City of Keys, page 30
“So I think you’d better start telling the truth,” the knight said mildly. “Which one shall I start with, eh? The Raven on your neck? Or something bigger?”
Alexei’s mouth went dry. “I’m telling you the truth—”
“No. You’re not.” The blade paused at his left nipple, just below the Armored Wasp. “I like this one. Perhaps I’ll dry it and put it in a frame.”
A soft sound made him turn. Alexei strained to see around his mailed bulk.
“What the f—”
A meaty thunk. The knight’s hands flew to his throat. He sagged against the wall, blood pouring through his fingers. Knobs of bone dug into Alexei’s back as he used his feet to scramble away. Another knife was already flying from Natalya Anderle’s hand. Swords rasped from scabbards.
Spassov stepped into the breach, ducking a slash. He crashed into one of the knights. They staggered down the dark passage.
A fierce bark sliced the mayhem. Alexei feared he’d imagined it until a pair of golden eyes resolved from the gloom. So that’s how they’d found him. He was overjoyed to see the others, but he nearly broke down at the sight of his dog. He’d been so sure she was dead.
Half-healed wounds matted her coat as she limped over. A quick, sloppy kiss on his cheek. Then Alice took up a guard position in front of him, legs planted and head low, a warning growl in her throat.
The other three knights backed up to give themselves room as his brother stepped from the shadows. White teeth gleamed through his beard. “Protect the bishop,” he said softly.
Natalya nodded, a knife ready in each hand.
The cut on Alexei’s forehead still ran freely, drawing a red veil across his vision. Steel rang against steel. A meter away, he heard the quiet choking sounds of a man slowly bleeding out. The knight would die quicker if he withdrew Natalya’s knife from his throat. Alexei wished he’d do it. End the suffering.
Sometimes, he heard the same sounds in meditation or at the edge of sleep, but he knew they weren’t real. Just echoes from the past.
Time slipped by. Natalya bent to his side. “You’re a fright, Alexei,” she muttered, face tight as her eyes moved over him. “What did they do to you?”
“Just slapped me around some.”
He winced as she started sawing through the bonds. An arm flopped free, numb and semi-useless, but he managed to wipe the blood from his eyes. The last of Gray’s knights was crawling down the passage. Panting in fear at the echo of heavy footsteps behind him.
“Captain Bryce! Wait!”
Morvana Ziegler emerged from the darkness. His brother’s words suddenly made sense. Protect the bishop.
“He is badly injured,” she said. “Surely it is enough—”
“And what do we do with him, Your Grace?” Misha asked. “Spare him to tell the tale?”
He hefted the sword. A slash down his forearm dripped steadily, soaking the leather gauntlet.
“Glory to the Black Sun!” the knight cried in a cracked voice.
Misha chuckled. “I very much doubt it, mate.”
The man jerked like a pinned bug as the blade severed his spine. Another hard thrust and he stopped moving. Morvana shook her head and turned away. Misha wiped his sword on the knight’s tabard, examining the blade with a critical eye.
“Forgive us, Your Grace, but it had to be done,” Spassov said.
Alexei hadn’t seen him return. He felt relieved that Patryk seemed unhurt, yet Alexei noticed the furtive glance he cast at Mikhail. His brother wore death like a mantle. Or a comfortable pair of slippers.
Alexei rose to his feet, rolling his aching shoulders. Patryk pulled him into an embrace.
“What is it with you and dungeons?” he asked, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Some kind of fetish?”
“Ow,” Alexei mumbled into his broad shoulder.
“Sorry.” Patryk released him with a grimace. “You should have confessed everything.”
“I tried. They weren’t having it.”
Misha tugged Alexei’s gloves off and examined his hands, the touch surprisingly gentle. “I had worse when we trained for stress positions,” he said. “Keep trying to flex your fingers. It’ll hurt like hell in a minute, but it’ll get the blood moving again.”
The tone sounded sympathetic, but Alexei couldn’t shake a suspicion that it was an act. It made him hate himself. Couldn’t he feel a moment of gratitude? He’d be screaming his lungs out if they hadn’t saved him.
“Where’s Kasia?” Natalya asked. “We hoped she was with you.”
“I don’t know.” He caught his brother’s eye again. “Gray has her.”
Misha nodded thoughtfully and adjusted his grip on the sword. “Then we find Gray.”
Alexei almost warned his brother that Malach was coming, but the words stuck in his throat. He was afraid—no, terrified—of what would happen if the two of them came face to face again.
“You are bleeding yourself, Captain Bryce,” Morvana said. She sounded angry. “Let me see.”
Alexei expected Misha to shrug the injury off, but he held out his arm. She peeled the gauntlet down. The thick, scarred leather had taken the brunt of the blow, sparing his tendons but leaving a long, shallow cut from wrist to elbow.
Alexei stepped out of his soaked cassock. It was already slit down the front. “Use this.”
Natalya retrieved her knives. She cut a wide strip of cloth and handed it to Morvana, who dressed the wound with a scowl. Alexei was still grappling with the fact that the bishop was here at all. She’d never liked him much and he was a far milder version of his brother. Mikhail embodied everything she despised—and she didn’t even know about the Nightmark. In Kvengard, he’d led them to believe it was just a regular Sanctified Mark that Malach had flipped.
Alexei prayed she’d never find out.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Mikhail said absently. He was already looking down the tunnel. Anticipating an attack—or planning the next one.
Alexei braced a palm on the wall, drawing blue ley into his Marks. A wave of calm soothed the tangle of emotions. His mind cleared. “Gray said he’d return, but we can’t wait. He’s planning a coup.”
Morvana’s green eyes flashed. “A coup? I must warn Luk!”
“He has the Order behind him,” Alexei said. “But I’m sure many of Clavis’s knights remain loyal. No doubt the attack on the fort was a ruse to lure her away.”
They started off through the catacombs, Misha taking up the rear. Alexei paused to pick up a fallen sword, forcing his fingers to close around the hilt. The hot prickling was a good sign. His body was waking up. Alice stuck close to his heels as he told them about following Kasia through the liminal tunnels. The discovery of the Order and Jule Danziger. Losing Alice when the doorway closed and running straight into Gray, who must have been waiting for them to emerge.
Natalya swore viciously at the part about Danziger. She dropped down to embrace the Markhound. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said. “We’ll get the ones who did this to you.”
Alice chuffed agreement, though Alexei sensed her fear. He had a sudden vision of knives in the dark. The rush of hatred made all his Marks flare at once. Blue light strobed in the darkness, then died, leaving calm in its wake.
“Are all the Order like this?” Morvana wondered. “The ones we arrested did not change their forms.”
“Only some, I think,” Alexei said.
“I’ll take care of Danziger.” Misha’s voice drifted from behind.
“Not until we know where they’ve taken Kasia.” Alexei stopped to walk beside his brother. “You must promise me!”
“I promise.” He lowered his voice. “But if the bishop holds your Marks, we need to get her somewhere safe first. The woman will not touch a weapon. She’s defenseless.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s thanks to her we found you. I will not let her come to harm.”
Was that guilt in his brother’s voice? Alexei wondered uneasily how Morvana had gotten involved, but the whole story would have to wait.
“Take her to Lezarius,” he said. “You can protect them both while I look for Gray. Nat and Spassov will back me up.” A twinge of remorse. He’d argued for Lezarius to come here. “Your first loyalty must be to the Reverend Father of Jalghuth.”
Mikhail was clearly torn, but he nodded. “I just wish we knew who to trust.”
“Not Maria Karolo, that’s for sure. We’ll have to play it by ear.”
Spassov slowed to wait for them. “Almost out,” he said. “The Tomb of the Martyrs is ahead.”
It was at that moment Alexei heard the first faint screams. He shared a quick look with his brother. They ran forward together, around a bend and up the narrow, twisting staircase he remembered from his last encounter with Kasia. Alexei burst through the exit first.
He never had nightmares for the simple reason that his Marks rendered him incapable of dreaming. But if he did, they might resemble the sight that awaited them.
A full moon floated above the basilica. People ran in every direction, pursued by loping silver dogs and other things he had no name for. Knights fought knights, steel singing. Mounted men galloped through the chaos, though Alexei had no idea whose side they were on. Bodies lay everywhere. The battle seemed hottest in front of the Pontifex’s Palace where knots of guards clashed before the main doors. Then two dozen cloaked figures emerged, attacking from the rear. His heart sank as he understood that the palace had already fallen.
Knives flickered into Natalya’s palms at the same instant Patryk brought his sword up. They edged together, back to back.
Alexei’s gaze swept the scene, trying desperately to make sense of it. Who was winning? How many sides were there? He’d been in plenty of battles but none like this. Half the combatants weren’t even human.
Alice made a sound somewhere between a bark and a whimper. Morvana muttered an oath in Kven.
“Looks like they started without us,” Misha said dryly. “Get behind me, Your Grace.”
A knight thundered toward the Tomb, hooves spewing clods of earth. His helm was down. Moonlight shone on the gold thread of his Crossed Keys tabard. Alexei’s pulse quickened as he raised his broadsword. Mikhail parried a crushing downward blow that drove him to his knees. A hoof lashed out, sending him sprawling. The knight wheeled around and galloped back.
Time splintered into discrete ticks. He glimpsed a shaggy creature hurl itself at Patryk. The gleam of Natalya’s knives. Morvana Ziegler sinking down, her pale hand clawing at the grass. The hollow drumbeat of the Marksteed bearing down. A shock through his arm as Alexei plunged his own sword into one of the white dogs as it leapt for his throat.
He yanked the blade free, chest heaving. Alice tore into the still-twitching body with savage growls. Somehow he was on the other side of the Tomb, though he didn’t remember moving.
The world shrank to a narrow tunnel with his brother at the end of it. Misha slowly raised his head. Stared groggily up at his own death as the knight reined in above him, sword cutting a whistling swath through the air.
Then the mount screamed and reared. The man slid sideways, armor dragging him down with a crash. One foot was still hooked into the stirrup. His horse rolled its eyes, trembling all over, and galloped off, dragging the knight along.
Violet ley streamed from Morvana’s sleeves as she rose to her feet. Alexei realized she had spooked the stallion.
Not so defenseless after all.
Misha drove the point of his sword into the ground and pushed himself up. The horse had kicked him in the head, but it must have been a glancing blow or he’d be out cold. Alexei hurried over for a closer look. His eyes looked glassy. The right pupil seemed a little larger than the left.
“I’m good,” Misha slurred. “Really.”
The fighting was already closing around them. Alexei knew his brother was concussed. How badly remained to be seen, but there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing but get his blade up and hope Misha did the same.
Steel clashed as he battered back an attack from a Raven knight. Alice dipped between the woman’s legs, tripping her up. He wrenched her shield away and slammed the edge into her neck. When he spun back around, his brother was fending off two more. Misha’s footwork was clumsy, but he managed to avoid being skewered until Alexei reached his side.
At every chance, he pressed a palm to the ground and filled his Marks with ley. It cleared the mind. Sharpened the reflexes. Blue light glimmered along the edge of his blade as he fought. Time seemed to stand still—or rush forward in jerky leaps.
Alice’s snapping jaws kept the mounted riders at a distance, but it was a small reprieve. Liminal doors flashed open, disgorging things with scales and teeth and mindless bloodlust in their eyes. Volleys of arrows hissed down from slits in the buildings surrounding the plaza—though who was shooting at whom, Alexei couldn’t say. Knights engaged in pitched skirmishes, some from different cities, others locked in battle with their own.
Natalya and Spassov were next to him at first, but the ebb and flow drew them farther apart. During a brief lull, Alexei realized he hadn’t seen either of them in far too long. Only Mikhail remained, sword rising and falling, keeping a clear space around both him and Morvana Ziegler.
Later, he would forget whole hours of that night, yet recall inconsequential details with perfect clarity. A lone sandal tipped on its side with gum stuck to the sole. Reams of burning paper drifting down from a rooftop. Two riderless mounts galloping neck-in-neck down the Via Devana as though racing each other, inky tails streaming like banners.
Some of the traitors donned armbands emblazoned with the Black Sun against a red field. Others blended with the defenders until they saw their chance. Alexei learned this lesson when a soldier he had just saved turned on him. He would have died if his brother, who trusted no one, hadn’t seen the woman draw a belt knife and try to plunge it into Alexei’s back the instant he looked away.
The defenders regrouped at the portcullis, at least two hundred of them. They were killing anything unnatural that came within reach. So far, the gates were holding. Surely the knights at the outer walls of the city would come to their aid.
“We must try to reach the gates,” Alexei panted.
They sheltered around the corner of a nondescript building no one seemed to care about. It sat halfway between the palace and the gates. The Antiquarium, according to a small plaque on one wall.
Misha gave a weary nod, getting his sword up as one of the white dogs sprang from the shadow of an archway. It snapped at the blade in its chest, refusing to die, until Alexei took its head off. Unlike the alchemical creations, the hounds were flesh and blood, though unlike anything he’d seen before. They had small pink eyes and coats like fresh snow.
He looked around for Alice and found her lying on her side, flanks heaving. Fear dried his throat as he ran his hands over her. She was covered in blood, but he found no fresh injuries.
“Go,” he said to Misha. “I’ll follow.”
His brother’s skin was ashen. He trembled with exhaustion. Yet he shook his head. “Not a chance, Alyosha.”
“What is wrong with her?” Morvana crouched down. Alice stared with dull eyes, though her tail gave a thump when the bishop patted her head.
“I think she’s just worn out,” Alexei said.
“Then I will carry her.” She lifted the Markhound in her arms.
The moon was on the other side of the Arx now, slivered behind the twin spires of the Apostolic Signatura. The two sides had pulled back to gather for a final contest. Gray’s Order held the Pontifex’s Palace and many of the other buildings, which flew Black Sun pennants alongside the Crossed Keys. Misshapen shadows slunk back and forth along the front lines before the palace. Sometimes they darted out and seized something in their teeth, dragging it back. Alexei was glad for the darkness.
“What about those liminal doors?” Morvana asked. “Could we open one into the palace ourselves? Try to rescue Luk and Lezarius, if they still live?”
Alexei had already considered it. “I don’t know the passages well enough,” he said. “They’re a maze. We could end up anywhere. But the Order does know them. You can be sure they’re guarding every entrance, liminal or otherwise.”
Misha’s head cocked. A moment later, Alexei heard it. A new sound, rising and falling in waves. The defenders at the gates were singing the anthem of Nantwich. The hair lifted on his arms as a chill wind carried their voices across three hundred meters of bloodied ground.
Freedom, freedom!
By the light and grace of the ley
We have held the virtues of this land
In lofty splendor,
And on its altars we once more vow
To die, rather than live as slaves.
Freedom, freedom!
The martial turmoil of yesterday
And the horrible clamour of war
Are silenced at last,
By sweet hymns of peace and unity.
Thirty years before, their fathers and mothers had done the same when Balaur’s army camped outside the walls. The song was an answer to the twisted Via Libertas of the nihilim.
Half of Nantwich burned in the last stand that followed. To the south, Beleth’s forces had surrounded Novostopol. If Lezarius hadn’t made the Void, banishing the mages into the wilderness, Alexei would have grown up in an entirely different world.
Morvana joined in at the second chorus. Her voice was sweet and low. A moment later, Mikhail’s baritone took up the harmony. He hummed his way through some of it, which frightened Alexei badly. Misha had taught him the words when they were little boys. They used to sing it all the time in their tree fort, pretending the squirrels rooting for acorns below were mages in disguise. There was no chance his brother had forgotten.
Alexei didn’t blame the Nightmark. In Jalghuth, Misha often quoted lengthy passages of the Meliora to his knights without benefit of the book. He’d committed the whole thing to heart by the time he was nine.
It had to be the concussion. How his brother was even still standing, Alexei had no idea.
