‘“Gabe?” Chloe asked. “Are you aright?”
‘“I’m f-fucking w-wonderful …”
‘“Ye look like puddled shite, Silversaint.” Saoirse lifted Kindness, her face grim. “Leave the bonny Prince of Forever to me. It’s not my fate to die today. Nor tomorrow, neither.”
‘Bellamy nodded, grim. “I will not go to my grave with my song still inside me.”
‘“Blessings to you all,” Chloe said, watching me with wide, worried eyes. “May God and Mothermaid and all the Martyrs bring us victory over this evil.”
‘I looked to Dior, my stomach still burning. “You be ready for my signal, boy.”
‘“I’ll be ready, hero.”
‘I looked to Rafa. “Do me a favour, Father?”
‘“Ask it, Silversaint.”
‘“If you should happen to meet our Maker tonight, kick him in the cock for me.”
‘Saoirse, Bellamy and I took to the walls, wreathed in the stink of evaporating vodka. Rafa and Chloe stood in the bailey’s guttering torchlight, Dior hidden in the cathedral. The cliffs at our flanks meant there was only one path by which Danton could approach, but as darkness deepened, thick and frozen, I’d no clue if we had strength enough to stop him.
‘And the thirst … Great Redeemer. I was so fucking thirsty …
‘“Remember,” I hissed. “Retreat through the westward passage into the cathedral. The doors for the dead.”
‘“Poetic,” Bellamy muttered. “If we live through this, there’s a hell of a ballad in it.”
‘Saoirse’s jaw clenched, her grip tightening on Kindness’s haft. “They come.”
‘I looked into the dark, saw a multitude swarming up the hill. Fangs bared, I drew my sword from her sheath, that silvered dame on the hilt ever smiling at me.
‘“Good fortune, Ash …”
‘Die not on me n-now, Gabriel. We’ve bastards seven to slay, to s-slay.
‘They charged towards San Guillaume, dark figures rushing through the falling night. I counted a hundred or more wretched, but against our little company, they may as well have been an army of thousands. And somewhere in the dark, their grim general awaited. I couldn’t see him yet, but I could feel him, like a shadow at my back. I’d fought things like him most of my life, and still, a part of me found the thought of Danton Voss utterly horrifying. Not frightening, mind you. Just … horrifying.’
‘Why?’ Jean-Fran?ois asked.
Gabriel shook his head. ‘I used to wonder what it was that drove people like him to become the monsters they became. If it was a consequence of all that time, maybe – the need to indulge ever-darker desires, just to stave off the crushing boredom of forever. But you live long enough, you look into the mundane murk of people’s souls often enough, you see Danton didn’t really become anything. He’d just had the shackles of consequence removed. Give someone the power to do anything they want, and they’ll do exactly that. That’s the horrifying part – the only thing holding some folk back from the worst atrocities they can imagine is the fear they might not get away with it.
‘His wretched came on, half rotten and all silent. I watched them, tipping my last few flakes of sanctus into my pipe. Inhaling red smoke, I closed my eyes, listening to the feet coming through the snows, feeling tiny snowflakes melting cold upon my skin, the faint notes of death and blood in the air, Saoirse’s leathers, Bellamy’s fear— ‘“Gabriel …”
‘—the song of the wind above and the waters below, the weight of the sword o— ‘“De León!”
‘I opened my eyes, found Bellamy staring at me incredulous as the enemy came on, ever closer, dead eyes and rotting tongues and— ‘“Should you not be silverclad? If never before, we need the aegis now! At the siege at Tuuve, your faith burned so bright, the Dead were struck blind. At the Battle of Báih Sì—”
‘“Have ye not figured it out yet, Bel?” Saoirse asked.
‘“Figured what out?”
‘The slayer glanced to me and sighed. “What worth all that pretty ink? What use a conduit for faith? If a man has no’ a drop of faith left inside him to give?”
‘And then the Dead were on us, and there was no more time to talk. Some crashed into the gates and began battering, others flowed up the stonework like water. I lit an ignis bomb and tossed it over the wall, the powder igniting, nails and scrap metal ripping through the coldbloods. Saoirse and Bellamy rose up, letting fly with holy water and burning crossbow shots, and wretched began to fall. But others yet were climbing, dead eyes and hungry mouths, and soon enough, they began spilling over the walls.
‘It was bladework then, and miles of it, running back and forth across the highwalk in a desperate attempt to stem the tide. Bellamy backed off along the eastern walk, no longer shooting flame for fear of igniting the liquor beneath us, Saoirse and I cutting into the Dead. A wizened old man, a skinny lad, a rotten mother with a belly still swollen from the babe she’d been carrying when she was murdered – all fell under Ashdrinker’s edge. But an ill feeling was growing in the back of my mind, darkening with every moment.
‘Where the hell was Danton?
‘Bellamy gasped, hand to brow. “I … I can f-feel him … i-in my head …”
‘“Force him out, Bel!” Saoirse cried.
‘“I-I can’t …”
‘“Mothermoons, where is he?”
‘“GABRIEL!”
‘I turned at Chloe’s scream, heart sinking. And there I saw him, like a shadow, perched behind us atop the western battlements. A host of wretched were scrambling up the stones around him, dozens of them. And with sinking heart, I realized the Dead had used their unholy strength to simply crawl around the cliffs on our flank, completely avoiding the firetraps we’d laid.
‘“Clever bastard …” I whispered.
‘“Back!” Rafa raised his wheel, burning silver in the dark. “Back now!”
‘The foulbloods began spilling down into the bailey, but Chloe and Rafa stood tall, the sister brandishing her silversteel, the wheel in the priest’s hands burning like flame. Phoebe pounced upon the first wretched to touch the courtyard stone, tearing it apart as Chloe sliced another off at the knees. I cut down a foulblood on the wall, roared to Saoirse, “We’re outflanked, fall back!”
‘Bellamy lit his crossbow shot, raising his bow. “He was in my head, he—”
‘“LIGHT IT, BOUCHETTE!”
‘Saoirse leapt off the battlements to the stone below. The gates began to buckle, more wretched spilling up over the walls as Bellamy fired at the highwalk under my feet. The liquor and sawdust burst into flames, bright and seething. Wretched fell, flesh catching like tinder, a few hissing in agony as they crashed among their fellows below and set more ablaze. But yet more came on, a relentless, starving flood. And so I turned away, eyes upon their general. Fire rising at my back, I charged along the western highwalk, set to slay this dark shepherd and watch his sheep scatter.