The Grave Thief: Book Three of The Twilight Reign (12 page)

After twenty yards Isak, towering over all his companions, spotted two figures walking onto the square from Hunter’s Ride, heading straight for him: a man and a woman; the woman was hooded and anonymous while the man wore a hurscal’s livery. Isak paused. Red and white checks. The colours stirred a memory, but it took him a moment to place them.

Tildek, seat of the Certinse family.

‘Vesna, that’s a Tildek hurscal coming towards us,’ he said.

Even before he’d finished speaking the count had slipped past his lord, his hand closing around the grip of his sword. Even if the man was simply looking to make a statement, they didn’t want Isak involved.

‘Lord Isak!’ the hurscal shouted, marching ahead of his companion. Vesna too increased his speed.

Isak looked around; Jachen was ignoring the hurscal and instead scanning the crowds behind them in case this was a feint. Returning his attention to Vesna, Isak was just in time to see the man stop and fall to his knees. Vesna closed the gap as quickly as he could, but he wasn’t in time to shut the man up.

‘Lord Isak, you shame the tribe and Nartis!’ the man called. He was young, not many years older than Isak. He had bushy eyebrows and a diagonal scar crossing his mouth where his broken front teeth were visible.

Isak could see the fervour in the man’s eyes as he pulled a dagger from his belt and held it up for a moment before reversing it and driving it into his own chest. A collective gasp ran around the onlookers as a flash of pain crossed the man’s face. Isak saw him sway, his hands still wrapped around the hilt of the dagger.

The hurscal’s mouth fell open and his eyes closed, but he jerked the knife out again with a breathless gasp of agony. A jet of scarlet followed it and spurted out across the paving stones at Count Vesna’s feet, stopping him in his tracks. Isak felt the Land freeze around him as everyone turned to watch the hurscal. Unbidden came a memory from his year of learning swordsmanship from Carel:
a moment is all a soldier can ask for.

He opened his mouth to shout, but before he could voice his warning, the hurscal’s companion had raised something up above her head and hurled it down at the dying man’s feet. Isak heard it shatter on the stones. Liquid sprayed in all directions as shards of glass flew across the ground and scores of tiny black objects bounced madly about. A dark-red liquid spilled over the pale stones and a bitter taste filled Isak’s mouth. For a moment he thought he tasted blood, but then the flavour turned as dry and acrid as ash. The cool air turned frosty as the hurscal pitched forward and started convulsing.

A black burst of magic filled the air as the woman backed away. Her hood had fallen back and he could see the horror on her face.

‘Vesna,’ he roared, finding his voice at last, ‘
get back!
Everyone, get back!’ The power in his voice broke the paralysis and people started to run from the scene.

He drew Eolis and felt a surge of magic run down the blade as the Crystal Skull set into it pulsed with energy. Ahead of him the hurscal gave another violent jerk. The dead man’s arms shot out, wrenched in an unnatural direction. Isak took a step back. A war-cry came from his left and Isak watched as one of his guards threw his glaive end-over-end—

—only to have the dead hurscal pluck it clean out of the air. The taste of ash increased in Isak’s mouth as he recognised the massive surge of magic swirling around the corpse.

The glaive fell to the ground as the dead hurscal’s fingers splayed wide. His hands and arms distended grossly and split open like overripe fruit as grey appendages burst through the skin. From inside each arm came an angular, chitinous limb that grew in a heartbeat to the length of a man. Sharp spurs at the end slammed down into the ground as the corpse’s legs erupted in similar fashion. The strange, spiky protrusions drove between the paving stones as if looking to find more secure purchase below. Slowly they flexed, and as they started to raise the torso up, it too began to swell horribly.

Screams rang out from the crowd behind, interspersed with shouts from Jachen and the Swordmasters.

As Vesna started forward, his sword raised, one limb lifted and darted out, like a probing spear, and the count, realising he didn’t have the reach to get past it, quickly retreated to Isak’s side.

‘My Lord,’ he called, not taking his eyes off the creature, ‘we must get you away from this daemon.’

Isak was transfixed in horrified fascination at what the dead hurscal was turning into. ‘And let
that
- whatever it is! - run amok?’ he retorted. ‘Don’t be stupid!’

‘This is a trap,’ Vesna yelled in reply, but whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a livid screeching sound which filled the air, like the voices of a thousand maddened insects.

The corpse’s torso twisted violently and a long-beaked head burst out in a shower of blood, followed quickly by a solid, blockish body slick with oily blood. Two multi-jointed limbs hung from what might have been shoulders, so long that the clawed fingers almost brushed the ground.

The daemon’s head moved and it looked around briefly before crouching a little so it could snatch up the thrown glaive. The weapon looked like a toy in its hands, especially compared with the lance-like tips of its legs that were longer than Isak was tall. The savage beak parted to reveal slender stiletto-like teeth. It had a dozen vertically-slit eyes running chaotically from the mid-point of its beak back onto its grey bristling head.

As Isak watched, he could see the randomly searching eyes suddenly moving as one and snapping into focus on him. The daemon tensed and its head flicked forward, as if seeking to discover what he was.

It can see my power
, he realised,
and it doesn’t know what to do. But I do.

He drew on his Crystal Skull and raised Eolis. Vesna gave a cry and staggered away as a blistering flare of crackling white flames surged about Isak’s body. He had given in to Tila’s urging and wore the cuirass of Siulents, his magical armour, in case of assassins - but he was painfully aware that the rest of his body was clothed only in linen and silk.

Make it hesitate
, he thought, remembering Carel’s training, and he increased the flow of energy.

The daemon gave a piercing shriek in response. It moved one leg forward, as if to take a step, and Isak wrapped the lightning-storm of magic around Eolis’s blade and raised the sword. At the back of his mind he heard a cry, Aryn Bwr, shouting out in alarm, and in the next moment he felt a presence on either side of him, twin shadows amid the storm of light, and the torrent of magic flowing through him ebbed. As the shadows surged forward heading for the daemon, Isak, shocked into inaction, stopped dead and gaped, his thoughts as frozen as his body - but it was only for a moment.

The Land snapped back into focus.

He could see only their backs, but there was no need for a second look: the Soldier and the Headsman were all too recognisable. Their slaughter on the Temple Plaza in Scree would never be erased from his memory, and here in the pale light of day they looked no less terrifying: the Soldier was already swinging his bastard sword as the Headsman raised an enormous straight-bladed axe.

The daemon’s head turned from one to the other, then he lunged with one long leg at the Soldier. It looked to Isak as if the Aspect of Death merely leaned to one side to avoid the blow before hacking into the daemon’s leg. Ichor spewed out of the wound and over the Aspect’s face and shimmering ice-blue armour, but he ignored it and continued chopping at the limb.

The daemon shrieked, this time in real pain, and tried to pull itself back, but the Headsman took an almighty swing at its other front leg and buried his axe deep. The daemon sagged, dropping the glaive it had retrieved. It used its hands as props to keep itself upright while its lower limbs thrashed about wildly, trying to escape the heavy blades. It scrabbled for purchase on the paved ground, but the Reapers pursued with blow after blow. Isak watched in astonishment as the howling monstrosity retreated, spraying ichor in all directions, scattering the crowds who’d run in from Hunter’s Ride to see what was causing all the noise.

As he watched, he saw a woman caught in the neck by one lance-tipped leg. She was pinned to the ground like a speared fish, though the daemon didn’t appear to notice, so busy was it trying to free itself - and in the next moment the Soldier had lopped off the leg. The daemon, losing balance, fell, but the severed limb stayed upright, still piercing the woman who was twitching uncontrollably as she died. The Headsman took advantage of his downed target and chopped down, splitting the daemon’s head in two.

Isak flinched as a burst of bitter-tasting magic rushed out over the square and the daemon winked out of existence. A sudden calm descended as the Reapers stared down at the uprooted flagstones, slick with the daemon’s viscous blood. The people froze where they stood, all eyes on the Aspects of Death.

A gust of wind rolled over the square; Isak flinched as the movement stirred the Reapers into action. Both looked at him. The Soldier’s face was half-obscured by ichor-matted hair; the black eyes of the hooded Headsman were all that were visible. His guts clenched as their focus became predatory and Isak remembered the Soldier’s words in Scree. They wanted Aryn Bwr - how many times would he be able to deny them? He could feel their insistent tug on the magic flowing through his limbs; they were drawing energy from the Skull directly.

I will
not
be forced
. He took a step back and stopped. The Reapers didn’t advance; they simply watched him, the hunger plain on their faces. The only movement was the goo dripping from the Soldier’s armour. Isak tightened his grip on Eolis and tried to stem the flow of energy from the Skull.

The Reapers shuddered, and Isak felt the magic buck like a mule as they fought back. The impact ran through his massive shoulders, but he refused to let go. He forced himself to take a step forward, Eolis raised, and continued his pressure to dam the energy from the Skull - and suddenly the Reapers could fight him no longer and the stream of magic vanished. Without the power it provided the Reapers were thrown backwards, fading to nothing before they hit the ground behind them.

Isak lowered his sword and gulped down air. He staggered as his wobbling knees threatened for a moment to give way. Jachen and Vesna ran up to him, shouting words it took him a moment to understand. Vesna was forced to jump back as Isak turned quickly with Eolis still drawn. His guardsmen, close behind Jachen with weapons raised, looked bewildered.

One of the Swordmasters ran straight past to where the woman who had started it all stood, apparently transfixed by the chaos she’d caused. Her hood had fallen back and Isak saw a middle-aged woman looking aghast, obviously as shocked as anyone else by what had happened. As the Swordmaster reached her she seemed to wake from her daze and raised her hands as if to plead with the man, but he didn’t let her get a word out before he smashed his fist into her face. The woman flopped to the floor and went still, but the Swordmaster took no chances; his blade was at her throat within a breath, ensuring any further movement would be her last.

Isak turned to the crowd, watching in silence. A few had fallen to their knees in prayer; he could see their mouths moving, though no sound reached his ears. With an effort he sheathed his sword—

—and then stopped. Something had changed; some detail had set an alarm bell ringing in his head.

Slowly, as though through a fog, the Land came back into focus.

‘Why is the gate shut?’ Isak said. He took a slow step forward as realisation crept over him and he raised his voice to a bellow. ‘Who shut that damned gate?’

 

‘Bind it fast, Duril!’ Kam yelled, chancing a look back at the now-barred gate. Another man came for him and he swung wildly with his club. Kam missed, but Boren didn’t. He caught the knight’s rapier a heavy blow, sending it clattering away.

Piss and daemons, this place is still full of armed men!
More feet charged down the stairs as screams came from the square outside.
Did that mad bitch know what she was doing?
Kam had caught the beginning of the chaos outside as the enormous spider-like limbs reached up so high that he could see them, even from the back of the crowd.
Gods, I hope her friend is as good as his word
, he thought fiercely as he prepared himself for the fight ahead.

Four Ghosts charged from the guardroom at the entrance to the cells. Sir Gliwen, the Lomin knight sent by the Duchess, led Kam’s companions forward, jumping over the bodies of the men they’d already taken out and rushing the soldiers, leaving Duril to finish with the gate.

The Heren brothers were watching Kam’s back. ‘See you in the Herald’s Hall!’ roared Jeyer Heren behind him. The man was relishing his chance to try his skill - and his heavy forester’s axe - against the Palace Guard. He was big as a bear and fearless; he’d chopped the first soldier they’d reached nearly in two. Jeyer would buy them the time they needed. They’d said their goodbyes already.

Before Kam could stop the man, Snivelling Woran raced ahead of the rest of them to attack the soldiers all by himself. The scrawny little man was drunk on adrenalin and swinging his home-made mace wildly as he reached the Ghosts, who barely slowed their charge as they ducked Woran’s blows and delivered a brutal cut to his belly. Woran went down shrieking.

‘Keep together,’ Kam yelled, knowing the rest of his men had no chance against the seasoned veterans unless they attacked en masse. He used his club to block another cut, working in tandem with Boren, giving his friend the opportunity to smash the soldier in the face. Blood splattered them all and the man went down, but it didn’t distract his comrades for a moment as they savagely laid into the Siul men. Gren screamed out, a hefty blow to his shoulder almost spinning him around. He grunted as he barged into Foret, just as a glaive slashed deeply into Foret’s face and he fell without a sound.