“Feel better?” Stormsword asked me, barrel-rolling and flying face-up directly beneath me, so that I looked down into her masked visage. “Zis is preferable to being Kas?”
“Immeasurably,” I said. How could the two worlds compare? I was riding on the wave of the dark night wind, my fellow champions around me. My wings were hanging at my back more for reassurance than out of necessity. The removal of the alcohol from my system thanks to Fangmoon left me with a pleasurable feeling without any of the lethargy or giddiness.
And we were on our way to the heart of the brand-new vampire community of Mund.
“But you vere surprised I vonted to stop being Em.”
“Gee,” I put on a gormless voice, “that Stormsword, she sure sounds like an Onlorian –”
“Oi! You git –”
I dodged the little pointy rays of light she flicked at me, then drew up my shield when she didn’t stop – it absorbed them, spreading a white radiance across its ring, almost making the force-barrier visible to the mortal eye.
“Coming up on Welderway now!” Spiritwhisper sounded more nervous than I’d anticipated, given his earlier bravado.
But his mind-tricks don’t work as easily on things that aren’t from Materium, I thought. And things like vampires are probably hard to fool with illusions – there’s more than just sight and sound to consider. You’d need to give your fake creatures heartbeats, sweat on their skin…
Even now we were, according to our enchanter, ‘invisible to our enemies’ – another vague thing like ‘protected against ill-will’ that was still poorly understood, from what I’d read. Would a random Mud Laner who didn’t like Kastyr Mortenn be unable to see me? Would someone merely set to spy on me find themselves unable to do so, or was that passive-enough to classify them as a non-enemy?
We drew up in a loose formation on the other side of the street from the assassin’s guild-hall, and I felt distinctly visible as I floated there above the rooftops. I still had enough of the illusion-piercing, brown-tinted sight left in my eye to bring it back into focus if I wanted to – but it wouldn’t help here.
“What do you sense?” Fangmoon asked.
When no one replied I realised she meant me.
“I, uh… Give me a second.”
I looked down at our target. An innocuous wooden door, one of many in an innocuous row of terraced properties that would’ve looked like a single long brick building without them. A small grille was set into it, so that those within could scrutinise their visitors, a metal mesh through which no light was currently being emitted. The thin windows spread across the three storeys of the property were criss-crossed with black iron bars, and heavy curtains or some other more-permanent means had been used to block all sight.
What do I sense?
Sense. Like Morsus lying there in the apartment.
Like my parents.
It hit me, and a wave of bile rose in my throat. I managed to swallow it back before it was too much for me, but I still bent over, choking.
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“Feychilde!” Em cried, streaking to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder –
I waved her off.
“It’s okay. Thanks. I’m okay.” I looked up at everyone grimly. “I… yes. This is definitely the place. There are… many dead bodies in there.” If it weren’t for the nearby forges stinking up the place and the general condition of this part of Oldtown, it would be odorous-enough that even passers-by would be able to sense what I now could sense.
“I get that,” Fangmoon said. “Millions of flies in there, do you think?”
Nighteye nodded.
“But anything else?” Spiritwhisper pressed. “Anything… undead?”
I sorted through the bodies with my mind. I could feel them as I threw out my consciousness over the building like a wave crashing onto a beach – they were the cracks and dips in the rocks where the water could pool once the wave drew back, the corpses where my thoughts, my will could reside –
And one that was already full, swirling with purple fluid. A crack into which my will would not fit.
Not at this range at any rate.
“I sense one. Only one. Second floor, I think.“
“I‘ll take the door off,” Fangmoon said, immediately drifting down towards the target.
She wasn’t exaggerating. We were still only landing behind her when she reached out, sank her fingers into the solid wood of the door, and then casually ripped it free of its hinges, laying it aside against the wall.
“Or maybe we should’ve, you know, just opened it,” I said. “If we want the others to come back, trap them –“
“Honestly, Feychilde,” Killstop said, “this isn’t going to make that much of a difference.”
I wondered why, if she knew as much about how this expedition was going to pan out as she clearly did, she let me answer the question about the number of undead in here. She surely knew?
But diviners can miss things, I reminded myself. Their visions are incomplete. They aren’t all Arreath Ril.
We stepped inside, with a few murmured curses at the stench of rotten flesh which was now overpowering; I imagined it flowing out like a noxious green mist into the street behind us. Em’s power surged in with us, quickly making the air more breathable, and her light illuminated our path.
The short hall opened into what looked essentially like a small pub. A well-stocked bar, bottles on the shelves; sturdy tables, many comfortable-looking chairs.
Everything covered in blood, bits of flesh.
And a crashing sound coming from upstairs.
We crossed the room in a flash, propelled by Em’s constantly-streaming wind; bursting through the far door, I saw the stairs heading to both the upper and lower floors.
No time to investigate the corpses down there in the basement, I plunged up the stairwell – I could pinpoint the vampire from the noise it was making.
It was trying to claw its way through the masonry on the back wall of the building – it knew we were here – and by the sounds of things it’d only need a few more seconds to rend the bricks apart –
Fangmoon tore through the next door, and I could see our prey in the darkness.
This room looked like it must’ve been used when the assassins were conferring with clients – there was a single large table, several big, deep chairs. Windowless.
And to my right, on the other side of the table, a pale man with pale hair was standing, clad in form-fitting black. He was frozen in place, as if my gaze alone sufficed to pin him there, halt the frantic motions that had left the wall behind him in ruin, bits of brick-dust still clinging to his fingers.
His purple eyes stared back at mine through the slits in my mask.
They’re too powerful for the invisibility, I realised.
“Begone from here.”
He intoned the words, speaking slowly and forcefully. He wasn’t just trying to hide his pain. He was attempting to reflect my silent assault, put me under his power somehow.
I shook my head. Whatever he was trying, it wasn’t getting through my barrier.
“I’m afraid things are going to work a little differently from the last time you ran afoul of the law, Mr. Pointy-Teeth. How about you start by telling me your name and swearing me your everlasting service? Then we can get onto your full report.”
He glared at me only for a split-second longer before a shudder passed through him. Then he dropped his gaze to the nearest chair in defeat.
“I am Lodus Phertaine. I swear…” He choked. “Sw-swear you my everlasting service. I…” His voice fell to a whisper. “It all went wrong.”
* * *