The Price of Faith (45 page)

The woman was there, leaping at him, short sword glinting in the fire light. Seemed one of the nearby buildings was well and truly ablaze, no doubt Betrim would find himself blamed for that. The Black Thorn laughed as he stepped aside from the blow and planted his axe in the woman's throat right next to the dagger. Damned near took her head clean off what with the momentum and all. He plucked the sword from her hand as her corpse fell to the ground and readied himself for the next three demons. He didn't much like playing with swords but sometimes needs must and right now his musts were starting to get real needy.

The three demon-men closed slowly, taking their sweet time. They took so long Betrim almost started to wonder whether their plan was to let him bleed to death. He had a fair few cuts though none of them felt much like threatening his life.

“Don't tell me I've gone an' got ya all scared,” he rasped out. “Thought it'd take more than the likes of me ta scare a demon.”

One of the men, the one with the big nose, turned his head and then trotted off. The others kept on closing. Betrim tried to keep an eye on them all, hard work given he only had the one of them.

Both remaining demons charged him. He gave a quick thought to the possible outcomes of his first instinct then ignored the advice his brain offered and charged them both right back. He blocked the attack from the right demon with his new sword, then parried the attack from the left demon with his axe. Then he shoved his new sword into the left demon's face and planted his axe between the eyes of the right demon.

The left demon stumbled away screaming and clawing at the shard of steel sticking out of his its mouth. The right demon toppled, dead and looking every part of it. Betrim bent down, pulled his axe from between the demon's eyes with a grunt and then launched it at the wounded demon. The blade buried itself in the creatures chest and it went down with a groan and thud. Betrim grinned at his job well done, well aware just how gruesome that made him look and not caring a drop.

Something sharp and painful and more than a little unwelcome found a new home in the meat of his left thigh. Thorn spun around to find a little girl, couldn't be no more than six years, growling at him. He looked down at his leg.

“A spear? A fuckin' spear?” he roared. Truth was it would likely have planted itself up his arse but it seemed to be twisted up with his coat. Never before had he been so glad of the over-priced duster. Not that he'd paid for it. Just so happened it was a gift from Rose and he wasn't overly pleased with the damage.

He took hold of the spear and snapped it with his other hand, wrenched the head out of his leg, an act that required no small amount of not passing out, and pulled the girl close before planting the metallic end of the spear in the top of her skull.

Now Betrim was no stranger to dealing with the dead and he knew that sometimes the usual act of killing a person left them a little more alive than he liked. It was because of this that he wasn't entirely surprised when the girl dropped to the floor and thrashed around like a fish on land instead of doing the natural thing and expiring. He also knew that his axe would finish off the girl for good and all but it was over there and he was over here and he had a different idea. He stepped on the girl's thrashing back, raised up a big, metal-shod boot and stamped on her head. It crunched and burst much like a melon might given the same treatment. The girl stopped moving for good and all.

Betrim lifted up his boot, now sticky with red and pink and grey, and took a stumbling step backwards. He'd seen many things in his life and done many more and some of them far worse that that. Still, for some reason he found it a right struggle to keep down his last meal but he managed it. Just.

He looked around for his axe and found it just where he had left it. He wandered over with a speed much like a stroll and pulled it free. “Reckon I might stick ta you in the future,” he said to it with a grin.

It was a strange time to realise but he noticed there was no one else trying to kill him. Nearby he could see a right fight taking place; more demons than he could count were pouring in to take down the Arbiter with the tattoos. Seemed the demon who had cut and run from the Black Thorn was over there too. Something about that felt a little disgruntling. Almost like Betrim Thorn wasn't scary enough so the demon had to seek death elsewhere. A body flew out from the circle and crunched to the ground and two more demons rushed in to take its place.

He glimpsed the Arbiter then. Jacob was spinning and striking and dodging and blocking and even as Betrim watched he saw two demons jump onto the man's back and drag him down to the ground. More piled on and more and they all became a writhing mess of flesh and wild, savage attacks.

It didn't look good for the poor bastard. So many demons and the Arbiter was down and he had no one else to help him. The Black Thorn was perhaps the only one near enough to help. Betrim shrugged and kept scanning the street.

Backed up against a building and keeping each other covered he spotted Henry and Anders. Neither of the two looked to be in a particularly good state and Henry the Red was earning every bit of her name. A whole group of demon-people, looked to be at least seven of them, were prowling nearby, readying to go in for the kill and making something of a game of it. That didn't hold too well with the Black Thorn.

Kessick was over the other side of the street, directing his minions with frantic gestures and frantic orders. Thorn reckoned he could get a good run at the bastard, he had a few guards, probably the best of his lot, but the Black Thorn didn't fear a good fight. The decision was made before he had chance to think it through and he wasn't sure whether he'd pick any different given an age of procrastinating. He readied his axe, set a wild grin to his face, roared out something wordless and full of what most folk would consider anger, and charged to the aid of his crew.

Jez had never lived an easy life. For as long as she could remember she had fought, scrapped, clawed and fucked for every minute of her often painful existence and now was no exception. She blocked, slashed, parried, growled, locked, punched, stabbed, dodged, kicked and screamed for every moment and every moment she became more and more the woman Yuri Vel'urn had told her she would be.

Years and years ago now Jezzet had killed her old master as all Blademasters must, her final test and greatest challenge; to kill the man she had come to trust with her life, the man who had taught her all she knew. It was not a clean kill. She had given him a fatal wound and he had smiled at her and told her.
Blademaster I might have been but mine was a wasted life chasing nothing but my own desires and my next treasure but you, Jezzet, you will be great and greater than great. Your name will be...
He had died then but Jez had got the idea. She had always thought it folly; the ramblings of an old, dying man but in Sarth when she had shed her fear and her inhibitions she had realised Yuri was right. Only she lacked a purpose.

The Blademasters of old had followed causes, aligned themselves with great kings and queens or fought on the side of rebellion to help those couldn't help themselves. Jezzet Vel'urn had never had a purpose. At least not until she met Thanquil. She might not believe in his God or his Inquisition but that didn't matter. She believed in him and that made him her cause.

Jez gained herself a second blade; wasn't too hard, there were swords a plenty in the street now. She parried an attack with one and took the man's arm off, just below the elbow, with the other and flowed into her next attack, striking two demons at once. She knew her blades could not kill the creatures but they were a damned sight less dangerous when they had no arms.
Or no eyes, Jez, reckon you're pretty good at taking those out these days.

She whirled away from a wild swing and hamstrung a woman in the process, skipping backwards and glancing around to gain her bearings. At first she had tried for Kessick but that soon became a hopeless endeavour. There were simply too many demon-people protecting him. Now she looked for Thanquil, to help him, to protect him, and just to be near him again.

Close to the burning building she found him. Beset by four demons and looking far the worse for it Jez could see Thanquil struggling towards Kessick, fending off harrying attacks meant to cripple not kill. He was far, maybe too far and there was a small host between them but Jez could feel the fire of battle in her veins and Blademasters were not so easily deterred.
Last thing I'd call this is easy, Jez.

She stepped close to a woman-demon and locked its sword with her own only to step away a moment later taking the creature's hand off at the wrist. Then she turned and started away from them all, away from Thanquil. A quick faint to her right and Jez cut to her left, breaking into a sprint and skirting the chasing demons. A man stepped into her way, big and burly and with more beard than face. Jez leapt at him, brushed his axe away and hit him full in the chest. They both went down rolling in the dust; him scrabbling for purchase, her poking one of her swords in his chest.
Easier to leave it there, Jez.
She grabbed the dagger sheathed on his belt, pulled it free, flowed back onto her feet and was running again. Her pursuers had gained but she was still ahead and closing in on Thanquil fast. One of the demons brought down a hammer blow on the Arbiter, he blocked but the attack forced him to his knees and another of the creatures closed in from behind. Then Jez caught them.

She barrelled into the demon behind Thanquil at full speed and sent the creature tumbling away. With no time to waste and no sense for safety Jezzet vaulted over Thanquil and kicked the second demon in the face. The Arbiter surged to his feet and turned and he and Jezzet stood back to back, weapons drawn and ready and facing down their enemies. Wasn't too long before they were surrounded and more than a little outnumbered.

“Good timing,” Thanquil said. “I was starting to think you weren't coming.”

Jez found herself smiling. “Had to leave it 'til the last moment. I like to make an entrance.”

He laughed but only for a moment. “I'm sorry, Jez.”

“Eh?”

“For not believing you. About Drake. I'm sorry.”

Jez's heart gave a flutter. “Now might not be the best moment for this,” she said unable to stop smiling.

“Maybe,” he said slipping something into her hand. It turned out to be a slip of paper and she wasted no time in slicing it in two with her sword which took on a distinctive golden glow. “But I can't be sure we'll get another so now will have to do.”

She should have told him then how she felt. She wanted to tell him, wanted to say the words but her throat tightened and refused to give voice to her thoughts so she settled for thinking it instead.
I love you.

“I need you to watch my back,” Thanquil said and Jez noticed the demons had backed off a little.

“Always,” she managed to croak.

She felt his back disappear, took it to mean he was walking away and she glanced back at him.

“I can't be certain how they'll react,” he said as he took hold of something in his coat and pulled it free. A moment later a whole mess of paper fluttered to the ground behind him. The demons backed away further, giving ground before him, around him. Jez followed slowly, keeping distance and keeping watch, glancing back at him whenever she could. Then she saw what he carried, a sword black as night that looked like it had crawled up out of hell itself. The blade was uneven, jagged and hard to focus on.
Looks like a demon, Jez. Looks like a demon blade.

“Thanquil...” she started to say something, not really sure what and not really sure why but it felt like she should give voice to some sort of thought. Kessick interrupted her.

“Now where did you get that, Arbiter Darkheart?”

“Took it from your master's smoking corpse,” she heard Thanquil say with a voice colder than she'd heard before. “I was thinking of leaving it in yours.”

Silence rushed in to fill the gap, or at least as silent as a battlefield could get where fighting was still very much taking place somewhere nearby. The blazing building to her right decided on that moment to collapse in a gout of flame that quickly set two neighbouring adobes on fire. The demons were closing in behind Thanquil so Jez kept close by, protecting him as she had decided she would.

“I see,” grated Kessick and Jez heard the sing of steel leaving scabbard as he said it. She glanced back to see both men just a few paces from each other and both with swords in hand. Jezzet had done her best to teach Thanquil how to fight but he was far from a master and she was far from certain he could best Kessick but if he had brought that sword here than she supposed he must have a plan and she trusted him enough to believe he could see it through. Of course that didn't mean she wouldn't take the chance to give Kessick a good stabbing should the opportunity present itself and she sorely hoped it did.

Jez saw Thanquil move out of the corner of her eye, preparing to strike but Kessick stepped backwards, hand held out in front of him. “Wait! I should wait if I were you, Arbiter. Kill me and Jezzet Vel'urn dies too.”

“What?” Jezzet and Thanquil said in unison.

“Our fates are bound. If I die, so does she...”

Kessick continued but Jez didn't hear him, didn't hear anything over the blood rushing in her own ears and the deafening beating of her heart.
The charm!
She looked down at her left wrist, at the fresh scar along the precise line of the old one. The scar first made to sew an anti-pregnancy charm into her wrist, and she knew what had to be done.

Jez dropped her sword and without so much as a thought drew her dagger across her left wrist. She gasped at the pain and gritted her teeth. Yuri had inflicted far worse injuries on her during her training, she would endure.
Not deep enough, Jez.
She drew back the dagger and stabbed it into her wrist, the pain driving her to her knees and flooding her eyes with tears so the world became a blurred mess of colour and agony. She cut into the flesh beneath the skin and dug with the point until it hit something solid and she sent a prayer to any God would listen that it wasn't bone. Throwing down the dagger she thrust her fingers into her open, bleeding wrist and cried out.
There, Jez. That's it!
Her fingers brushed the charm and the world went black.