Bloodforged (27 page)

‘Silver-tipped,’ he said, looking at it. ‘Naturally.’

Ulrika turned in a circle, snarling and spreading her arms. ‘Face me, you cowards! Steel to steel!’

Another volley of bolts shot towards her, but Stefan tackled her and they zipped harmlessly overhead.

‘We can’t win here,’ he hissed. ‘We must fall back.’

‘But we’ll lose them again.’

‘We won’t,’ he said. ‘We’ll draw them off and take them when they spread out to find us. Come on!’

Ulrika saw the sense of that. She rolled up with him and ran in the direction of the street, on the far side of the lecture halls. A rain of bolts whistled after them, but they dodged and weaved and the missiles shot past. Three cultists rose from the bushes before them, waving swords. Ulrika and Stefan cut them down without slowing.

As they sprinted on, Ulrika saw more than a score of hooded silhouettes coursing through the grounds after them, crossbows and swords in their hands. Most were falling back, unable to match their speed, but a few paced them, as swift as greyhounds.

‘They’re separating,’ said Stefan. ‘Just a little further.’

Ulrika nodded. They burst from the trees and clattered onto the cobbled street. There was an alley opposite, a darker grey in the grey of the fog. They ran for it, the swiftest of the cultists close behind.

‘Now we must lose them,’ said Stefan as they splashed through the alley muck. ‘Then double back as they split up to search.’

Ulrika grinned. ‘You’ve done this before.’

‘An old trick with vampire hunters,’ said Stefan. ‘They think they have you, and you have them.’

They led the cultists a twisting chase through the back alleys and mews of the student quarter, leaping fences and dodging around heaps of garbage, then finally Stefan stopped at the back of a stone carver’s shop and listened. Their pursuers’ footsteps echoed to them out of the fog, a block or so behind.

‘Now!’ he said. ‘Up to the roofs. We will watch them pass from there.’

He motioned for Ulrika to start up before him. She jumped and caught a jutting beam end, then spidered up the wall of the workshop. Stefan started up after her, but just as she was pulling herself onto the roof, he grunted and slipped, then toppled back into the alley.

Ulrika turned and saw him lying in the mud below her, writhing in pain. ‘Stefan!’

He did not reply. Her chest constricted with fear. She clambered swiftly back down to kneel beside him. Their pursuers’ footsteps were getting closer.

‘Stefan,’ she whispered. ‘What’s wrong?’

He jerked something from the back of his leg – a silver-tipped bolt. It was running with blood. Ulrika swore. She hadn’t even heard the shot.

‘Help me up,’ he said, wincing.

Ulrika took his arm and lifted him to his feet, looking nervously for the shooter. She saw nothing in the fog. Stefan’s knees buckled and he fell against her.

‘On!’ he rasped, motioning to a nearby corner. ‘I can’t climb!’

Ulrika threw Stefan’s arm over her shoulder and helped him around the corner, trying to look at his leg. The wound was hidden by the cloth of his breeches, but they were drenched with blood.

‘Don’t slow down,’ he hissed. ‘Hurry.’

Ulrika ran on, hauling Stefan along. The sounds of pursuit were all around them now and he was hissing with every step.

‘It’s no good,’ he said, lurching beside her. ‘They will follow the trail of my blood. We will not escape them.’

‘Just keep going,’ said Ulrika.

She pulled him into a yard and around the side of a tenement. She could hear the cultists coming into the alley behind them as they hurried towards the front.

‘Yes,’ he said, nodding. ‘Keep going. But not together. We must part ways. They will follow my blood and you can get away. I will see if I can catch one and speak to him.’

‘But–’ said Ulrika.

He cut her off with an impatient hand. ‘We two cannot fight these daemon-lovers alone, this night proves it. You must go back to the Lahmians and get them to help you. It is your only hope of defeating the cult.’

‘But they’ll kill me,’ said Ulrika.

They ran across a side street to another alley, Ulrika practically carrying Stefan in her arms. A fence blocked the far end.

‘Tell them I’m dead,’ he said, leaning against the wall as she tore a plank from the fence.

Ulrika looked back at him. ‘What?’

‘Tell them I died fighting the cultists,’ he said. ‘That I died defending you.’ He laughed. It sounded like he was being strangled. ‘Tell them you are no longer my “dupe”.’

‘But you’re not going to die!’ said Ulrika.

‘Not if I can help it,’ said Stefan. ‘But it might be better if they thought I had. The Lahmians have the connections to stop the concert, and a web of spies to find the cult again if I fail here, but, because of me, they won’t help you. So, it is best if I vanish. Now, take to the roofs. I’ll draw these fools off.’

‘You can’t,’ she protested. ‘You’re hurt. You can barely walk.’

‘A wolf is at his most dangerous when cornered. I will meet you at the bakery and give you what information I have learned. Now go.’

‘No,’ she said, and turned towards the footsteps that were echoing nearer behind them. How could she go? How could she leave him when she had just found him – when she had only just discovered what they could have together? What if this was the last time she ever saw him?

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll fight by your side.’

Stefan snarled. ‘Fool! You will win no vengeance against these madmen if you die here! You must live to foil their plans and destroy them.’ He shoved her. ‘Go!’

Ulrika clenched her fists, not wanting to bow to his logic. Finally she cursed, then grabbed and kissed him, biting his lips angrily, before pushing him away and glaring at him.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My answer is yes.’

Then she fled up the wall as the sound of footsteps grew loud in all directions.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY

It was not Severin who answered Evgena’s door this time, but Raiza, and she held her sabre drawn and ready. Ulrika was startled to see that the swordswoman’s left arm now ended in a jointed steel gauntlet.

‘I told you I would not spare you again,’ she said.

Ulrika raised her hands. ‘Tell the boyarina that Stefan von Kohln is dead,’ she said. ‘And that I continue to uphold my vow to her.’

Raiza didn’t seem to hear. ‘Draw your blade,’ she said evenly. ‘I would not kill you unarmed.’

‘Sister, please,’ said Ulrika. ‘You saw the cultists at their work. You know their threat is real. I have learned their plan now, but alone I can’t stop them. Boyarina Evgena is my best hope. Please–’

‘Draw your blade,’ Raiza repeated.

Ulrika dropped her hands to her rapier, but instead of drawing, she unbuckled her sword belt and threw it at Raiza’s feet, then spread her hands. ‘Would I come here to certain death if I wasn’t sincere? You may do what you like with me, only hear me first. I beg you.’

Raiza looked from her to the rapier, then toed it into the entry hall. ‘Wait here,’ she said, then used the tip of her sabre to close the door.

Ulrika let her shoulders relax. She was at least not dead, though from Raiza’s impassive expression she couldn’t tell if the swordswoman was going to plead her case or gather reinforcements.

She looked over her shoulder into the foggy night and shivered. Somewhere out there, Stefan was fighting the cultists, wounded and alone. She tried to shake the image of him falling to the ground with a silver-tipped crossbow bolt in his back, but she could not. She knew he had insisted she leave him, but if he truly died, she would never forgive herself. Not even vengeance on the cult would free her of that.

Her mind returned to the golden future Stefan had conjured for her – together forever, ruling Praag. She wanted it so deeply she ached. And, really, Praag was the least of it. She would give up that if only she could be with Stefan and live as they wished for the rest of time. Of course they would have to survive the cult, and Kiraly, and then there was the small matter of having pledged her eternity to Evgena, but perhaps if she protected her from those threats and abided by her vow, the boyarina would reward her with her release.

Ulrika sighed. Aye, perhaps, but nothing Evgena had done so far gave her any reason to hope. Ursun’s teeth, why had she made that vow? How could she have allowed herself to be trapped in Evgena’s stifling embrace for all time when true happiness was within her grasp?

The door opened and Raiza held it with her steel hand, her sabre still at the ready.

‘She will see you,’ she said. ‘But know you are unlikely to live long if you enter here.’

Ulrika swallowed, glancing to either side of the door, where the massive bears had resumed their pedestals, then nodded. ‘I will take the chance.’

Raiza bowed Ulrika in, then led her again through the dusty, trophy-crowded halls. Ulrika noticed that many of the perches and stands were now empty. She smiled to herself. A few less to deal with if she did have to fight her way out again.

The boyarina waited in the drawing room with the red walls and the cold fireplace as she had before, sitting stiff and upright on her divan with bright-eyed Galiana in a chair beside her. Raiza left Ulrika standing before her and resumed her usual position at Evgena’s shoulder, her sword still drawn. Men-at-arms stood around the walls, also with drawn steel.

‘He is dead?’ Evgena asked, without preamble. ‘You are sure of it?’

Ulrika shook her head. ‘I cannot be sure, mistress, but I cannot imagine how he would have survived.’

The boyarina’s posture grew even more rigid. ‘What do you mean? If you have entered my house under false pretences you will die for it.’

‘I mean I left him defending my escape against the cultists,’ said Ulrika, wishing she was certain it was a lie. ‘He was wounded, surrounded and outnumbered.’

‘And so you have come to finish his work and kill me?’ sneered Evgena.

‘He did
not
come to Praag to kill you, mistress,’ she said, clenching her jaw. ‘He came to stop the vampire who means to try, as I told you before. And though you have given me great provocation,
I
am not here to kill you either, nor have I broken my vow to you, or ever intend to. I come to ask again the only thing I have ever asked of you. Help me defeat the cult that threatens your city and yourselves.’

Evgena folded her hands in her lap. ‘Raiza said you have learned their plan? What is it?’

Ulrika bowed and began. ‘Thank you, mistress. The cult have acquired a relic of great power, a violin called the Viol of Fieromonte. It is possessed by a daemon, and has the power to drive men mad when played. The cult intends–’

Evgena laughed. ‘A violin? Your all-powerful cult threatens Praag with a violin? Will we all die from bleeding ears?’

‘I have felt its power myself, mistress,’ Ulrika said. ‘Von Kohln and I took it from the cult as they attempted to steal it from the Sorcerers’ Spire. The daemon within it muddled my mind and tricked me into letting go of it, and the cultists escaped with it. I fear it is fully capable of doing what they expect it to do.’

‘And that is?’ asked Evgena.

‘I believe they intend to play it at the duke’s victory concert, using it to turn the duke and all the most important people in Praag – every noble, general, priest and ice witch – into murderous lunatics. In the confusion that will follow, the cult will open the gates to their queen, Sirena Amberhair, a champion of Chaos who hides in the hills with her horde. She will take Praag unopposed.’

The boyarina sneered, and looked as if she was going to dismiss the story, but then her expression faltered and she paused. ‘I… I remember this violin. A passing wonder from just after the Great War against Chaos. Belarski’s White Eagles, the bravest company of winged lancers in that age, were all executed after they went on a rampage while dancing to its tune.’

‘I remember too,’ said Galiana. ‘They butchered their own wives and children, saying they were daemons in disguise. But the violin was burned at the stake, if I recall – a diverting spectacle for the duke’s court.’

‘If a violin was burned,’ said Ulrika, ‘it was not the Fieromonte. It still exists.’

Evgena was silent, thinking.

Raiza coughed politely. ‘Emil spoke this morning of hearing of a disturbance at the Sorcerers’ Spire last night. Agents of the chekist investigated. The bodies of cultists were found.’

‘And Maestro Padurowski, who was to conduct the orchestra, has gone missing,’ added Galiana. ‘My maid told me of it. It was the talk of the markets today.’

Evgena continued silent for a long moment, then opened her fan and fluttered it, agitated. ‘This plot might succeed,’ she said. ‘It is madness, but it might succeed.’

‘It might unless you do something to stop it, mistress,’ said Ulrika.

Evgena shot an angry glance at her. Ulrika thought she saw fear in it. ‘What? What would you have me do?’

‘The concert must be cancelled,’ said Ulrika. ‘You have spies at court. If you told someone the duke’s life was in danger if he appeared at it, they would not allow it to continue. Once that is done, we must find these cultists, destroy the violin and send the daemon back to the Realm of Chaos.’

Evgena laughed. ‘Child, you are mad!’ She snapped her fan closed. ‘Banishing daemons? Drawing the attention of the Tzarina’s agents? I don’t know which is more dangerous, but I’m not about to do either.’

Ulrika finally lost patience. ‘Are you not a Lahmian? Are you not a mistress of secrets and manipulations? I do not ask you to do any of this yourself, but through your minions and blood-swains, as you would normally do.’

Galiana and Raiza were looking at Evgena as if they wanted to urge her to action as well, but were afraid to speak. The boyarina stood abruptly and stalked to the empty fireplace, her every move tense and stiff.

‘Even that is not without risk,’ she said at last. ‘It is one thing to send a gift to the duke through an intermediary and suggest that one man is more qualified for the job of captain of the watch than another. It is quite another thing to ask that intermediary to whisper that the duke’s life is in danger. People who say such things are brought to the chekist interrogation rooms and questioned, and will be asked their sources, and no amount of blood-born loyalty will keep an intermediary’s mouth shut when the irons glow red.’

She slapped her fan against her skirts. ‘I have taken such risks before, when the alternative was ruin, but this…’

‘Ruin is precisely what the alternative is, mistress!’ said Ulrika. ‘I know you fear risk. You have grown comfortable here. You don’t wish to endanger your position, but do you not see that the risk in doing nothing is greater than the risk of helping?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Evgena, tearing the paper of the fan with her claws. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps the wisest course is to retire to Kislev for a time. Our sisters there would welcome us until all had resolved itself.’

Anger boiled up in Ulrika’s breast. For all her cold dignity and superior tone, Boyarina Evgena was a coward, too afraid of taking action to defend herself. ‘Mistress,’ she said, through clenched teeth. ‘I do not believe the Queen of the Silver Mountain would look well upon retreat or–’

Evgena gasped and looked around, and Ulrika broke off, thinking she had spoken too bluntly, but the boyarina was staring past her to the door.

‘They are here!’ she said, then cried out an arcane phrase and slashed a pattern in the air with her hands.

Galiana stood, her doll eyes wide. ‘Who is here, sister?’

‘How many?’ asked Raiza.

A cacophony of screeching and flapping and roaring erupted behind the hallway door, followed by the frightened cries of men and the thud and crash of battle.

Evgena stabbed her fan at Ulrika. ‘Little fool, you have led them to us!’ she hissed. ‘You have dragged us into your idiotic war!’

‘Mistress, I didn’t,’ said Ulrika. ‘I–’

Evgena turned to her men. ‘Go! Out! Guard the door!’

The men-at-arms ran to the corridor door and out. As they opened it, the sounds of battle grew louder, and with them, a familiar voice rising in incantation – the crooked sorcerer. The shrieks of the undead animals changed from rage to pain as he sang his spell, and the cries of the cultists became cheers, then Evgena’s men slammed the door and all was muffled again.

‘They are strong,’ growled the boyarina, then beckoned to Galiana. ‘Come, sister.’

Galiana hurried to her, gashing open her palms with her claws as she went. Evgena did the same, and they joined hands, blood mingling as they touched wound to wound. They closed their eyes and began to murmur together as red swirls of mist formed around them and blurred their outlines.

Angry cries and heavy blows came from just outside the corridor door. It sounded as if Evgena’s men were dying in the defence of it.

‘With me, sister,’ said Raiza, striding swiftly to the door.

‘You took my blades,’ said Ulrika.

Raiza pointed with her metal hand. ‘The window bench.’

Ulrika ran across the room, an icy coil of dread writhing in her guts. How were cultists here? Had she led them? Was Stefan dead? He would never have let them pass him while he lived. Her heart blazed with fury and guilt. She should not have left him. She had killed him!

She lifted the seat of a built-in bench in the window. Inside were her sword belt, rapier and dagger, resting on pillows and furs. She snatched them up and ran back, belting them on as she went.

The door burst in, ripping off its hinges, and Evgena’s guards fell backwards into the room, wounded, dying and dead, as the naked white giantess from the Sorcerers’ Spire strode in, her silvered axe flashing in the firelight. A mob of cultists roiled behind her, fighting a screeching flock of undead hawks and kites. More raptors shrieked around the giantess’s head and shoulders, but their claws could do nothing to her glassy, gleaming skin.

Raiza thrust for her heart, but her sabre was no more effective than the birds’ talons. The giantess swiped with her axe. Raiza dodged, stumbling over a fallen guard. Ulrika charged in, shouting and slashing, and succeeded in getting the woman’s attention, but her attack was as futile as the others.

She danced back from the axe, eyes darting around for something heavy enough to shatter the mutant woman’s slick white carapace. A marble statue of some ancient Khemri goddess stood on a pedestal next to a side table. Ulrika grabbed its cat-faced head and swung it like a club. In life she would have needed both arms to lift the thing. Now it felt hardly heavier than her sword.

The giantess parried with her axe, striking splinters from the sculpture, but before she could follow through, a red shimmer passed through the air like a spreading ripple in a pool of blood, and as it touched her, she began to choke and clutch at her throat, eyes bulging. Blood frothed at her lips and she doubled up – and she wasn’t the only one. The ripple swept across the cultists on the corridor, and they choked too – Evgena and Galiana’s blood-sorcery at work. Ulrika was not slow to take advantage. She swung again at the gasping giantess. The statue snapped in half as it shattered the porcelain skin of her back and crushed her ribs. She howled in agony and swung wildly at Ulrika, vomiting blood.