Duskfall (25 page)

Then she turned to look at him, and he gasped. The entire right side of her face was a mass of blackened, boiling skin. Flesh hung by thin strips, pink and gray and sickly. Knot’s hand trembled as he helped her up. She looked at him with one eye green and slightly glowing, the other a burned bloody mess, only the hint of a glow in its depths.

“That bitch pushed me into the bloody sunlight,” she rasped. “I’m done with this. Let’s kill some people.”

And then she was off.

Knot turned just in time to see one of the Sons charging him with a halberd. He dodged the man’s lunge, drawing his dagger with one hand as he used the man’s momentum against him with his other, gripping the halberd shaft and adding his own weight to the strike. The man flipped over his own weapon, and Knot slid his dagger in and out of the man’s throat.

So easy. Knot hated how easy it was. He hated it, and he loved it.

He sheathed his dagger in favor of the halberd. It wasn’t his staff, but it would do for now. He swung the weapon experimentally, getting a feel for its balance.

“No one gets out!” the Goddessguard shouted. “Man the doors!”

Knot looked around. Most of the crowd had either run upstairs or were cowering in a corner of the common room. Some still tried to get out, but several Sons blocked their way. Near the bar, the Goddessguard and at least four Sons contended with a screeching blur. By the looks of things, they weren’t winning.

Knot would have liked to watch Astrid fight. Even in daylight, everyone around her seemed to move at a snail’s pace. But, instead, he swung his halberd into one of the Sons’ backs, feeling the blade pierce armor and bury itself deep in the man’s spine.

It was a pleasure to kill.

Three soldiers looked back at him. Then only two. Astrid streaked past the other, latching onto his head and snapping it around so it now faced the opposite direction as the man fell.

He moved in on the two Sons, halberd spinning in his hands. He felt a brief sense of elation as the men advanced, stepping slowly apart to flank him.

Knot parried an attack smoothly, simultaneously weaving away from the other soldier. He blocked another blow and then stabbed the butt of his weapon—a long metal spike—backwards, feeling it sink into flesh. He yanked the weapon forward, rolling to the ground as he dodged another strike from the first Son, and then swung the halberd into the man’s head. The shaft of the halberd smashed in the front of the man’s helmet, and blood gushed down his face. Knot took a step back, taking the halberd at the very edge of the weapon’s grip, and swung it like a woodcutter felling a tree. Searing pain lanced through his injured shoulder, but the blade buried itself into the side of the man’s head. Red and gray splattered the floor.

Knot yanked the halberd away with a burst of strength, but some of the man’s gore caught on the blade and held it. Knot shook the weapon violently, freeing it, and turned to advance towards Astrid, who was now backing towards the window that had first exposed her. The Goddessguard circled around her, while two Sons remained. She dispatched one as Knot watched, her fist crushing the man’s face like a hammer.

Then the doors to the common room slammed open, and ten more Sons of Canta filed into the room, led by another Goddessguard.

Knot swore. That didn’t help their odds.

Astrid turned to face their new enemies. Knot lunged at the remaining Son near Astrid, stabbing the spike of the halberd into the man’s back.

The Goddessguard turned to face Knot. The amount of armor the man wore would slow him down, but the Goddessguard would be used to that. He swung a shining longsword in one hand, and brandished a rectangular curved shield with the Trinacrya emblazoned on its face in the other.

Knot advanced, gripping the halberd loosely. Swinging it ostentatiously around as he had before wouldn’t intimidate this man, and it would only be wasted energy. He had a feeling he’d need it.

The Goddessguard attacked first, slicing in with his longsword. Knot parried but the man’s shield nearly knocked him off balance. Knot recovered, twisting, muscles screaming as he ducked beneath another sword swing, then leapt up again to slash at the man. The Goddessguard blocked the attack easily.

The halberd was useless in such close quarters. Knot needed a different approach. He spun around again, trying to get behind the Goddessguard. He parried another sword strike and charged in, pushing his opponent against the wall. Knot pressed the halberd’s shaft across the man’s throat. The sword lashed back towards Knot from one side, and the heavy shield bashed into him from the other. Knot was forced to loosen the chokehold to parry the wild slash, but the shield hit him square in the hip. The Goddessguard lunged away, resetting his feet, shield up.

Knot stepped back and swung the halberd with all of his strength. The weapon clanged against the man’s shield. Knot swung again. He began to swing a third time, but at the last moment directed it towards the man’s legs. The halberd collided with the shield once more as the man lowered to block.

Knot gasped, his breath ragged. His hands ached. His opponent was fast, despite the armor. But his bloodlust had risen. There was only one way this could end.

Knot grinned. The Goddessguard looked at him blankly, not reacting.

As fast as he could, Knot drew his dagger from his belt and threw it at the man’s eye.

The shield rose quickly as Knot launched himself forward. The man saw Knot coming, but it was too late. Knot swept the halberd at the man’s feet, tripping him up, and then brought the blade of the halberd down on top of the Goddessguard. The shield blocked it, but the blow was enough to send the man the rest of the way to the ground.

Knot slammed the end of the halberd into the man’s chest. The spike pierced armor and flesh and sank into the floor below.

Knot turned just in time to see two swords pointed at his chest.

Two Sons, eyes burning behind their helmets, glared at him. He saw, beyond them, the remaining Sons and Goddessguard.

Astrid lay on the ground beside them.

Knot didn’t think she was dead; it seemed a violent beating would not be enough, not by a long shot. But the sons were already fixing chains to the girl’s body.

“Don’t worry, the daemon is still alive,” the remaining Goddessguard said. His voice was a stark contrast to the man Knot had just killed, high and condescending, with an accent that sounded vaguely familiar. The man was noble-born.

“No reason to lose sleep over her, she’s in our custody now. Although I’ve heard sleep is difficult when you’re dead.” The man nodded at the Sons guarding Knot. “Do it quickly.” The Goddessguard glanced at Astrid as a group of soldiers wrapped her in chains and a heavy, dark cloak. “Her Grace will be quite interested in our discovery.”

He left the common room, three Sons dragging the chained bundle behind them. Knot looked at the two men whose sword-points grazed his chest. His dagger was gone, as was the halberd. He had nothing that could parry one sword, let alone two.

And then, behind the Sons, a shape moved. With a crash, one of the soldiers collapsed to the floor, broken pieces of wood flying through the air.

The other soldier looked at his companion, eyes wide, and Knot took the moment to weave around the sword point and hammer his palm into the Son’s nose. Knot gripped the man’s sword hand and slammed his other arm into his elbow, breaking it backwards with a sickening crunch. The man screamed just for a second before Knot’s hand clamped across his mouth. He reached his other hand behind the Son’s helmet, and snapped the man’s neck.

Knot stepped back. Behind the dead Sons of Canta stood an older man. He had very little hair, and wore spectacles. He also held the remains of a broken chair in his hands.

“That was my wife they took,” the man said, his voice surprisingly deep. “I don’t know who that was you were fighting with, and Canta knows, right now I don’t care. But you seem capable, so you’re going to help me. Understand?”

Knot looked at the man, and nodded. He needed an ally; this man seemed as good as any.

“My name is Olan,” the man said, extending his left arm. Knot gripped it. Olan was surprisingly strong, despite his bookish appearance.

“Knot. We need to get out of here, before the Sons return.” He indicated the corpses. “They’ll know when these two don’t come back.”

The man nodded, and dropped the splintered chair. He glanced at the crowd still huddled in the corner of the room.

“Nothing we can do about them,” Knot said. “I need my pack, then we’re getting out of here.”

Knot ran up the stairs, hands shaking. He tried not to think about what they would do to Astrid, and he tried not to think about what he had felt while killing those men. There seemed to be a whole lot he was trying not to think about, lately.

Olan was cleaning his spectacles when Knot flew back down the stairs with his and Astrid’s packs. He handed one to the man.

“We have a lot of work to do.”

“I think I know where we can start,” Olan said.

Knot met his eyes, wondering briefly whether he could trust this man. Trust seemed in short supply lately. But Knot had no choice.

“Y
OU CANNOT BE SERIOUS
,” Cinzia said, looking at Jane. She had heard a lot of crazy things in the past few days, but this topped them all.

“This is what I must do. I have seen it.”

“It is
suicide
,” Cinzia said. Jane had already said goodbye to the rest of their family, and Cinzia now walked with her through an alley behind their home. They both wore hooded cloaks, and Cinzia looked at both ends of the alley every few seconds. Sons of Canta patrolled the streets. Kovac waited inside the door, just in case.

“It is not suicide, it is Canta’s will. She directs me, now. And you need to be prepared…”

Jane trailed off. Cinzia could not meet her eyes. She could not believe her sister was even
contemplating
this. Cinzia had thought she would have been able to exercise some influence over her family by now, to convince them how insane all of this was, but things were only spiraling downward, further and further out of her control.

“Prepared for what?” Cinzia asked.

“Canta’s plan is bigger than me, bigger than our family. Whatever happens will be for the best. Whatever happens to
me
will be for the best.”

“How can you
know
that? How can you stand there and tell me that because of some
vision
—something you tell me I cannot yet understand—you are turning yourself in? How does that help you or our family? Or Canta Herself, for that matter?”

“I do not know,” Jane said. “But I trust that someone else does. That is enough for me.”

Cinzia was speechless. She wanted to tell Jane that
she
trusted Canta, too, but that they had seemed to devote themselves to two very different goddesses. But the truth was, Cinzia was tired of arguing, and she knew her sister had made up her mind.

Then Jane hugged her. The sudden contact reminded Cinzia of how they used to be as children, sleeping side by side at night, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

“I love you, Jane,” Cinzia finally said.

“I love you, Cinzi,” Jane whispered.

“It’s not fair,” Cinzia said. “Just when I return, you leave.”

“Canta will protect me,” Jane said, releasing her. “And… Canta’s plan extends beyond death. I know that, now. You will know it too, one day. Take care of our family, sister.”

Jane stepped away. “They will look to you.”

Cinzia stood there, frozen, as her sister kissed her on the cheek.

“Canta guide your path,” Jane said. Then she turned, walking towards the main road.

“Yours as well, Jane,” Cinzia whispered. She stood there for a long time, staring at the patch of sunlit road where her sister had slipped away.

“Canta,” Cinzia whispered, “what do I do now?”

No answer came.

“There have been some developments,” Eward told her when she came back inside. “Mother and Father want to speak with you.”

Cinzia followed him through the house and down to the cellar. She descended the wooden stairs, each step creaking as she put her weight on it. Eward held a small lantern that produced a globe of yellow light, but otherwise the space was dark. The mustiness of it hit her suddenly, like new wine and mildew.

As soon as Jane had told them about the imminent arrival of the Crucible, and her desire to turn herself in, their family had moved into a hidden complex of underground rooms, accessed through a tunnel in the cellar. It had been used during the days of tiellan slavery as a safehouse for tiellans fleeing the purges in Roden.

Cinzia used to sneak down there with Jane, against their father’s wishes. Cinzia had a difficult time believing that those times were so long ago.

“I am not happy about her decision either,” Eward said, obviously seeing Cinzia’s concern. “Have faith, sister. Canta is at the helm.”

Cinzia said nothing. She was not sure she wanted to know what her brother’s, or Jane’s, idea of “faith” was anymore.

Eward walked towards the wine barrel that served as a cover for the passageway. He reached behind a wall sconce, pulled a lever, and the large barrel rolled to the side, revealing a narrow hallway. The mechanism was impressive. A complex system of pulleys and gears moved the barrel easily, and once they were inside the tunnel, the flip of another lever rolled the thing back into place.

“What is this new development, Eward?” Cinzia asked warily. She almost did not want to know. Almost.

“See for yourself,” he said, as they reached the end of the tunnel and he opened a door, revealing the man-made cavern beyond. It was nearly empty: a few chairs, makeshift beds and blankets, food and water, clothing, anything from their house that they could not bear to part with, and nothing else.

In a far corner, the younger Oden children sat in a circle, laughing and playing. They had accepted the transition into the strange space surprisingly well. Cinzia envied them. Even Ader seemed to have a firmer grasp on things than she did.

Her father and mother stood near the center of the room with two men. Cinzia recognized one of them as Olan Cawthon, who had been the Odens’ house steward. He and his wife Nara were two of the few servants that had remained in the city after the Odens’ reputation had made them dangerous to be associated with, and were also part of the small group who knew about Jane’s visions, and supported her. But where was Nara? Cinzia knew the two had planned on getting out of town before the Crucible arrived.