Tretta Unbreakable, covered in bite wounds and wielding a blade slick with blood, looked toward me. “You did this.”
I blinked, looked at Grishok’s corpse. “No, I think that one is all you.”
She shook her head. “No. This is yours. This blood. This city. The oath that brought my regiment here.”
I backed up, kept the gun leveled at her. “Tretta, I’ll tell you what I told him: I am in no mood.”
“Did you recognize them, Sal?” she asked. “The men and women who were displaced by your war? Did you see them in Revolutionary uniform, the fire in their eyes? Do you know what I promised them to bring them here?” She took another step forward. “Your blood.”
“I figured, yeah. I’m warning you, stay back.”
Liette clung tightly to my shoulder. The emptiness of Tretta’s expression, the absolute wear of the war, was a horrific thing to see up close. She spoke with the same conviction that makes us fear that madmen may be right.
“I will honor them, Sal,” she said. “As I have honored every soldier who lost their life to you. As I will honor every soldier who shall ever serve the Great General by ending you.”
She stepped around Grishok’s hulking corpse. She glanced at him disdainfully.
“And ultimately, every Vagrant shall meet this fate.” She sneered, kicked his body. “The Dandelion. A ridiculous name.”
Grishok’s corpse responded by swinging a hand up and smacking her so hard she skidded across the stones.
Liette screamed. I took her hand, ran around Grishok’s carcass—which was now stirring, moving, rising. His body pulled itself to his feet. He glowered at Tretta through a skull that was now hardy and whole and was swiftly weaving sinew and skin anew over his face.
“It’s because,” he spoke as a regenerated jawbone clicked into place, “I just keep popping up.”
That actually was a good name. If I was less terrified, I’d have praised it. But as it was, my thoughts were on my hand around Liette’s and our feet pumping under us.
I said Grishok was legendary among Mendmages and I meant it. His magic was so strong it worked without him even trying. He’d been blown apart, cut open, run over, and incinerated—all by the same tank, once—and I saw him back on his feet in minutes. Wounds and injuries repaired themselves even while he was unconscious, even while he was…
Well, I mean, you saw his head.
It took time, as all magic did. But for as long as he was rebuilding himself, he wasn’t chasing us. We ran, followed out of the alley by his baleful glower.
The streets were flooded by panic. People poured out of every rivulet, refugee and citizen mingling in a singular river of fear that flooded over the local peacekeepers. I pulled Liette into the tide with me, held her close as we waded through the jostle of bodies.
I saw Revolutionaries who had survived Chiriel’s onslaught wading in, searching the crowd for me through savaged faces. I saw the Ashmouths creeping on the roofs, peering from the alleys. They’d find us eventually. I could outrun them. But running wasn’t a plan.
I looked through the crowd. A gap had broken as they surged forward toward a distant landmark.
The bridge. To the other side. To safety. Or safer, at least.
The bridge wasn’t a plan, either.
But it was better than this.
“Head down,” I told Liette, pulling her tighter as we broke into a sprint. “Don’t let go of me.”
She clung to me. We rushed forward. Through the pounding of our own feet, I heard another note of the Lady. Bright light flashed overhead. A shadow fell over us.
The Doormage. Fuck me, the fucking Doormage.
A tree—yes, an actual fucking tree—came plummeting down from above. I stopped short, hauled Liette out of its way as it came to a thunderous crash in our path. The crowd behind us continued to surge forward, their panic not registering the obstacle yet. We had to move. Had to keep going.
I pulled her down an alley. I tried to go around. A note rang. A light flashed. A tree fell in front of our escape route.
And I had this creeping feeling that I was fucked this time.
But I couldn’t let it settle on my shoulders. I couldn’t slow down that much. I took Liette’s hand. I looked into her eyes. She into mine.
Without words, I asked her if she would suffer with me.
And without hesitation, she agreed.
We tore off. Running through the back alleys of Toadback. We turned where we could, pivoting through the narrow corridors. But the Lady kept singing. And more obstacles kept cutting us off. It didn’t take me long to realize we were being herded.
And by the time we’d pulled into another alley that curled around toward the riverbank, I realized who the Doormage was.
“DOWN!”
A single note. A portal opened at my left. I lunged forward, tackled Liette at the waist, and brought us both down.
A body came leaping from the portal, a tall and slender man dressed in tight-fitting leathers and silver jewelry. He cackled as he sailed over us, his hands just narrowly avoiding brushing against my back as he struggled to grab me. I pulled us down, forced us to the ground, covered her with my body.
He tumbled from one wall to another, disappearing into another portal. I pulled Liette to her feet, seized her by the shoulder, snarled into her face with a desperation I didn’t think I was capable of feeling anymore.
“Run. Don’t talk. Get clear. Find the others. Get to the bridge. Get out of here. Don’t stop. Don’t let him touch you.” I held her by the face. “Do not let him touch you.”
She didn’t talk. I could see she wanted to, but she didn’t. Good. I didn’t want her to see this next part.
I shoved her. She ran. I heard her footsteps fade into the distance as she disappeared, unmolested.
Which made sense.
Since he was trying to kill me and all.
I slid the Cacophony back into his sheath, ignored his protest. I drew my sword, walked slowly down the alley, ears open, breath still. The gun was good for most mages. But against the man I was fighting, a sword was…
Well, to be honest, no weapon was of much use against him. But a sword was at least better for fighting someone who liked striking from behind.
Not behind, I thought as I heard a note. I looked to the street. Below.
I leapt away just as a portal opened up beneath me. A pair of slender hands wrapped in black gloves and adorned with thick silver rings shot out, groping feebly at where I’d just been. I lashed out with my sword, caught one across the forearm as they withdrew.
A shriek rang out from above.
The man appeared out of a portal on a nearby rooftop, clutching his wounded hand. Through a face fraught with silver piercings, he glared at me spitefully, looking more like I’d wounded his pride than his flesh.
“Fuck me, Sal,” he hissed, “do you ever stop being such a poor sport? A more proper mage would have died by now out of courtesy alone.”
“Quoir,” I spat. “I fucking knew it’d be you working with those two.”
“We became friendly after that torrid night when we listened to Vraki.” He gestured, sarcastic. “What an incredible leader we had that he should be killed by the likes of you.”
“You, him, and every other fucker there that night,” I snarled. “You all deserve the same.”
The fear had burned out in my veins. Now I was pissed. Pissed that they’d done this. Pissed that they’d struck out at me here. Pissed that they’d said that about Darrish.
… Pissed that they might be right.
But the beauty of fights is you don’t have to work out complex feelings during them. So I spread my arms out wide, taunting.
“You couldn’t kill me that night, either,” I chuckled. “Quoirmuiro ki Thanthros. Empress’s ‘finest’ assassin. And it took thirty-three of you to bring me down.”
He sniffed, offended, and gestured to the tattoos across his biceps: hands adorned in fabulous jewels, clasped together in an endless chain.
“It’s Quoir the Eternal Knock,” he sneered. “And it only took one of you to kill Darrish.”
“Don’t say that,” I roared at him. “Do not fucking say that unless you’re ready to come down here and fight me.”
“I intended to. Wholly. The moment I found out you had the audacity to put me on your farce of a list. But I put you behind me, moved on. Until Chiriel told me what happened.” His face twisted into a grimace of metal. “Darrish deserved better than you.”
He pointed to one end of the alley. A portal winked into existence. Grishok, whole and unharmed, lumbered out.
“You okay?” Quoir asked.
“I’m always okay,” he rumbled. “I didn’t deserve Darrish. She was outcast for us. Went Vagrant because of us. Killed because of us. We make that right.”
I moved toward the other mouth of the alley. Another portal appeared. Chiriel and her horrid armoire appeared, violin in hand.
“Only in your arrogance, Red Cloud, could you think that you could hunt us and not be hunted in return.” She pressed her bow to her violin. “Honor demands your blood. Love demands your death.”
“You fuckers have it all wrong,” I growled, backing up as much as I could. I drew the Cacophony, but what the fuck good would he do here? The moment I turned on any of them, the others would get me. “It’s not what you think.”
If they had called me a liar, I would have liked that. If they had cursed me and insulted me, I could have worked with that. Any time I kept them talking was time I could think.
Maybe they knew that, too. Maybe that’s why they fell silent. I held my breath, raised my weapon in impotent warning. Chiriel played the beginning of a note. Grishok advanced. Quoir’s smile grew broad. The armoire stirred. The Cacophony seethed, indignant. The Lady sang.
And that is what made them pause.
Because it hadn’t come from any of them.
“Who is that?” Chiriel looked around. “Did you invite anyone else to—”
She fell silent. There was no need to finish the question. It was already answered.
Something appeared in front of her armoire—a shape wrapped in a cloak and wielding a dirty iron blade. They flung open the doors to the armoire. The kite vipers peered out, puzzled as the figure hurled a flask into their den. It exploded in a cloud of smoke. The figure hurled the doors shut and vanished.
The Quickmage.
The one from before.
“CHOKING!” Chiriel dropped her instrument, grabbed her throat as smoke wisped out from the armoire’s doors, the furniture thrashing about as her pets bashed themselves against its walls. “IT’S IN OUR LUNGS! GET RID OF IT! LET US OUT!”
Grishok, unlike me, didn’t waste time trying to figure out what was going on. The moment Chiriel started shrieking, he started running at me. He swung his club overhead, ready to strike. The earth shuddered with a heavy weight.
Which was his huge body collapsing. A great wound had opened in his tendon, hobbling him and bringing him low. He turned around, glared at the injury. A flash of darkness at his flank drew his attention. He swung. The Quickmage ducked under the blow, jammed the dirty iron blade into Grishok’s armpit. He roared as his assailant vanished in an instant.
I would have acted. But I was stunned.
Usually, when someone else shows up like this, it’s not to help me.
“Grishok!” Quoir snarled from above. “Walk it off, you big baby!”
“I can’t,” the huge man rumbled. “The complicated tendons take time to fix. She’s got a fucking Quickmage!”
Quoir blinked. “That was a Quickmage?”
His eyes grew wide with realization. A shadow appeared behind him. The blade drew back, struck.
It only caught a hair from Quoir’s luxurious head as a portal opened up beneath his feet. He dropped into it, vanished. Didn’t reappear. He always had been cautious. And nobody wanted to fight a Quickmage.
Including me.
So when the shadow vanished and reappeared at my side, I put the gun in their face and I didn’t feel fucking bad about it.
“Here to fight me?” I asked.
I caught a brief flash of a man’s face beneath a hood—weary eyes, pursed lips, scraggly hair half-hidden in shadow. The Quickmage held up his hands, shook his head.
“Good enough for now.”
I took off. He took off with me. We ran as far as we could.
I wouldn’t stay up for much longer.
So when we got as far as my fear would allow me to believe was safe, I damn near collapsed and shit myself out of exhaustion. To my credit, I settled instead for collapsing against the wall and gasping for breath.
A flask was thrust toward me. And, for the first time in a long time, I was glad that this one was just water.
“Hurry,” the Quickmage said—man’s voice, didn’t care, I was gulping down water. “We need to move again soon. They won’t stay down for long.”
“They won’t stay down at all, dumbfuck,” I gasped as I finished the flask. “One of them fucking regenerates. I need to get to the bridge.”
“Too obvious. They’ll head there next.”
“I didn’t fucking ask, did I?” I swallowed the last few drops of water, tossed the flask away. “They don’t call you Quickmages for your brains, do they? Thanks for the water and the other part.” I waved a hand as I limped off. “The saving me and shit.”
He caught my hand. It felt warm on my skin. My eyes grew wide. My body went cold.
“It isn’t safe, Sal!” he said.
He knew my name.
And I knew his.
I grabbed his wrist. I slammed him against the wall, felt the breath explode out of his lungs. I put the Cacophony in his face. By the glint of his burning brass, I could see the visage beneath the hood. Its sharp angles. Its wrinkles where a haughty grin pulled. Its eyes…
That I once looked into so lovingly before that dark night.
I swallowed hard. I looked into the face of Jindu the Blade.
I pulled the Cacophony’s hammer back.