearing off as he sounded more
like his whiny, judgmental self, although I could smell anger lurking just
beneath the surface. He pored over the mark in my palm, turning my hand
this way and that while muttering to himself.
“Hold my hand much longer and we’ll be betrothed,” I said at last.
He let go. “This could be very bad. The Annurashi don’t do anything
by chance.”
I held up my hands. “Nothing to do with me, your priestship. I was
helpless, lying on a couch. Blame Clary, in fact, blame yourself. Clary had
her boyfriend save me because she wanted me to save you, not that I
wouldn’t have anyway.” I smiled.
“Oh, I believe you. After all, it’s not like you have a choice.” His gaze
drifted to the bonding cuff.
I was an unlucky cove, I’ll grant you, but right then I was thankful that
I was me and not him.
 19

On the way to the singular dump where Tobias had arranged to meet Kyra,
I broke some rules of the Court and dipped a few pockets. I also lifted a
couple of cloaks.
With a basic disguise and a handful of coin, the priest and I settled into
a corner of the designated backstreet cellar-dive with a couple of mugs of
the vilest ale I’d ever drunk. Tobias paid a yawning link boy a copper penny
to keep an eye out while we got down to the serious business of cradling
our flat beer and waiting.
The cellar was a real dump and in marked contrast to the sumptuous
palaces and guild houses that I had lately frequented. I had no idea if we
were still in Duke Leo’s domain or if we’d crossed into the turf of another
lordling. Wherever we were this was a wretched hole of the lowest order.
This place felt like one of those places that no one ever claims,
somewhere that’s fallen through the cracks. It was holes like this where
poor culls with nowhere left to go fetched up; flotsam’s end, which was
appropriate given our situation, or rather my situation. Tobias would be all
right, he had friends who’d look after him, but I had no idea where to start
looking for that damned hammer.
I supped my ale. It tasted like the dregs of a pool of stagnant piss that
someone with a bag of hops had once walked past. “This is more like it,” I
said to the priest. He grunted and curled his stump around his mug but
didn’t touch a drop.
“My father knew where I was, but he left me there. Nicus Lutius,
Mattarax Vulsones, Hero of the Battle of Gutomer, soldier, senator, advisor
to the Empirifex, and bastard.” He raised his mug.
“I’ll drink to that.” I took a drink of my terrible ale. Tobias had
changed since I’d first met him. He looked a little sadder, a little wiser
perhaps, but that was no bad thing, despite the route he’d taken to get there.
“Look on the bright side. At least your father didn’t put a bounty on your
head. He just wants you out of the way until this is sorted in Senate and
Synod, and he becomes even wealthier than he already is. It’s going to
make for a fine inheritance. Think how many brown robes you’ll be able to
buy.”
 “I foreswore wealth when I joined the order. This is the only robe I
own.”
I almost choked on my ale. “You’re a very strange human.”
He held his stump close to his body as though protecting it. “What do
you mean by that?”
And then it hit me like a kick in the cods, which was what I deserved
for being so dense. All the time, it had been right in front of me, tickling my
senses, and I hadn’t noticed. Tobias was touched. That’s what happened to
his hand, or whatever it had been before it got lopped off.
I drew a sly breath, tasted the air to confirm what I’d known all along.
Soft as a feather, there it was, that subtle, peachy taint edging the smell of
human sweat. I glanced at his stump. His cheeks flushed.
“I said, what did you mean by that?”
“Nothing. It was just a joke,” I said. He looked away.
After a couple of hours of not speaking to each other and listening to
the old sots fighting over slops from the penny barrel, a robed figure heaved
his bulk down the stairs. Wrapped in a heavy cloak that was glittering with
raindrops, the newcomer slowly made his way over to our table. There was
no sign of Kyra, but Tobias obviously knew this panting cull and beckoned
him over.
The corpulent fellow didn’t look like a stranger to overindulgence. The
whites of his eyes were bloodshot. His wine-soaked face had collapsed in
on itself like a soggy pudding. Before sitting down beside Tobias, he tipped
me a nod of acknowledgment.
“I’m so sorry, Toby,” he whispered. “The guard at the hall betrayed us.
Kyra is devastated.”
Tobias clasped the old man’s hand. “Never mind that now. What’s
going on, Jared?”
The fellow shuddered like a speared brachuri. “The Synod’s in uproar.
Soon after your escape, Marius convened an emergency session where he
called for the order to be excommunicated.” His rheumy eyes glittered, his
lip quivered. “He’s understandably furious about Augustra’s death and is
trying to blame the order. Dear gods, Toby, you didn’t kill her, did you?”
Tobias looked like the arse had just fallen out of his world. He stared at the
table.
“No.”
 “Of course you didn’t. Forgive me. And Marius won’t get his way.
None of the Synod would want that precedent to be set and then, well.” He
leaned in. “Your father has been in talks.”
“What do you mean ‘talks’?” Tobias narrowed his eyes. “What’s
happened?”
“Your father was summoned to the Senate. I, that is, we, have agreed
that you will be spared, and the order will be given a substantial donation.”
Jared put his hand on Tobias’s arm. “Substantial, Toby, but only if we
support the Sanguine Shadow in the Synod and agree to put this whole
episode down to interference from undesirable elements.” His gaze flicked
in my direction.
“What? You mean Breed?” Tobias sounded shocked. I wasn’t. “No,
that isn’t right. And this is more important than a new statue.”
“More like an entirely new monastery to put the statue in, Toby.” Jared
licked his lips. “Would you have us cast out just to prove a point?”
Tobias slammed his stump on the table. “The demons are returning.
The fate of the fucking world is at stake.”
Jared looked around to see if anyone had heard Tobias’s outburst. They
hadn’t or if they had, they didn’t care. “There’s nothing we can do. Kyra
thinks it’s best that we stick together. A united front against the chaos. It’s
too complex, Toby. We don’t know.’ He glanced at me again. ‘We don’t
know who’s with who, but we know who we are. Sweet Salvation, the fate
of the order is in your hands. I’m begging you, Toby.”
Tobias looked at me as if I had the answer. I felt colder than when the
dragon had breathed on me. Numbed to the core, I shook my head as the
stitch-up was laid out right in front of me. Jared gave a sly smile and
pressed his point.
“You need to leave Valen, my boy. The Empire in fact.” He cast
another wary glance over his shoulder and oozed a bit closer to Tobias.
“I’ve taken the liberty of booking passage for you on a ship leaving for
Shen. For your own safety, I urge you to take it.”
Tobias gestured to me. “What about Breed?”
I knew where this was going. I could tell by the way the cull had been
giving me the shark eyes. I leaned in close. “Aye, what about me?” I asked,
more out of sport than a desire to learn their plans. I knew I was being
offered up as the lamb for this job.
 “I, we, that is…” He couldn’t look me in the eye. “Kyra and the order
thought it best that you find your own way.”
I waggled my wrist. The silver cuff gleamed. “I can’t be separated
from Brother Tobias. I’m bound to him.”
The old pissbag fumbled under his cloak, wafting the vinegary stench
of his unwashed flesh into the air as he flapped the sodden wool aside and
produced a bulging pouch. He slid it across the table to me. I flicked the
lacing open. The unmistakable sound of gold hitting the table got the
attention of the locals. I bared my fangs and they went back to their own
business.
“That should be enough to pay a sellspell to break the enchantment
before you suffer any ill effects due to separation.” Jared smiled. “And there
are coins to spare.”
I nodded. “But what about finding the hammer? The one Augustra had
is a fake.”
“Is it?” Jared looked to Tobias for confirmation. Tobias looked at me. I
folded my arms. He had to decide for himself.
“Aye, it is,” he said, conceding the truth. “I’m not convinced we
shouldn’t try to find the real one, as we initially planned.”
Jared blanched, licked his lips. “Kyra doesn’t think that’s the best
course, and I have to say, I agree. We have a chance to smooth things over
with the Senate and save the order. This matter can be looked at in the
future. For now, everyone has agreed it should be put aside.”
Gloom doused the conversation. The barkeep sluiced the floor. I
watched old rushes sail furiously on the sudden tide while I contemplated
the coin-induced change of heart of the order of Saint Bart and, more
importantly, how it would affect me. The straws foundered against table
legs as the beery tide drained away. This was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it?
I snagged the pouch, tucked it into my shirt. “That it then?” I expected
nothing from Tobias, he looked beaten, spent. I, however, had to find the
damned hammer. Tobias didn’t look at me. An ocean of awkward silence
washed away the sandy knot of commitment we’d briefly shared.
“We’d better get going, Toby,” cooed Jared. “I’ve arranged a place for
you to stay until we can get you out of the city. It should only be for a few
days.”
“Wait, no. I can’t. I won’t abandon Breed.”
 The older man frowned. “You’re not abandoning Breed, Tobias. Think,
man. The two of you are known. A one-handed human and his warspawn
companion are hard to miss.”
“He’s right.” I patted Tobias’s arm, like we were friends. “Together we
stand out like cocks in a henhouse.” That I’d had every intention of leaving
him and had even been charged with killing him was not the point. At this
moment it looked like I was doing the decent thing and I liked that picture.
It wasn’t one that I often saw.
“You didn’t abandon me.”
“You better go,” I said. I was enjoying the brief and utterly false
sensation that I’d made a noble sacrifice. “I’ll be off now. You should wait a
while before heading out.” I grinned. “Take care, priest.”
Jared sagged like an overcooked soufflé, visibly relieved that I wasn’t
going to be difficult. Tobias always looked like a whey-faced pup, so it was
hard to tell what he was thinking.
The Order of Saint Bartholomew had sold me out in the politest way
I’ve ever been sold out in my life. It made me smile. I pulled up the hood of
my stolen cloak and left. I didn’t look back.
The inn was on the lower level of the city. Overhead, rain-washed
walkways wrapped around stairwell towers and grey daylight filtered
through the filigree ironwork to pool in the rutted mud. All the storehouses
that framed this lonely ginnel were shuttered against the bucketing rain. The
central drain ran thick and swift. I had no allies in this city that I could go
to. I was hunted by the law, the Sanguine Shadow, and probably Duke Leo
and his courtiers.
And then there was Shallunsard.
I didn’t know the demon well, but from our few encounters, I guessed
that he wasn’t going to be pleased when he found out that I hadn’t killed the
priest or found the bloody hammer. I was about to work myself up into a
righteous lather of self-pity when I caught the familiar scent of calthracite
and blood wefting through the warp of the rain.
“How forgetful of me.” I drew my blades.
Sebastian Schiller stepped into the lane about thirty feet away. About
the same distance downwind, an ogren stomped into the middle of the road.
I took a step back so that I could keep an eye on both of them.
“Ah. There you are, Breed. That is what they call you, isn’t it? Most
amusing.” Schiller whipped a rapier from its scabbard. Against the rain, it
was nothing more than a fish-scale flash of silver, a thing made of light and
menace. “I would say you’re hard to find, but you’re not.” He smiled
revealing his fangs. “Mistake the first was not killing me. Very sloppy for a
Guild Blade if you don’t mind me saying. Mistake the second was leaving
Marius and Cassia alive.”
“Only two? I’m just not trying hard enough.”
“You struck me as an underachiever.” He frowned shook his head. “I
see you’ve lost my firelance. This is a pity, for both of us. For my part, I
think I shall carve my displeasure in your hide.” He gave the rapier a casual
flick to loosen his wrist. “Was that too much? I’m never sure with threats.
It’s so tricky trying to find the balance between menacing and ridiculous.”
“I don’t suppose you’d take a promissory note in lieu of the lance?”
He rested the rapier on his shoulder, put his hand on his hip and smiled
like we were old friends talking about the weather. “Oh, I would, but given
that there’s a tidy bounty on your head, I don’t reckon you’re a good
investment.”
“Oh? I thought the bounty had been paid.”
“Last I knew the bounty offered by one Pork Chop Jing was very much
alive.” He whipped the rapier through the air. “You’ve managed to upset a
lot of people. I’m genuinely impressed by what a troublesome cove you
are.” He smiled and tossed a coil of dark ringlets over his shoulder. The
ogren chuckled, spat on her hand, and hefted a double-headed ax.
“It was pure luck that I had business in Appleton.” Schiller made a
practice lunge. “Lots of contracts up for grabs there right now, some sort of
turf war. I do love a good turf war, don’t you? But yes, had I not been there
I might never have found out who the sneaky bastard was who’d stolen my
lance.”
“Would that be the same firelance you shot me with? Only, I think
you’re way ahead of me in the sneaky bastard stakes.”
“Let’s not quibble over details.” He paused, tilted his head, and
sniffed. “Ah. You brought a friend too. The priest didn’t mention you had a
crew.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, though I was keen to find out
if it was Tobias who had betrayed me. “And which priest would this be?”
Schiller shrugged. “I don’t suppose it matters. Brother Jared is such an
odd creature, the man has the heart of a viper wrapped in the body of a pig.
He sold you cheaply, Breed.”
 “I think you’ll find that—” I didn’t get chance to finish as, with a roar,
the ogren rushed me.
I say rushed, but, sweet salvation, she was a slow cove.
While keeping an eye on Schiller, I waited for her to come on. I let her
swing and swayed away from the ponderous blow. Using the lumbering
bravo’s arm as a step, I hopped over her shoulder and drew my blade
around her neck. Hot blood sheeted the ground. Her ax spun from her grip
and smashed into the wall as she dropped to her knees clutching her throat.
It was a deep cut and the weight of her massive noggin ripped the bud from
the stem, as it were. Stunned and blinking, the ogren’s head rolled away
from its twitching body.
Schiller sighed. “Well, that was a waste of five crowns.”
I flicked the blood from my blades. “That’s the least of your worries.”
“I’m not the worrying kind,” he said, and then darted towards me.
Not only was he tougher than he looked, but he was extremely fast. I
fended off his first flurry of resounding blows purely by reflex.
He paused, stepped back and cracked the bones in his scrawny neck
with a side-to-side head toss. “You have some skill. It’s almost a shame that
I have to take you in.”
I set my guard. “Less talk, more fight.”
You know those times when you regret saying something, but can’t
take it back? It was like fighting air. The muddy spray flew as we danced,
every attack I made was met with a blindingly fast riposte and so it went,
along the length of the street and back again. He only slipped up once and
lunged clumsily, leaving the slightest opening. I pressed my attack,
realizing too late that it was a superb feint. His blade slid into my right
bicep. I swung with my left to keep him at bay as the blade in my right hand
slipped from my fingers.
Schiller smiled, sniffed the blood on his blade. “Sweeter than I’d
imagined, with floral undertones and a subtle hint of halfwit if I’m not
mistaken.”
“Do you ever get bored of the sound of your own voice?”
He laughed musically. “Not so far, and I’m older than I look. Urgh,
these stockings are ruined. Pure arrachid silk, cost a fortune.” He rushed me
again. His wings were a droning blur, his blade a flicker of light.
I just about managed to hold my own against him. My arm hurt but it
wasn’t as badly injured as I first thought. Truth be told, I was enjoying
myself until I caught another familiar scent on the breeze which quite
soured my mood. It was akin to old leather boots that had been soaked in
lemon juice and earthworms. I dared a glance over my shoulder, just to
confirm it was who I thought it was.
“Mistake the third,” Schiller said. I looked down just in time to see his
blade slide under my guard and skewer me between the ribs.
The wicked splinter burned a breath-stealing path right through me. I
fumbled my remaining blade and would have cursed had I been able to
draw breath, instead, I settled for gasping.
Schiller withdrew his rapier and flicked my blood from the blade. The
desire to sit in the mud quite overcame me and I folded like a freshly
laundered sheet.
“Easier than I thought.” He took a silk kerchief from his sleeve and
dabbed his lips. “Jing wants you alive. Apparently, he’s going to make an
example of you, more’s the pity.” With a glittering flourish, the tip of his
blade tickled my chin. “I find heads so much easier to transport than whole
persons.”
Before I had a chance to tell him what I thought of his plan the scent of
arrachid bloomed in the air, drawing both our attention. I looked up to see a
familiar outline crest a rooftop.
It was the arrachid that I’d tussled with in Appleton. “This scum is
mine,” she said. Her foreclaws twitched beneath her green haori.
“I don’t suppose that you’d believe me if I told you that I wasn’t trying
to kill your father?” I gasped.
She glared at me. “What you say is irrelevant, vomit-sack. You broke
into our home and shamed our house.” She then turned to Schiller and gave
him a hard, four-eyed stare. “You will leave now.”
The Mosquito tucked his bloody kerchief up his sleeve. “Now, just a
minute, milady, the contract is open, any cove can collect.”
She reared. “I am the daughter of Shu Lo Jing. You will yield to me or
my father will put a bounty on your head.”
“And just how will he know to do that?” I asked, keen to foment
discord between them.
“Breed does have a point, milady.”
The arrachid smiled and dropped to the ground. “Is this where I’m
supposed to say, ‘because I’ll tell him’ so that you can say, ‘not if I kill you
first,’?” She unholstered a pearl-inlaid handcannon.
 Schiller pouted. “I wouldn’t dream of saying that. Oh, all right,
perhaps I was. What can I say? I’m inclined to the dramatic. Now get thee
gone, fustilugs afore I’m forced to school you like I did young Breed here.”
The arrachid leveled the cannon at Schiller and fired. He was already
moving, up. The shot missed as he leaped into the air. She cursed and drew
a Shen blade that was sheathed across her back and advanced. Schiller
grinned and came back down to earth. I lay quite still and tried to stay
conscious, just in case I got the chance to scarper while they were giving
each other a basting.
While I gathered my energies, Jared and Tobias emerged from the
cellar. It was at least satisfying to see the look of horror on Tobias’s face
when he saw what was happening. Jared ushered him away sharpish, half
dragging him down the street. I watched him go. He kept glancing back as
he let himself be led away. The hard, heavy rain stung my face.
The arrachid and the Mosquito circled each other. They were evenly
matched if very different fighters. She had a blade and a cannon, Schiller
was quick and precise. By the time I had the strength to make my move
both had drawn blood.
While they were busy making confetti out of each other, I seized my
chance and attempted a slow and rather painful escape. I didn’t have a hope
in hell of outrunning either of them, but I did catch wind of something that
might help me hide from them should they notice I was gone and give
chase.
A few streets away I came upon my destination and stumbled
gratefully into the fish market. The cobbles were slick with blood and
speckled with scales. The air was wonderfully pungent. Schiller and the
arrachid wouldn’t be able to track my scent through here with a pack of
hounds. If I could just make it out the other side I might be able to lose
whichever one survived to pursue me. Unfortunately, my strength was
fading quicker than that slight hope. You’d think a body would get used to
this kind of thing, become inured to discomfort.
It doesn’t.
I was leaking like the proverbial when, halfway across the market
square, my legs buckled beneath me. I flailed as I fell and managed to tip a
whole bucket of brachuri fry all over myself. This spectacular, possibly
final act of self-sabotage elicited gales of laughter from the crowd and
curses from the stallholder. To gild the lily of my misery, a couple of clanks
strolled around the corner just as I was being berated by the brachuri dealer.
I tried to get up, but my strength had fled so I sat there like an unstrung
puppet all too aware of my fate.
“Well, what do we have here?” one of the clanks enquired.
I was by now resigned to an untimely and painful death. If they didn’t
kill me, someone else would. “What the fuck does it look like, you rusty-
haired, tin-arsed self-abuser?” A baby brachuri squirmed out of my shirt,
looked up at me with its bulbous eyes before wriggling away to join its
brothers and sisters who were escaping down the drain. The clank turned as
red as his hair, he and his sniggering companion drew their blades. The
world began to darken at the edges.
“Breed!” Tobias shouted, just before someone snuffed out the candles.
 20

I drifted back to consciousness after the strangest and most exhausting

dream involving pickle barrels, prostitutes, and fireworks. Wherever I was,
I was comfortable. It was cool and dry and tasted of dust, wood smoke, and
familiarity. A breeze stirred but didn’t trouble the languid air to blow harder
than a gentle caress.
I opened my eyes. I knew this place. Above me, the uninspiring, but
seemingly happy life of Amari Geran stretched in fading, painted panels
across the ceiling of his tomb. I remembered the fleshy, ample-breasted
wife, the tow-haired children, and the favorite hound from my last visit.
Their idealized images were slowly fading from the stucco while the man
himself lay scattered like a broken puppet in the robbed-out tomb beneath
me.
With consciousness came awareness and, as was usual these days,
almost everything ached. I sat up. My side burned but had been neatly
bandaged, as had my arm. I was naked save for a cloak thrown over me and
I smelled of vinegar.
“Why do I smell of vinegar?” I said to no one in particular.
Tobias was sitting by a fire. He had a black eye and instead of his
customary brown robe, he was wearing a pair of voluminous Guldistani
slops, black bucket boots, and a turquoise kurta. He smiled. Tosspot and
Clary wandered in from an adjoining chamber, Clary had a brace of rock
rats in her hand and was wearing an oversized and dented knight’s helm,
which would have been worthy of comment had Tosspot not been dressed
in a rather fetching floral gown. They looked a little crisp around the edges,
soot-streaked and singed.
“It’s from when you was in the barrel,” Clary said.
“Did she just say, ‘when I was in the barrel’?” I looked to Tobias for
clarification.
“Yes, the barrel,” he reiterated. “Don’t worry, you weren’t in it for
long.” If I wasn’t mistaken, he had a twinkle in his eye, which was most
unlike him and more than a little disconcerting. “And at least it helped clean
off the bear grease.” He looked at Clary and Tosspot who both nodded.
“The fire got quite close to where the lovely ladies and gentlemen of the
Blossom House had hidden us, and I didn’t want you going up in flames.
How are you feeling?”
“Confused. How long have I been out? And where did those two come
from? What happened to Schiller and the arrachid and Brother bastard?”
Tobias blushed. “Ah, yes, Jared. I can only apologize. His holy
abilities run towards calculating the very best way to put across his point.”
“Eh?”
“He’s incredibly persuasive. It took me a while to throw off his
influence, but if it’s any consolation he did help us to get out of the city.”
“No, it isn’t. How long have I been out?” I swung my legs off the
tomb. “And where are my clothes?”
“The spider and the fly scarpered when all the clanks showed up.”
Clary beamed from under the helm. “You’ve been out for two nights and
today. Lady Greenstone said you’d be out for that long and she was right.
Your clothes got a bit burned. But we got you some more.”
“Burned? Who the fuck is Lady Greenstone?” I managed to stand up
but felt as weak as a newborn. “What have you three been up to?”
The three of them exchanged guilty looks. They were behaving like a
novice crew who’d just pulled off their first rum job and were as proud as
kings of the manor. I gave up. “Just give me the damn clothes.”
Tosspot produced a fan and gave himself an angry wafting. “Well,
there’s gratitude.”

THEY SPENT the next few hours giggling and talking in the code of a shared
experience, one to which I wasn’t privy. I did not like that they’d been up to
things and I’d been there, but only in the flesh.
What I did manage to glean, other than they’d rescued me from the
clanks, was that they had negotiated with a Nightsider to fix me up and
then, while that was happening, Tobias had found and beaten the damnation
out of his brother. Though I’d rather rip my tongue out than tell them, I was
quietly proud of their achievements.
Evening settled over the cemetery, and we sat down for a meal of
roasted rock rat and stale bread. My side was sore but had healed
surprisingly well due, I was told, to the ministration of the mysterious Lady
Greenstone. From what I gathered from their chatter she was a brachuri.
How one of those fearsome crustaceans had become the madame of a
landlocked brothel was beyond me. I’d always thought they were strictly
monogamous and somewhat prudish when it came to sex.
I kneaded my right arm, it felt heavy, but at least it was working. Being
a thoughtful crew, they’d remembered to filch me a couple of hunting
knives along with a pair of black breeches, a linen shirt, and a rather
fetching, if slightly too small, brocade waistcoat. I gave myself a dust bath
before dressing which dampened the higher notes of the vinegar smell but
didn’t get rid of it entirely.
“So how did you get us out of the city?” I asked the priest, who was
looking very unlike himself, sitting there, all prinked up in his rum-duds,
gnawing on a rat leg like it was peacock.
“Jared lacks confidence in his skills and so it didn’t take long for me to
come to my senses. I ran back to where I last saw you and followed the
arrachid and Schiller. While they had words with the knights over
ownership of your good self, Jared and I dragged you out of there.” He
grinned. “And after we’d rescued you, I had words with Jared. He
confessed that he’d sold you out to Schiller and begged me to forgive him.”
“Which you did?”
“Naturally. He was eager to atone so I made him hand over his purse.
As I was in a conversational mood I left you in the safe house with Jared
and went to find Marius.”
“Not sure that was wise. I’d have preferred it if you’d vented the
snakish cull.”
“I’m sure you would but he and Kyra thought they were doing the only
thing they could do. There’s no excuse for Marius, he’s a prick of the
highest order and so I gave him as you would say, a basting that he won’t
forget in a hurry.”
“That’s when we found him,” said Clary. “You should have seen him
take those Sanguines to task, Breed. He done ever so good.”
Tobias blushed. “Really it was nothing, the Sanguines are not
Scienticians.”
“So why did you bring me back here?”
“Safe innit, demon?” Tosspot was still fanning himself and remained
garbed like a gutter-run slamkin.
 “I still don’t know what you lot have been up to.” The world tilted, my
stomach lurched like a ship in a gale. “And I’d really like to know because
I’m getting bored with being stabbed, beaten, and shot.”
“’S’none of your bizzy, demon,” Tosspot said indignantly.
“None of your bizzy,” Clary echoed.
I eyeballed Clary. “You’re learning too many bad habits from him. And
as for dear Duke Leo, that little sly-boots paid Cyrus to scratch me from the
ledger.” I stretched, it hurt. Everything hurt. Everything always hurt.
“It wasn’t Leo.” Clary stood up and planted her fists on her hips,
which was quite the most ridiculous sight, as she was still wearing the
helmet. “It was his brother. Leopold was very angry with him.”
“His brother? I never even met his bloody brother, have I?”
She frowned. “Of course, you have. It was his brother who was with
me when we found you in the sewers. Took a dislike to you, he did.”
“You were alone, save for that great ugly dog rat. Ah. The dog rat is
Leopold’s brother?”
Clary nodded.
“That’s strange. I can’t think for the life of me what I did to upset him.
Anyway, never mind. I’m still not happy about being in this pot of
arsepickle. Not happy at all.”
Tobias sighed. “I know, I’m sorry, Breed, and I intend to make it up to
you. Leopold has arranged safe passage for us on a ship bound for Shen.
We’ll go there for a few months, work out our next move. This isn’t over.”
“What, you mean the prophecy? What about the Synod and the
Senate?”
“Fuck them.” He laughed. “I never thought I’d hear myself say that.”
“Me neither. I didn’t think you had the stones.”
“I mean it. The Empirifex is half mad and lives in the clouds and the
Senate and the Synod will never learn. They’re all too caught up furthering
their own petty ambitions to see the danger that awaits them, to see further
than their next banquet. Nothing changes, nothing ever changes.” He got
up, paced to the door. “That’s why this place is a cemetery.”
I leaned against Amari’s tomb. “I did not know that.” Or where this
speech was leading. It occurred to me that he might have lost his wits to the
Paradox of Power, either that or he was being poetical.
“This valley and the surrounding area was where the original city of
Valen stood until the demons leveled it. After the war, the citizens buried
their dead here near the ruins and rebuilt Valen where it is now. Even then,
when the demons came the first time, the Synod and the Senate were too
busy vying with each other for power that they didn’t see the danger until it
was too late. That’s where the warspawn came in.” He leaned on the broken
door and gazed into the gloom of evening. “I’ve had enough of them and
their games.” He backed away from the door and kicked dirt over the fire.
“What is it?” I went to see what was wrong.
“I was sure we weren’t followed,” Tobias insisted.
“Uh-uh,” I said as the clanks crested the far edge of the valley, their
menacing silhouettes hard against the milky light of the dying day. With
them were a dozen or so greenshanks. The more lightly armored guards
were clambering amongst the tombs.
I looked at Tobias.
“Well, I didn’t think we’d been followed.” He rubbed his head with his
stump. That was the old Tobias. I could see his confidence shrinking. “I’m
not sure I can deal with, sweet salvation, there must be fifty of them.”
“If not more.” My side was healing, but the bright spot of blood on the
bandage told me that, just for a change, I wasn’t fighting fit.
“If I must make another calculation, if the angles are wrong and I lose
control…”
I laughed. “We’ll take a lot of arseholes with us to hell. C’mon, it’ll be
fun, briefly.”
I turned to Clary and Tosspot. “You two keep quiet and stay away from
the door. Tobias and I are going to draw them away.” I looked at Tobias. He
nodded.
“Why don’t you just go down?” Clary asked.
We both looked at her. “Down where?” I asked.
“Down into the depths, down, down, and out to the city that was,
stupid demon,” Tosspot rasped. He looked terrible. “Down to where the
rock rats live among the roots and bones.”
Tobias and I looked at each other. The greenshanks were getting closer
and the knights weren’t far behind. It wouldn’t be long before they found
us. “If you know a way out, lead on,” I said.
Clary straightened her helmet and ran off to the back of the tomb with
Tosspot in tow. Tobias and I followed.
She led us into a second chamber that held three more ransacked
sarcophagi. One of them had tipped into a hole in the floor. By the looks of
it, grave robbers had tossed the lid off the coffin and the weighty object had
smashed through into another chamber buried below.
Like good thieves, they hadn’t wasted the opportunity and several
more tunnels led off from the lower chamber that was scattered with bones
and rock rat nests. Giggling, Clary slid down the lid, followed by the rest of
us although Tobias and I didn’t giggle. Rats squealed and ran for cover as
we tumbled into their domain.
 21

We followed the main passage for about a mile as it gradually angled

upwards. When we emerged, I could see the walls of Valen looming darkly
against the bleeding edge of the horizon.
At first, I thought we’d come out near the ruins of a farm as stones lay
scattered across a hummock of ground that was too rough to till. On closer
inspection, I saw that the stones were dressed and carved and that the
ghostly outlines of buildings stretched across neighboring fields, punctuated
here and there by fangs of broken columns and remnants of walls too
stubborn to yield entirely to decay. The ground sloped down into a shallow
valley in the middle of which was a small mound that was stripped to the
bare earth save for scabs of crusty rubble and half a dozen standing stones
each about six feet tall. A large flat slab lay blackened and cracked near the
mound.
“This is where the demon hordes were finally vanquished,” Tosspot
said with uncharacteristic clarity as he kicked an urux turd. “Right here.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever been here before,” Tobias said.
“And you call yourself a scholar.” I went down to the mound in the
valley. Other than the standing stones it looked a natural rise. “Any idea
what this was for?” I asked Tobias who was already heading away from the
city.
“That? No. Anyway, come on, we need to get going, they can’t be far
behind.”
I started to follow, pleased that the priest’s confidence was returning
but there was something nagging at me that made me slow my pace. I
stopped. Clary skipped after Tobias. Tosspot was hopping along behind
them, trying to take off the dress. I went back to the mound.
The slender stones were unmarked and unremarkable save that they
were standing and mostly intact. I touched one and immediately withdrew
my hand. It was vibrating.
“Breed? Breed!” Tobias pointed at the tunnel. “We have to go.”
“Get going, I’ll catch up.” I’d heard the din of armor long before he
had, but it now echoed loudly as the knights pounded through the tunnel. I
knew that I should go, but something held me, something about the stones.
 “You seen something you like, Breed?”
I glanced round to see Tosspot was standing behind me, watching with
interest. I touched the stone again, put both hands on it, and twisted. It
turned. I wasn’t surprised. I’d expected it to move.
“What the hell?” Tobias made to come back, but Clary grabbed him
and tried to drag him away.
When I felt I’d turned the stone enough, I moved on to the next.
Nothing happened. I touched a third. Again, nothing. Formless panic
prickled my gut. I moved on to a fourth and was again rewarded by a skin-
tingling vibration that was running through the stone. I glanced at Tobias.
“Do you know what you’re doing, Breed?” he asked.
“No fucking idea.” I turned the fourth stone. This time I knew I’d
turned it enough because a space that shouldn’t be there, an impossible
angle began to open before me like a tear in the world. I stepped back as the
dark gash widened.
Behind me, knights came charging out of the tunnel. Clary squealed
but didn’t run. She took the helmet off and stood her ground beside Tobias.
“In the name of the Empirifex, I order you to surrender,” the lead clank
shouted. His troops spread out, a dozen firelances were leveled at Tobias.
“Do not fucking move.”
“All right, Captain that’s enough.” I recognized Marius’s voice.
“You should have let me shoot him,” I called to Tobias as his brother
limped out of the tunnel. He was dressed in the scarlet robes of his order
and, like his brother, he had a black eye.
“Next time, ignore me,” said Tobias.
“I can hear you, you know,” Marius shouted from over by the tunnel.
“How are the angles?” I asked the priest. He shushed me with a frown.
“I see your friends are all here too. That’ll make things easier.”
Tobias gave his brother a wry smile. “Make what easier? Is this it? Do
you think you can just shoot us down?”
“If only. You, dear brother, are coming back to Valen where you will
damn well stand trial for murder, theft, and arson. Father was less than
amused by your actions, unlike the Senate. You’ve done the one thing he
will not forgive, Toby. You’ve made him look stupid.”
“I exposed his and your greed,” Tobias retorted. “I think that matters
more.”
 “You killed Augustra.” Spittle flew from Marius’s lips. “Did you really
think you could get away with that? You killed her, Toby.”
“You don’t know what she did to me.” Tobias matched his brother’s
fury.
“Oh, for gods’ sake what? What did she do that made you take her
life? What could be so terrible…” He paused as realization of what had
happened dawned on him. “What did she do?”
Tobias looked down at his feet. The air turned hot and heavy. A storm
was brewing.
Marius looked shocked. “I, I didn’t know.”
A couple of the greenshanks sniggered. Tobias shrank, the confident
cove who’d recently begun to blossom wilted. “I wasn’t exactly going to
shout it from the rooftops, was I? And the last time we met you were more
intent on killing my friends than talking.”
Marius swallowed and locked eyes with his brother. For a second, I
thought that Tobias had got through to him and that I was about to see some
of the vaunted brotherly love humans were always boasting about. “You
should have told me, Tobias.” Marius turned away. “Get on with it,
Captain.”
The captain saluted and raised his visor before pulling an official-
looking document from his boot. He cleared his throat before reading the
scroll. “I am charged by the Imperial Senate to arrest and detain Tobias
Lucius Vulsones who is hereby charged with the crimes of murder, treason
and arson.”
Clary let out a low, keening wail and began to sob.
“Shut that fucking monster up, Toby, or I will,” said Marius, sounding
more like his old, detestable self.
Tobias put his arm around Clary and pulled her close to him. “She’s
just a child.”
Tosspot backed towards me.
A look of disgust spread across Marius’s face. “That thing is an
abomination. Step away from it, Toby, and give yourself up. I promise
you’ll get a fair trial.”
“What are you going to do with my friends?”
I looked at the smirking clanks, lovingly hugging their firelances. “I’m
no seer,” I said to Tobias. “But it seems pretty fucking obvious what they
intend to do to us.”
 “Over my dead body,” the priest replied.
Marius thrust his hands into the sleeves of his robe, whistled out a
deep, sighing breath. “Toby, Toby, Toby.”
It was a signal. Behind Tobias, a pale shade with skin the color of sand
and eyes as white as bleached bone rose out of the dusty ground. Dirt
dripped like water from her wispy hair and cobweb gown.
She spread her hands and the earth beneath her rippled and flowed
towards Tobias in an undulating wave. A dozen small dust devils sprang up
around him and seemed to bind his arms by his sides, trapping Clary with
him. I saw him gasp as the swirling winds stole the breath from his lungs.
Clary’s wailing cry turned to choked coughing as they were both driven to
their knees by the fury of the imprisoning, sorcerous winds.
“You didn’t think I’d come unprepared, did you, Tobias?” Marius’s
voice carried over the howling gale. “I know what you’re capable of.”
Before he had chance to pat himself on the back, a big rat sprang from the
rocks and sank its fangs into the face of one of the clanks who had her visor
up.
Taken by surprise, the guard fell backwards and discharged her lance
into the air as the rat chewed on her face. The shout went up as dozens of
rats poured from the tunnel and began attacking the Imperials.
“See, what did I tell you? Monsters. Shoot them,” Marius yelled in
panic. “Shoot them all.”
I drew my blades, intent on throwing myself at the sorcerer who was
attacking Tobias and Clary. Rats aside, we were grossly outnumbered and
without Tobias’s power we were as good as dead.
As I launched myself towards the sorcerer, Tosspot caught me off
balance and shoved me into the space between the stones.
The narrow-angle opened on a vast, grey plain gouged with black
blasted pits and mounded with the frozen corpses of every stripe of creature
that had ever walked, crawled, slithered, or flown.
We were on a battlefield, standing by a mound that was almost the
twin of the one we’d just left. The difference was that on this one a slab of
granite was supported by half a dozen, unblemished standing stones. I took
a step towards the oddly familiar monument. Beneath my feet, ice-rimed
bones shattered like glass. It was so cold I could see my breath. I took a step
back and bumped into Tosspot who must have followed me through.
I grabbed him by his filthy shirt. “What the fuck is this place?”
 He patted my hand. It was such an unexpected gesture that I let him
go. He grinned. “It’s the last battle. The Mage Lords locked it in here. Too
much Schism magic, too much poison, so they froze it and locked it away
forever, or not.” The cackling mania had vanished. He looked at the sky.
Unlike the one we had just been under, this one was black and cloudless and
as still as death.
“How do you know?” I had to ask, but I really didn’t want him to say
what I thought he was going to say.
“Because I was there.”
“I knew you were going to say that.” I drew my sword and held it to
his scrawny neck. He didn’t flinch, he smiled. “Start talking.”
Heedless of the blade at his throat, he chinned towards the mound.
“Best go look over there and then you’ll understand better than I can
explain.”
I thought about it before doing as he suggested. “You so much as
scratch your nut-sack and I’ll gut you.”
“No doubt.” He grinned.
I sheathed my blade and climbed the mound. The stone pillars were the
twins of those I’d turned to open this space. I didn’t want to touch them, but
something more than Tosspot was driving me, and so I hauled myself up
onto the slab.
And then I understood.
Lying there, untouched by the vicissitudes of time, was the Hammer of
the North. The real Hammer of the North. The reason I knew it was him
was because he was holding a dirty great hammer, other than that, he looked
nothing like the paintings and statues in the Hall of Heroes.
He was a good foot taller than me and wrapped in a ragged, fur-
trimmed cloak. A bloodless gash ran diagonally across his face, marring the
pattern of orange scales. His claws, like his cloak and his long, pierced hair
spines, glittered with frost. Aside of a set of nondescript and battered leather
armor, his clothes were patched and worn. His clawed feet were bare.
“You couldn’t find any boots either, eh?” I spoke to break the spell of
silence.
I don’t know how long I stood there, looking at the truth while
remembering the lies. It could have been minutes or hours. Eventually, I did
what I knew I was meant to do and took the Hammer’s hammer. The
moment I touched it, I felt its power flow through me. This is what had
drawn me to the mound, what had called to me across time.
It slipped surprisingly easily from his frost coated fingers as though he
was ready to give it up. I hefted the weapon, it had weight, but it wasn’t
heavy. The metal was dull grey but sparkled when turned in the light, I
guessed it was made of star steel. The twin heads of the hammer tapered to
the middle of the sigil-intagliated shaft. It was a hammer, there was no
getting away from that, but it was as graceful as a bludgeoning weapon
could be.
I didn’t examine the weapon because my attention was on the Hammer
himself. I half expected him to crumble to dust or vanish, for Time and Fate
to finally set him free, but nothing about the hero changed.
Despite the gash across his face, he looked at peace, serene almost.
Something gleaming at his throat caught my eye. I took a closer look. It
wasn’t a diamond or sapphire, it wasn’t a gem at all. It was a glazed blue
bead threaded on a simple, silver chain.
Old habits die hard, and I unclasped the chain. It wasn’t just because I
was a thieving bastard, but also because it felt like the right thing to do.
Truth be told, I didn’t know what I was doing. I was adrift, lost in waters I
would never have dreamed of navigating mere weeks ago. The only thing I
could do was let the current take me where it wanted. I fastened the chain
around my neck.
“He looks different in the paintings,” I said to Tosspot, anger and
sadness spiking my gut.
Tosspot, unlike the Hammer, looked like hell. “I know. That disservice
wasn’t the least of the indignities he had to suffer.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “That popinjay in the paintings, the ones in the
Hall of Heroes?”
I nodded.
“He was the worst of the lot if you ask me. He was supposed to be his
friend, but instead, he helped them erase the real hero from the pages of
history.”
“What a cunt.”
“Aye, a complete and utter tosspot.” He bowed.
And now I knew why the golden-haired god looked so familiar. It was
such a shock I laughed. “No. You?”
 “Don’t sound so surprised, I’ve been alive for over seven hundred
years, followed him into more than a dozen Schism War battles.” His
shoulders sagged. “All that magic takes its toll on a body. Never mind the
curse.”
“That talking thing we were discussing earlier? You’d better get to it,
sharpish.”
“My name is Rubin, squire of the Hammer of the North.” His eyes
shone with tears. “I would have died for him, we all would, many did.” He
drew a shuddering breath. “But after the war, it was decided, that it was best
to, well, to lie. The warspawn were deemed too dangerous to have such a
legendary hero to look up to, someone they could aspire to, someone they
might try to emulate. The Mage Lords were afraid that their creations would
become their masters, as the Annurashi were afraid that the Mage Lords
might become theirs. So much fear, so much jealousy.” He laughed hard,
blood flecked his lips. “I’m sorry, Breed.”
I shrugged. “It’s all right, it happened a long time ago and means
nothing to me. But why did you go along with it?”
“The war took its toll. It was deemed best to pretend that the fabled
hero was a human. The Mage Lords swore those of his companions who’d
survived to secrecy.” He coughed. “Civilization teetered on the brink of
destruction. We thought it was for the best. We were wrong.”
I had a practice swing with the hammer. It was far more elegant than
the monstrosity painted on the walls of the Hall of Heroes. “Why didn’t you
tell me when we met, save all this dancing around?”
“I couldn’t. By sworn to secrecy, I mean bound by a geas so powerful
that I couldn’t tell you or anyone.”
“But you found me and led me here.”
“No, I just followed the road that was laid out for you. The Annurashi
knew, Fate knew, I just tried to be there when it happened.”
“I don’t understand. I mean if he was as popular as you say he was,
surely someone would have said no to the stitch up?”
He scratched his matted beard, chuckled softly. “Sweet salvation, she
was angry. I got off lightly compared to some, but she damn near started
another war when she found out.”
“The Red Witch?”
He nodded. “Her curse has kept me alive all this time, but only just.
Nobody can curse like Halda.”
 With all this lost legend waffle I’d forgotten about Tobias and Clary.
“Oh, shit. Tell me about it later. We need to go back, now.”
Tosspot, Rubin shook his head. “You do, but this is the end for me.
I’ve felt it coming for a while now. That’s why I knew you were the one.”
“You sure about that?”
“Aye, demon, I am. I’ve felt death’s grip tightening ever since I met
you. I knew it was a sign.” He gripped my arm. “Promise me, when you’re
back on the other side you’ll close the gate. There are things in here that no
mortal should lay their hands upon.”
“Oh, aye? Things like what? I mean, are they valuable things?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Breed, really.”
“All right, all right.”
I took one last look at the battlefield, at the thoasa, arrachids, ogren,
amphibanes, and humans lying side by side amid the demon horde. The
sacrifice was immense. I’m not given to sentimentality but right then I did
something that I’d never felt another living body had ever deserved of me. I
raised the hammer in salute to the dead, or so I thought. But all the lies, all
the beatings, every injustice that me and the Hammer, and all those like us
had ever suffered, boiled out of me and into the hammer. I held it aloft, felt
an enormous pressure build within me until a gout of fire leaped from the
weapon and burned the cold, black vault of heaven to molten gold.
“Looks like I can do more than just boil water. Mother will be
surprised.” I lowered the hammer. Tosspot didn’t answer. I looked around,
but he was gone. Above me, the fire spread across the sky like a sunset. On
the battlefield, the gold light gilded the dead. I gave a nod to the Hammer’s
bier before stepping back into my own world and absolute, fucking chaos.
 22

On seeing the carnage, my first impulse was to go back inside and wait
until they’d finished killing each other, but as I was in possession of the real
Hammer’s hammer, I felt I should probably do something to help my
friends.
But first things first.
I took a two-handed grip on the weapon and swung it into the nearest
of the standing stones. A neat crack raced across it and it broke in half,
instantly sealing the rift between worlds forever.
I might have taken a moment to congratulate myself on a job well
done, but a shot winged past my head and buried itself in the mound with a
soft thump. At least two companies of knights and greenshanks were
fighting swarms of rats of every size.
Clary and Tobias were taking cover behind the stones on the mound,
which was surrounded by dead Imperials that had been charred to piles of
ash and molten metal. The pale sorceress was standing protectively in front
of Marius, who was cowering in the tunnel entrance.
“Breed!” Tobias shouted, just before he sent a blast of crackling energy
at the sellspell. A wall of dirt rose before her and absorbed the lightning. “If
you have any intention of using that bloody thing, would you please get on
with it?”
I rested the hammer on my shoulder. “You missed me then?”
He sagged against one of the stones.
I called over to Clary. “Call your friends off.” She didn’t look
convinced but gave a keening wail. The rats disengaged and scattered. The
knight captain raised his hand and the clanks stopped firing and reformed
their ranks.
Silence fell over the valley until the captain raised his visor and
pointed at me. “In the name of his Imperial Majesty, Durstan the Seventh, I
order you to lay down your er, weapon and surrender.”
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
His eyes widened in disbelief, his cheeks flushed. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, clank. I will not lay down the Hammer of the North’s
hammer,” I said it loud enough so that everyone could hear me, so that
every jaw would drop, which they pretty much did. The smell of fear and
excitement bloomed on the iron air.
“Listen to me, you fucking animal,” said the knight captain, oblivious
to the gasps from those around him. “You will lay down your arms and
surrender, or by the All-Seeing Eye, I will put you down, and I don’t give a
donkey’s fuck-piece whose hammer you’ve got.”
The knight pointed his sword at me to emphasize his point. I pointed
the hammer at him. The blast must have boiled every drop of liquid in his
body so quickly that he exploded, splattering everyone within twenty feet
with hot gobbets of Imperial fuckwit. One of his more dull-witted comrades
roared a battle cry and charged me. I pointed the hammer at her and she
pulled up so sharply that she fell on her arse.
“Breed, enough. I order you to desist.” Tobias looked pale and scared,
and well he might.
I tugged the cuff off my wrist and tossed it. “Sorry, priest, I’m done
playing servant. Anyone else want to try their luck?” A couple of the
knights weighed their swords but wisely stayed where they were.
Marius shoved the sellspell in the back.
“What?” she asked, indignant.
He chinned in my direction.
“Are you deranged? That’s the Hammer of the North’s hammer. You
aren’t paying me enough to take that on. The Empirifex couldn’t pay me
enough.” She looked at me and pointed towards Valen. “Do you mind if
I…?”
“Not at all,” I said.
“Most kind.” She tipped me the nod and then melted into the ground.
I turned to Marius. “Right, you. Get your arse out here.”
He hesitated. I raised the hammer which prompted him to shuffle
forwards.
“What do you think of the prophecy now, eh?”
“This proves nothing,” he shouted at me, but his words lacked
conviction.
I pointed the hammer at him.
He shrieked and raised his hands defensively. “Please don’t kill me!”
“Say it then.”
“Tobias was right.”
I cupped my ear. “Sorry, what was that?”
 “TOBIAS WAS RIGHT!” he bellowed. “Happy now?”
I scanned the faces of the knights. “You all heard that, right?” Nobody
answered. I raised the Hammer and without looking, although I’d clocked it
a moment before, fried a gull that was passing overhead. Its cindered corpse
fell from the sky. “I said, you all heard that, right?” A chorus of affirmation
followed. Satisfied, I turned to Tobias. “Well, that’s that sorted.” I was
rather pleased with myself. “Fancy a drink?”
I should have known better.
No sooner had the words left my mouth than a shadow passed across
the suns. The air turned cold, the sky roiled, and black clouds billowed
overhead. Lightning flashed, followed by an earsplitting peal of thunder.
The acrid stench of sulfur filled the air. The Imperials took cover where
they could find it.
“You didn’t forget about me, did you?” The demon Shallunsard had
apported onto the scorched patch of ground where the knight captain had
given his final, fatal speech. The last time I’d seen him in his own flesh
he’d been naked. Now he was clad in burnished bronze armor, his horns
were bound in rings of silver, and his wings were tipped with steel.
“No, of course not. I just had a few other issues to deal with first.”
“So I see.” His laughter rumbled through the ground. “You finally
worked it out?”
“I did. No thanks to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t. That is the irksome nature of one of the many geas by
which I am bound. You don’t think they just locked me in my stronghold,
do you? Actually, knowing you, you probably did, if you even thought that
far.”
“I have my own troubles to think about, why should I give a donkey’s
dangle about yours?”
The demon tutted. “So ungrateful, and after everything I’ve done for
you.” He held out his hand. My palm itched. “Now hand it over, there’s
blood-letting to be done.”
Part of me wanted to give it to him and be done with this, but a more
stubborn part didn’t. I have a knack for making bad decisions, a gift for
choosing the wrong path, or not choosing a path at all and just running
blindly from one disaster to the next. I’m not going to lie, most of the time
it’s bloody good fun. But, as a friend once told me, there comes a time in
everyone’s life when they have to make a decision, take a stand. I looked at
Tobias. He looked at me like the soft, soapy cull that he was.
“What about him?” I asked the demon.
“Why do you care?”
I looked at Clary, saw myself reflected in her dark eyes. In truth, I
wasn’t sure that I did care, given that I’d never been in the position where
I’d thought anyone was worth caring about. I had, until now, treated the
world with the same indifference with which it had treated me. I swung the
hammer off my shoulder.
The demon’s fingers twitched impatiently. Tobias said something to
Clary and tried to get up, but she held onto him. I didn’t hear what they
were talking about, I was too busy concentrating on a spell.
One thing I did see was the shocked expression on Shallunsard’s face
when I belted him with the hammer at the same time as unleashing all of the
pent-up sorcerous might I could summon. It was a good blow and caught
him square in the chest, although it felt like I’d hit a mountain. I planted my
feet and roared and poured my heart and what passed for a soul into
reducing the demon to ashes. To hell with the Paradox of Power.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care about anything and that was the truth and the key to my
Paradox.
When I opened my eyes and peered through the smoke there was a
crater around the demon, but the bastard was still standing. I have to say, I
was a little disappointed. I’d hurt him, as the ichorous black blood oozing
from the rent in his breastplate proved, but I hadn’t dropped him.
Nevertheless, I stood my ground even though my every instinct was telling
me now was the time to run.
“We made a deal, Breed,” he said.
“You tricked me.”
“I did not. Well, not much, and not about the deal we struck about the
hammer or killing him.” He pointed to Tobias, who gave me a look.
“I didn’t do it, did I?” I said to the priest.
“Give me the hammer,” the demon demanded. The ground shook,
lightning lashed the clouds. It was all very dramatic, but I knew it was
bluster. He was unsteady on his feet and bleeding.
“No,” I said.
“You dare say no to me. Don’t you know who I am?”
 “Of course I do, I just don’t care who you are. Your time is over. It was
over centuries ago. Now fuck off while I’m feeling generous.” By generous
I actually meant ‘about ready to pass out’. I was exhausted. Those spells,
half-formed and ill-conceived though they were, had drained me. I now
understood why Tobias fell over quite so much. Casting spells was harder
than it looked.
Shallunsard bared his fangs, in what could have been a grimace or a
smile. “I’ll make sure you live long enough to regret that decision, halfling.
I will destroy everyone you have ever loved, everything you have ever
cared for, and then, in the depth of your despair, I will destroy you, slowly.”
The demon threw his head back spread his arms and roared. Coruscating
lightning lit along the ridge of his outstretched wings momentarily blinding
me. I blinked, and he was gone.
“Everyone I’ve ever loved, eh? That won’t take long, prick.”
The demon’s explosive departure knocked everyone who wasn’t
wielding an ancient artifact off their feet. The leaden sky growled and
rumbled like it had eaten something that didn’t agree with it. Tobias was
gawping at me, his expression a mixture of anger, hurt, and surprise. I
rested the hammer on my shoulder and turned my attention to Marius and
the knights who were staggering out of the tunnel.
“Right, you pox-mongers. Attend me closely if you want to live
beyond your next breath.” They all very wisely became instantly attentive.
“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go back to Valen, and if
any of you so much as think about glancing over your shoulder, don’t, or I
will turn you into a cinder. When you’re back in your pig pen of a city, you
will tell the Senate and the Synod that Brother Tobias Vulsones of the Order
of the Scienticians of Saint Bartholomew was right. I’m looking at you,
Marius, you miserable, back-stabbing fuck-knuckle, and if your father has a
problem with that, tell him to talk to me.”
It took some longer than others to digest my words but with a little
encouragement from their brighter friends, they all eventually seemed to get
the message. Marius allowed himself to be ushered away by the Imperials,
who all seemed very eager to get away from the angry thoasa with the
hammer, demonstrating excellent survival instincts. As I’d expected, Tobias
and Clary stayed where they were.
“Nice thing with the rats, Clary,” I said when the last of them were out
of earshot.
 “Thanks. Where’s Rubin?”
I didn’t know how to tell her what had happened. They’d grown quite
close and she was just a kid. “He decided to stay with his friend.”
“He’s dead then?”
A kid who knew more than most.
“Yeah.”
She nodded. That seemed to satisfy her. She made a funny little
squeaking noise and a fat white rat squirmed its head out of her pocket. She
sat down and started grooming it.
“So I was right. You were the one,” Tobias climbed unsteadily to his
feet, a look of triumph on his face.
“And, so? What do you want? Only, I’m all out of thanking humans
for their amazing insight.”
“What is it?” He cottoned on quicker than me that something else was
bothering me.
“You know those paintings in the Hall of Heroes, they’re lies. Did you
know that?” I was angrier than I’d realized. “The Hammer, the real
Hammer, was a thoasa, a fucking warspawn. Tell that to the Synod when
you see them next, if you dare.”
Tobias rubbed his head with his stump. “I had no idea, Breed.
Although, I suppose it makes sense. Humans have treated you and your
kind poorly.”
“Damn right they have.” He folded his arms to hide his stump and
blushed to his roots. “It’s all right, priest. Your secret’s safe with me.”
He sighed. “It shouldn’t be a secret, but my father insisted upon it.”
“If you want my advice, see how this anti-warspawn thing turns out
before you tell anyone you’re touched, eh?”
“Aye, perhaps. Though I doubt that is the worst of my problems. What
are you going to do now? Have you chosen a side?”
“Yes. My own. As to what I’m going to do, that’s easy. I’m gonna keep
out of it and let humans and the demons tear each other to pieces if they
want. I’m done. If you’re wise you’ll do the same.”
Tobias smiled and shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”
I laughed and fingered the bead I’d lifted from the Hammer. “Yes, I do,
because I know how this story ends.”
“What? Ah, yes. The Hammer.” He looked away, embarrassed by that
injustice, but unable to admit it.
 “Yes, the Hammer. I’m not like that stupid bastard. I’m not going to
sacrifice my life for anyone, especially not humans.”
“No. I don’t blame you. I’m not keen on them myself at the moment.”
At the moment. “Suit yourself. Are you going back to Valen?”
“Yes. I have to try and reason with the Synod and the Senate. After
seeing the demon with his own eyes, Marius won’t be able to deny what’s
happening, and how much we need the warspawn, how much we all need
each other if we’re going to survive. Of course actually having proof would
help. I don’t suppose you’d…?”
I laughed. “Not a chance.”
“I didn’t think so. Still, it was worth a try.”
We both laughed and when the laughter died we stood there in
awkward silence, neither one sure how to say goodbye, for real this time. I
broke first. “You’d best get going, see if you can catch up with the others
and vent your brother before he gets back.”
“What?”
“I’m joking.” I wasn’t. The arsehole should be turned into fertilizer
rather than left to run around, flapping his lips, and sowing the seeds of
hate. “Good luck convincing your father and the Synod.”
“Thank you. I think I’ll need it.” He half turned but then stopped. “Just
out of interest, when did you break the geas?”
I winked. “Look after yourself, priest, try not to get hung.”
“And you. Take care of yourself, Breed.” The soapy cull sounded like
he meant it.
“Always do. Tell your people not to come looking for me.”
He nodded and set off after the others. I noticed there was a new
confidence in the way he carried himself. His shoulders were back, his head
was held high, and there was a touch of swagger in his walk that reminded
me of me.
I turned to Clary who had sat quietly as she often did, taking it all in
and keeping her own counsel. She popped the white rat back in her pocket.
“You can stick around if you want,” I said, not really meaning it. “It’s
probably safer away from Valen for the likes of you and me.”
“Safe?” She squinted up at me, dark eyes bright with mischief.
“What’s the fun in that?” she said, and then did something nobody had ever
done. She hugged me.
 “All right, all right, that’s enough of that.” I gently pried her off. “Now
get lost, and stay away from rat boy, he’s a bad influence.”
She grinned and scampered after Tobias.
I watched the procession of knights march towards the city followed
by Clary and Tobias. As I had no pressing engagements, I watched them
until they were swallowed by the shadows of Valen’s mighty walls. I didn’t
have the first clue what I was going to do now. I briefly considered going
back to Appleton and killing Mother and Jing, but after seeing the Hammer
that seemed petty and pointless, a bit like me. I sat on the broken stone by
the mound. I had a hero’s weapon, but I was about as far from a hero as a
body could be.
A cold wind scythed across the fields as darkness closed the wound at
the world’s edge with glittering, night-strung stitches. I picked the brightest
of those low-slung stars to be my guide, hefted the hammer onto my
shoulder, and started walking.
You have finished book one, but Breed’s adventures continue in book two.

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 FREE BOOKS

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 AUTHOR’S NOTE

Hi. Thanks for reading Dangerous To Know. I am really pleased that you
decided to enter Breed’s world. I hope you enjoyed it.
I also hope that you will be joining me to find out what happens next
in Tooth And Claw.
It would be awesome if you would consider leaving a review. They are
really important for authors like me, we rely on reviewers like you to tell
other readers how much you liked (or not) our work. Clicking this link (or
typing it into your internet browser) will make it really easy for you:
http://kdavies.net/rdtk or your Kindle app may ask you to leave a review. It
would be great if you could.
Thanks
K.T.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

When I’m not writing books, I work the day job, wrangle my kids, four dogs, and a grouchy, old cat.
I play computer games, ride horses, practice medieval martial arts, grow vegetables, throw axes, and
read, not at the same time, that could get messy.
I have a website here http://kdavies.net
And a Facebook page, Click Here, where we can hang out, have a couple of brewskis, and talk
about the good old days.
You can also find me on Twitter @KTScribbles.
Once again, thank you so much for going on a ride with me and Breed. I hope I see you again
soon.
All the best,
K.T.

kdavies.net
Copyright © 2018 by K.T. Davies

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except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events and incidents are either
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously

Published by Scimitar Media

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Original cover art by Michael Gauss

 Table of Contents
Title Page
Get K.T. Davies’s Starter Library FOR FREE
Contents
The Empire
Appleton To Valen
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Tooth And Claw
Free Books
Author’s Note
About the Author
Copyright