“It’s still going on,” Zel supplied in a terse tone as we flew.
They’re still fighting?
I supposed it had only been a few minutes, even if it’d felt like an age.
“Fighting might not be the word for it.”
“Hurry!” I cried on the wind.
Killstop, ahead of us, put on a terrifying burst of speed that swelled about us all. She must’ve been draining her energies, the way she’d been going at it tonight, the way she’d been exhausted after defeating the vampire-lord. I had to admit to myself that I was developing a newfound respect for the diviner.
When we reached Welderway, a scene of carnage greeted us.
Blood, purple and red, coated the walls on either side of the street. There were a number of limbs strewn about, mostly pale, ghoulish or vampiric in nature, but at least one arm that looked wholesome, strong, female – Fangmoon’s?
If it were hers, you wouldn’t have been able to tell by watching her fight.
The druidess was ripping through her opponents with two enlarged hands, standing back-to-back with Nighteye who, if anything, seemed to be possessed of even greater ferocity. I saw the supernaturally-tall druid bite, kick, knee and headbutt his foes, wringing some in half between his hands, showering the cobbles in their innards. Both of them were glowing green, soft light suffusing their flesh.
It was only as Killstop descended into the fray, punching holes in vampires with yet-more stakes that appeared from the folds of her robe, that I realised Leafcloak was near the doorway to the assassin’s-guild, bent over a comatose figure who was also glowing green. Right where my shield had been.
Spiritwhisper. They got Spiritwhisper.
As I prepared to touch down I stretched out the diamond on the edge of my pentagonal shield and ensnared a dozen ghouls, a few black-clad vampires in the mix. I reeled the diamond in, pulling the creatures up into the air to meet me, bending the pentagon until the diamond hung off my square-shield, then again so that it hung off my triangle –
Before I could shred them Em flooded the sky with fiery conflagration, incinerating the ghouls, melting the vampires.
Then we were there, and between the three of us – sorcerer, wizard, diviner – we had the situation under control in seconds.
Leafcloak was helping Spiritwhisper to his feet, physically hauling him up despite the fact he was almost half-again as tall as her. The two young druids shrank back to their normal statures, and Em started burning stray body parts to dust then spraying water to wash away the mess we’d made.
In the midst of the chaos I’d surreptitiously palmed a couple of vampires and ghouls, and waved them off to the shadowland. Em – Stormsword – didn’t seem to be in any kind of mood to take prisoners, and I figured that they might prove useful for questioning-purposes later. Some of these ghouls had been made by the vampire-lord, and his talk of a desire to what – conquer Mund, or something? – hadn’t sat well with me to say the least.
“There’re two more inside,” Fangmoon said to Leafcloak, coming to Spiritwhisper and shifting his arm over her shoulder, taking his weight from the elder druidess. “At the bottom…”
Leafcloak eyed us all in turn, her mask rustling in the night breeze, then wordlessly went through the open doorway. The wrecked door itself was gone, probably long-since smashed in the fight and turned to ash by Em.
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“Leafcloak looks pleased to be here,” I observed.
“Riiight,” Killstop replied distractedly, looking across at Nighteye.
The druid’s shoulders were trembling and his hands were clenched; he stood fixed in place, seemingly watching as Em cleansed away the detritus.
“You okay, Nighteye?” I placed a hand on one of the trembling shoulders, felt the way the flesh was knotted-up, tensed, muscles hard as iron ingots with skin stretched over the top. “My good man?”
“Yes…” He sounded distant, then very slowly turned to look at me. “Yeah… I’m okay. You – you okay, Feychilde?”
“Missing a few teeth and ribs,” I said, then, seeing the way he sharply refocussed on me, continued: “I’m in no rush, though. You can fix those, right?”
He nodded, a fractional, minute motion. It looked like he was staring over my shoulder, lost in thought once again.
“Nighteye,” Fangmoon said, “come here; take Spiritwhisper off me. I’ll patch Feychilde up.”
The hand of the druidess upon my own was enough to get things going. I felt a strange, tingly swelling in my side and in my gums as she worked on healing me. Meanwhile, she gave Killstop a report on the battle, and before long the diviner had determined we’d taken down twelve vampires – not including the vampire-lord. We couldn’t count the ghouls – no one knew which had been raised by the vampire-lord and which had been raised by his children.
“And it’s entirely possible he’s been making even more vampires, since last week,” Killstop said worriedly. “I can’t see his actions – he’s like, like a ball of fluff. No stitches. Nothing neat.”
She crouched down and put one hand out to touch the wet cobbles.
“And… why was he…” she said in a musing tone, drifting off into silence.
“Why was he what?” Em asked.
Killstop shook her head. “Not the vampire-lord. The arch-diviner who saved me.”
My jaw dropped.
“Can you not do that?” Fangmoon murmured. “And stop tonguing the empty places in your mouth – we’re almost there.”
“Sorry. Uh – you mean…” I remembered now what Killstop had said before we’d finished off the vampire-lord. “Someone else was there?”
She nodded. “Stopped me dying. Only once. Ran in, grabbed the vampire’s arm. He was just there for one instant, then gone again. I’ve never… never seen someone move so fast. It was like he was, well, showing off. Like he knew even I could barely see him.”
I felt icy inside. “Describe him.”
“Pink robe? Purple? I don’t know. Sort of… circles of metal, like a visor across his face? I saw his mouth; he was smiling, and –“
“I know who that is,” I said.
“Duskdown,” Spiritwhisper grunted, speaking for the first time since his recovery. Nighteye was still propping him up, expressionless.
Em whistled. “Duskdown! And he didn’t kill you…”
Killstop shook her head. “The dead don’t get to go to the debriefing, do they? If he wanted to boast, he got his wish.”
He was there to save me.
“You can’t be certain about that –”Zel began.
No, but he took the dagger, remember? Clun’s dagger? To keep an eye on me…
For once, Zel was speechless, and merely harrumphed at me.
I didn’t want everyone thinking that I had a guardian arch-diviner angel, a darkmage bodyguard showing up to protect me and my friends. They’d question my principles, my loyalties, not to mention the very state of my soul… and that would be the last thing I needed.
Maybe that was why he was doing it…
“He’s always gloating,” Spiritwhisper was muttering sullenly. His injuries had clearly taken the wind out of his sails. “Man leaves his name above his handiwork half the time – piles of bodies with their blood used like paint. Letters five feet high.”
Killstop suddenly got to her feet, a flash of imperceptible motion. “Message coming in. Glyphstone…” She turned on the spot then raised her face, pointing eastward. “Magisters engaging ghouls.”
Em didn’t wait. She waved at us with a single wind-cupping hand, then dashed off like a gleaming arrow through the night. She’d renewed our flight-spells, I knew.
I looked askance at Fangmoon.
“You’re done.” She drew back her hand from mine; I felt my side, checked my mouth –
“You’ve done a fine job there,” I said.
“Don’t mention it. You’ve got an eldritch constitution. I think…” The druidess looked back at the less-than-happy-looking Nighteye and Spiritwhisper. “I think we’ll wait for Leafcloak to finish, then let her know. Get in touch if you need us.”
“Sure.” I rose into the air. “Can you link me back up, Spiritwhisper?”
“Done,” he communicated immediately. He might’ve been feeling glum but he was behaving professionally.
I nodded in gratitude to him then barrelled through the moonlight after Em, Killstop at my side.
* * *