Blade of Glass: Chapter 52

Geneve marched with Israel and Vertiline to the Brook District. It had been a sleepy enough settlement within Ravenswall. Not too wealthy, not too poor. Artisans made it their home. Nothing was tactically significant about it, except for one thing.

It was right in Nicolette’s path.

Meri’s plan made sense: head to the Brook District and meet Nicolette head on. Aside from the warm comfort of her old friends Iz and Tilly, she had the bulwark of Armitage’s presence. Nicolette nearly bested two Knights, but an Adept plus a very large Vhemin might make all the difference.

Geneve doubted it. She figured the secret weapon of Meri’s plan a better idea. He’d said, Your job is to draw Nicolette’s eye. Be in her face. Be angry. The seen thing. Hide the idea of wizards from her until it’s too late. His eyes had found the floor. But also the living thing. Come back alive, Red.

She didn’t know if she could. It didn’t feel like that kind of fight. Geneve knew what the Sway felt like and fighting a Knight Champion with its full power at her command felt like suicide.

“This feels like suicide,” Vertiline said. Her shield hung ready off her arm, but her glass was safely scabbarded.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Geneve said. “How did you beat her before?”

“I remember a dragon,” Iz said, a faint smile on his face. They paused at an intersection, marking the direction of smoke blackening the sky. He fingered his crystal necklace. “There was definitely a dragon.”

“We did okay against the dead, though. Once Nicolette left, we spent a day or two on mop-up.” Tilly took her helm off, scratched her head, then put it back on. “I wonder what she did on the way. We managed to beat her here.”

“Recovering?” Geneve shrugged. “Maybe the dragon hurt her. She probably holed up somewhere to use the Sway.”

Iz rolled his shoulders. “More than we did, I think. Still, now we are three again.” He gave a tight grin, and Geneve saw a hint of the young man he’d been when they first met. 

“Four, motherfucker.” Armitage twirled a wicked-looking halberd like it was a twig. “Learn to count.” He ignored Israel’s bulging eyes.

“Technically, there are twelve.” Vertiline pointed at a furtive figure in an alley to their left. “Four of us, and two groups of four sinners.” She gritted her teeth. “Sorry, Geneve.”

“It’s fine,” she lied. “At least the burning city’s distracting people from the Vhemin we’re walking with.”

“How can you not see him?” Vertiline looked sideways at the monster. “He’s a two-meter tall monster with horror teeth, snake eyes, and scaled skin.”

“You’re just jealous,” Armitage said.

* * *

They found a market square in the dead center of the Brook District. Stalls were set up, but unattended. Awnings fluttered in a wind the south sent to remind them of where this started. Rain fell, heavy, insistent, and with teeth of ice.

“This is perfect.” Iz removed his helmet, slicked water from his face, and beamed. “We’ll set up here. The square provides even ground and good sight lines for the sinners.” He slammed his helmet back on. “I hope they know who the enemy is.”

“I’m sure they do.” Armitage used his halberd to scratch his back. “It’s the four of us, and everyone the witch brings. Lots of fish in this barrel.”

“Will they fire on us?” Tilly scanned the rooftops, sighting a hooded figure. The figure tossed a wave, then ducked from sight.

“I don’t think so.” Geneve removed her own helmet, thankful for the ancient’s light design. One less thing to wear her down. The black glass didn’t mark with rain’s legs like windows did. It remained clear despite the weather. “Or, not until later.”

“Please don’t try and cheer us up again.” Armitage winked. “How you want to play this?”

Israel pointed with his sword. “We’ll set up here—”

“Wasn’t talking to you.” Armitage turned his back on the Valiant. He seemed to size up Geneve and found her weight to be just right. “You’re my chief. You tell me where to go, and I’ll be there.”

Vertiline’s eyes were cold within her helmet. “She’s just an Adept.”

“Wasn’t talking to you either, Frosty. You got to wonder, though. Bunch of sinners up there? They know the runt’s sweet on Geneve. She talks with his word, and he’s one of ‘em. She’s the perfect person to lead all of us to death.” Armitage hunkered a bit lower. “So, Adept. What’ll it be?”

“I don’t want to lead.”

“Not always about you.” He grinned horror teeth. “Sometimes it’s about pissing off the Valiant.”

Iz snorted, and Geneve smiled, then donned her helmet. “Iz?”

“A teachable moment, for all of us,” he admitted. “If this were your battle, what would you do?”

Geneve scanned the market square. A hundred meters a side, littered with mercantile goods. Smoke warred with rain for who got to walk the skies. There was a lot of smoke, suggesting how Nicolette got her army: she burned people from their homes, killed them, then raised the lost as revenants. “If we stay here, her forces will wash over us like a wave. We need to lure her into a smaller area.”

Israel pursed his lips. “I only thought of going blade on blade against her. You’re right, of course. Where do we go?”

Geneve pointed to a low stone building to the north side of the square. “That looks like a bank. Stone walls and barred windows. Inside, her dead can’t swarm us.”

“We’ll be trapped, though.” Vertiline bobbed her head, considering. “She could sweep the walls aside with the Storm.”

“As could we.” Geneve sighed. “Well, two of us, at least. But her dead can’t use Sway or Storm.”

“Meat for the grinder,” Armitage grumbled.

“We keep four sorcerers out here and bring the rest with us. The ones here can contain the dead. Inside, we use them against the Champion.” Geneve nodded with a certainty she didn’t feel.

“Will four be enough?” Israel considered the smoky sky. “Can you bring your dragon here?”

“What? No. It’s not my dragon.” Geneve shook her head. “The dragon is long gone, Iz. It’s just us.”

“Then we will do.” She saw the glint of his teeth through his visor. “It’s always been enough before.”

* * *

Tilly was the bait. She was the fastest of the four of them. The Chevalier stood in the rain, gleaming Smithsteel dripping, glass ready. 

Geneve, Armitage, and Iz waited inside. The bank had smooth stone floors and polished wood walls. It oozed wealth, the kind of money merchants touched but only royalty really knew. The back half held a vault. Barred windows allowed customers to talk with bankers.

There was no one here but them and their mages. One, a young woman of perhaps twenty-five summers, approached Geneve. “Where do you want us?”

“The vault.” Geneve put her hand on the woman’s sleeve. The arm beneath was thin, half-staved. These people ran from mine, and have been running for over a hundred years. Here we are at the end, only to discover we need them.“I’m very sorry.”

The witch yanked her sleeve free. “We’re here because the Tresward comes for us, as it always has. Black sashes and gold bars mean death. Your words mean nothing. I hope they make you gag.” She stalked away, beckoning with an angry hand to her three companions. So unlike Meri, with his gentle words and kind eyes. Geneve thought of the queen’s comment. 

They lost a boy. Dead, on the Tresward’s command.

Which boy had they lost? Meri’s brother? If true, why didn’t he hate her like he should? Oh, Meri. What happened to you? Geneve shook her head to clear it. There’s no time for that.

“You good?” Armitage looked after the young witch. “That looked like a dry fuck if ever I saw one.”

“She holds anger in her heart. It’ll help.” Geneve spread her hands. “And she’s earned it. I wear the Three’s burnished sun. If I scrubbed until my fingers were raw, I couldn’t get the blood off my hands.”

“She’s a sinner. Pay her no mind.” Israel joined them. He glanced at the monster. “Can we count on you?”

“You mean, in the middle of the fight, will I stick this halberd up your ass, or the enemy’s?”

“Yes.”

“How about this. I promise I won’t try to kill you until tomorrow. Good enough for you?” Armitage bared shark teeth.

“Good enough, Vhemin.” Israel gave a tight nod. Armitage gave Geneve a lazy salute, then sauntered after the witch. “Things have not been … easy.”

“I know, Valiant.”

He took off his helmet, smoothing his hair. Geneve saw it was shot with gray, but still thick as ever. “Stay behind me. Don’t listen to her words.”

“I know how to fight the Sway.” Geneve nodded all the same. “But thank you for the reminder. After this, I will need … more reminders.”

Israel shook his head. The necklace at his throat glittered. “I don’t think so.” He put his helmet on. “It’s time. Can you feel it?”

Geneve cocked her head, listening not just with her ears, but her heart. The sounds of panic outside had faded, leaving an eerie quiet, filled with the hush of rain. Within the rainsong, Geneve heard something else, deeper, hidden within the stillness. “The dead walk.” She hurried to a window, looking outside.

Men and women flowed from the lanes leading to the market. Some looked hearty, if a little pale. Others were charred, misshapen, or missing limbs. Their eyes tracked nothing, a shuffling gait marking their steps through the city.

She spied a girl in their number, holding a cat. The girl had gnawed the head from the cat, blood slicking her chin. A man behind the girl walked, head high, oblivious to the hammer lodged in his skull.

Hundreds of the dead filled the market, unseeing eyes fixed on Tilly and her vigil before the bank. One walking corpse, a woman who may have been thirty-five before her corruption, ran for the Chevalier.

Vertiline spun aside from her charge, three perfect strikes cutting the woman to pieces. The parts tumbled past her until starved of momentum. She resumed her silent stance, watching, waiting.

A minute later, the crowd of dead shifted as if they were a lake someone dropped a stone into. The ripples spread, parting to reveal a black-armored woman. She carried twin blades of glass. Unlike last time, her helmet was on, no doubt hiding a sneer.

“Hello, Nicolette,” Vertiline called. “It’s time for you to stop this.”

“Where is your man?” Nicolette scanned the market. “Where is Israel?”

“I’d be more worried about me.”

Nicolette laughed. “Hardly, Chevalier.” //DROP YOUR SWORD.// Vertiline swayed, glass trembling in her hand.

Israel growled, looking like he wanted to leave. Geneve clasped his arm. “Not yet, Iz. Trust Tilly. Has she ever let you down?”

His eyes flashed, but he gave a grudging nod. “Not once.”

Vertiline steadied, then flourished her sword. “You’re losing your touch with the Sway. Or reality. I can’t work out which. Come and die, Nicolette.”

The black-armored woman ran. Tilly waited, a cell of quiet in the rain, until Nicolette was ten meters from her. Then she spun, sprinting for the bank.

She came inside, and Geneve slammed the door behind her. It didn’t slow Nicolette. The Champion swung a glass blade with such perfection it made Geneve’s heart ache. There was a golden flash, and the bank’s door blew to kindling, flames licking the wood as it scattered inside.

Nicolette entered, a squall on her heels. She took Israel’s measure as he stood with his great glass blade before her, gave a quick salute, and lunged.

Israel roared, charging. Tilly yelled her defiance, blade hungering. Armitage barged forward, halberd low. Geneve felt the weight of her borrowed steel and screamed defiance as she leaped.

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